

LAID & CRUCIFIED — Part-1

by John Aalborg

Chapters 1 thru 39

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2016 John Aalborg and Bleep-Free Press

http://www.bleepfreepress.com

Part-1 is an unabridged copy from the complete print version.

Parts 1 and 2 are available combined in a large, soft-cover volume.

This story is a work of fiction including all the characters

and Homer County.

The Florida panhandle, however, is real.

Author's Rating: "All Ages"

Publisher's Rating: PG-14 (mild erotica, graphic violence)

Home Schooler Rating: MA

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you for downloading this e-book. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed digitally for non-commercial purposes, **provided the book remains in its complete original form.** If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favorite e-book retailer to obtain Part-2, and to discover other works by this author.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Scattered throughout the United States are commercial junk and salvage yards so vast that the operators would be hard pressed to account for everything that lies there. Some of these rust farms span hundreds of acres and are fenced in with the gates chained shut and no longer opened for the public.

Although some can be glimpsed from nearby highways, who can say what is unfolding in the heart of these huge graveyards of metal and scrapped dreams? The following apocalypse tells of one such place, located just fifty miles north of Florida's "Emerald Coast" on the Gulf of Mexico.

The time or setting of this novel is the cusp of a new era: _after_ the 60's and 70's music one could (and still can) remember and hum, _after_ muscle cars with a low shelf life until Asian rivals woke us Americans up, but _during the time_ when the number and quality of TV channels began to proliferate, MTV being a much favored early innovation. The time _before_ the explosion of personal mobile computers, smart phones, social media, and _before_ law-enforcement communications systems which actually worked. A simpler time for which many people today harbor fond memories.

## Chapter 1

## Leesa & The Diary

Leesa squinted her eyes in the semi-darkness of the abandoned dynamite shack, trying to read – to comprehend the horror – of the first page of the diary she had just found.

_He told me I have to start this at the beginning, and if I write everything down he will feed me and won't kill my little one. My name is Rachel. I am a Christian and I am pregnant with my first baby. I have long, straight hair which falls all the way down to my_ butt _ass. He is watching me write. I am not allowed to use stupid words, he says. Next time he will hurt me if I do. Now he says I should start this diary over, then he says I should just go on but..._

The lunch bell began to ring and Leesa had to catch her breath. The dynamite shack was strictly off limits and even though the walls were thick, Leesa could tell by the extra clamor of that big bell that her mother was letting her know her father was home. Glancing through the next few, handwritten lines, Leesa reluctantly slipped the book back where she'd found it and poked her head out the door. Her eyes scrunched down from the brilliance of the noonday sun and she waited until she could see. White people had the ability to appear out of nowhere, she believed, and before she would go any farther she peered from side-to-side. Leesa was a dark, pretty fourteen, and a good girl except for these little trespassing adventures which pumped up her adrenalin – a natural high. Nothing to feel really guilty about if you didn't get caught.

Satisfied that the coast was clear, Leesa dashed through the crisp, winter, North Florida air to the fence. She had to hunker down and get on her back to crawl through the opening underneath but she did it without getting snagged or scratched. After a quick brush-off she ran down the path which cut through the woods to their cabin. Leesa was light-weight and petite, and usually when she was in the presence of others she would affect a cool, slow glide of a walk. _Nothin' don' bother me!_ But she was running easily now, the discovery of the diary giving wings to her feet, her white Reeboks flashing a storm through the dead leaves on the trail. She slowed when she neared the cabin, though, so her parents wouldn't realize she'd been so far away. Soon the woods would be thicker, and green with the growth of Spring. She would be able to come and go without being seen so readily, and with summer vacation she wouldn't have to limit her exploring to weekends. In the summer Brenda would come to visit sometimes, too, and they could spy around together.

Leesa was hungry, and after giving her father a quick but genuine hug she plunked down at her place at the table. Her parents just sat there for a moment with looks of wonder and satisfaction, and watched her tear into her food. When Leesa had finished the bacon and eggs, and was scraping up the last mouthful of grits with her fork, she finally spoke.

"Daddy? I love it when you're home for lunch. This sure beat peanut butter an' jelly!"

"Dinner," MayBelle corrected.

"Mama, mos' people have this for breffis'!"

"The word is breakfast." Leesa's father stared at her with his cold eye, as they liked to call that particular look. Then he laughed. "Leesa, your mama didn't know I was coming, so you would've had eggs and grits anyway."

"Uh-huh. 'Cept you always come on Saturdays. So we both knew."

"Not every Saturday."

"We see you ain't wearing chains," MayBelle said.

Leesa's father was tall and very black, with shiny muscle rippling along his arms. MayBelle would frequently remind him just how handsome he was to her, too, and also just how old. "You're old, blue-black, and pretty!" she would tell him. And she would invariably add: "'Cept for that scar." Then she would laugh and hug him, mashing her friendly, opulent body against his. He would always hug her back, laughing with her until she screamed for him to stop. He was a confident man – a logger who made a fair living – and even though he never finished high-school he was proud of his accomplishments and happy about himself. He liked for each of his two wives to remember all of that.

The scar, a livid and jagged pink river, ran down from above his left cheek all the way to the underside of his jaw.

"Daddy? Please bring Brenda over tomorrow, okay? Drop her off? Let her skip church this one time? It's important."

There was a long silence. Brenda was Leesa's half-sister. They liked to think of each other as twin sisters because they both had the same features, the same dark, coffee-with-cream shade, and were the same age. Brenda had been born on Christmas Eve and Leesa on Christmas Day. Both of them had very light-skinned mothers but that's where the maternal similarity ended. MayBelle was plump and usually jolly while Brenda's mother was slender like a model, and had this air. Brenda's mother was also into the social life of the church – something MayBelle didn't give a hoot about – which is why Leesa had Sunday mornings free and Brenda didn't. But the fact that the man took the other woman to church was an old wound in MayBelle's soul which never seemed to heal.

Even the names of the sisters' mothers had a rub: MayBelle, and Peaches.

"It's important, huh?"

"Yes! Please, Daddy?"

John Simmons turned his eyes on MayBelle. "Has she been coming straight home from school when I'm not here? Minding her birds and bees?"

"I say no to everything, Daddy!" Leesa shrank back into her chair, hoping her remark didn't sound too fresh.

But John Simmons was smiling, the pink scar crinkling back around the corner of his mouth. "You both are so pretty. So pretty! When I see you two together I can hardly stand it. And you're filling out so fast. Just the thought of some dumb-ass, crack-head boy with his hands all over you. Just thinking about it, it's like a knife stabbing right into me. You hear?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"You remember my promise."

MayBelle chuckled. "You didn't mind having your paws all over me when I was fourteen."

"My babies are going to college," John said. _Stay pure and clean, and I'll put you both through college._ That was the deal.

"I'll bring Brenda over tomorrow. **After** church. But you mind what I said about the old Norris place. Okay?"

"What about the Norris place?" MayBelle said.

"I told Leesa no more trespassing. The girls have their tree-house over there. I'm knocking it down tomorrow. The for-sale sign is still up on the road but I keep on seeing this fancy, black van parked down in the drive. The tree-house isn't safe if there's going to be new owners. It's on the forty acres that go with the house and the barn."

Leesa tried to think fast. The dynamite shack was just across from the Norris place and the tree-house had been a good excuse for hanging around there. She needed to show Brenda the hole she found under the fence and the diary without their father getting suspicious.

"The new people might have kids, Daddy! Think how happy they'd be to find that tree-house!" Leesa watched him think about it. "I promise we won' go back to the tree-house until you tell us it's okay. Okay? 'Cept to get the rest of our stuff out."

"That's a deal, little fox."

"What about the powerline? That's still okay, right?"

Not far from the cabin, a high-voltage transmission line ran straight as an arrow for miles. It also neatly separated the old Norris farm from the huge, fenced-in junkyard nearby. Several times a year the rural electric cooperative would mow the right-of-way under the lines, and the wide corridor was a favorite place of Leesa's. It was great for exploring and you could see forever (for there were woods everywhere else around them). John liked it, too, for hunting on his Saturday afternoons off, and sometimes Sunday when he needed to put Peaches in her place. But the powerline also crossed two county highways several miles from either side of his property and one never knew what trash would be coming down the right-of-way to do a little hunting or scouting of their own.

John spoke up suddenly, raising his voice. "What's Rule Number One?" He moved to the side a little so MayBelle could set down a fresh plate of eggs and grits.

"Daddy, everything is Rule Number One! Okay. If I see a stranger comin' I don' let 'im get close. I don' ask 'im who he is or nothin' – I jus' run for it."

"He?"

"He or she."

MayBelle laughed. "They both as good as gold."

John nodded his head. He worried constantly that his daughters might be easy prey. They were both tomboys, too, and they roamed in the woods too much. "Leesa, I'm thinking you and Brenda should sign up for the new self-defense class at school."

"Oh, Daddy.... That program don' start till nex' year."

John slammed his fist down on the table and grinned when Leesa and MayBelle jumped. "Next year, not nex' year," he corrected. "When they have sign-up, you both sign up."

"Yes, Daddy." Leesa got up to clear the table and start the dishes. She couldn't wait to get back to the salvage yard and the dynamite shack there, and that lady's diary. Rachel. And she could barely wait to show Brenda tomorrow.

"Hurry up with those dishes, little fox," John said. "We're going to town when you're through. Put on a dress."

"Daddy!" Secretly, Leesa loved to wear dresses, and her father always seemed to have enough money for her clothes even though he was usually short on cash for other things. But she kept quiet about her thing about dresses because it would be just another reason for everybody to think she was Peaches' daughter and Brenda was MayBelle's. Sometimes their parents made no bones about their suspicions that the hospital nurses had played a trick on them, switching babies in the nursery on Christmas Day fourteen years back. They would teach that uppity nigger John Simmons and his two wives! They would know it but he wouldn't – not for the rest of his life!

Leesa and Brenda made a pact after they found out that their parents had always suspected a switch. They would stay with their present mothers, even if John decided to resort to the latest DNA tests to find out. Besides, it was never too late to nail him for bigamy – he could never sue the hospital – so the testing was probably not going to happen. Neither girl looked like either of the mothers, anyway. The girls were smaller, both probably fully grown now at five-foot five, small-boned with straight noses and high cheek bones. "Indian blood in me somewhere," their father would repeat often enough until one day MayBelle told him he to forget it. "Every nigger in the U S of A claims Indian blood".

Even though strangers often assumed the girls were twins, Leesa weighed exactly one-hundred pounds and Brenda one-hundred and two. Leesa could eat everything put in front of her but Brenda felt she had to be careful. MayBelle, however, allowed herself to gain a few pounds each year, knowing that John's continued interest depended on the contrast between Peaches' lean, hard body and her own warm and unwrinkled opulence.

"Will we be back before dark?" Leesa said.

"I doubt it."

MayBelle closed her eyes. "There be plenty of money for this?" She couldn't stop herself. "I can just see Peaches tearing up WalMart last night." MayBelle tensed, her eyes still closed, her head back.

"Oh, last night? We went all the way to Panama City." John laughed. "We went to J. C. Penny, and Gayfer's, and... Now let me try to remember. Pier One. And the International House of Furs!"

MayBelle opened her eyes and smiled. "I'm ready for that!" She heaved herself up and chunked some firewood into the heater and shut down the stove's air vent. "It's supposed to freeze again tonight," she mumbled. "Well, a light frost, they said." When they would get back home she would open the air draft so the heated wood could burst into flame. It was a good heater. And she had a good life, compared to some.

Leesa hurried with the dishes, thinking about what coat to wear, what dress, what shoes. Lately she'd only been allowed to wear dresses when her father was along, or for special school functions. She decided to tough out the chilly weather and wear the red dress that showed a little of her new cleavage.

## Chapter 2

## The Old Norris Farm

"Good thing you brought a jacket along," she said. "Still Florida, but it's not Tampa, I'm sure!"

Jeremy watched her snap open the attaché case on the hood of her station wagon – something he couldn't do with his van. "Do you have a title report?"

"Yes, and there are no other encumbrances. Plus the bank has accepted your offer. That cuts into my commission a little, of course, but I'm glad to see the Norris place go to someone who can appreciate it. Not some developer."

"I want to see the survey markers before I give you the down payment."

"Oh.... Well, sure! If we can find them. I do have this little map here, but, well, you know."

Jeremy frowned as he looked over the hand-drawn map she was spreading out. And he was sure she would snap at the first developer she could find who would be interested in anything this remote. She was a short-haired, pearl-in-each-earlobe, brazen type. Thirty something. Perfume vaguely familiar. Hair as raven black as an Amazon Indian but with skin white as milk.

"Okay," she said. "I'll put on my boots. I keep a pair in the car for things like this."

Soon after she was leading him along the south portion of the forty acres. The easy part where they could walk along the red-clay road which fronted the property. The east and west survey posts were easy to spot. Short, galvanized pipes which had been hammered into the earth and festooned with red ribbon. It was time to head over to the other side.

"All woods now," she said. "Behind the backyard there are pines on a ridge, I think, and mostly oak and hickory in the hollow. And cypress. And some huge magnolias!"

"Let's see some magnolias!" It sounded exciting to him, hearing the names of all those different trees. Soon be owning all of them – all of this. "How about that path behind the house?" He glanced up at the clear sky, not wanting anything to spoil this first real look beyond the landscaped, half-acre or so yard.

"Well, that path goes down the middle, actually. We won't find the other two corners that way."

"No aerial photographs?"

She looked at him. He was a handsome guy, she thought. Trim but kind of soft. Thirty-five? Forty? And fairly well off, apparently. "Well, I'm sure the appraiser's office has one. I didn't think to bring a copy. Has your wife seen the place yet?"

"We're in the middle of a divorce. It's okay. It's an amicable separation. Let's go."

They took the path, Jeremy leading, the real estate agent pointing out the names of the trees to this obvious city-dude, telling him about the white, bell-shaped blooms the numerous sparkleberry trees would have, and the flowers he could expect from the dogwoods in spring. "But don't eat the berries. Children?"

"We already let them decide. We have two." Jeremy did not volunteer their ages. But he knew they would love the run of a country place as big as this, so far from everything, and so would Sandy, his girlfriend. He pictured her – a young incarnation of all his dreams. She could switch from a Barbie doll to a Mother Earth type in a heartbeat. Cocktail dresses to colorful, patched jeans. Long, flaming-red hair and brazen, friendly tits. How could she resist moving in with him with a place like this? So what if his kids were here? Once she saw the antebellum house and the barn, and the old garden. There was even an antique, brass bed in the master bedroom.

Sandy on his big, brass bed.

They were huffing up into the tall pines now, nearing the top of a hill. The lady was breathing hard but Jeremy wasn't buying that. "We can rest at the top here if you like. Before we go on."

He would be leaving behind his after-office workout at the gym back in Tampa, but there would be plenty enough exercise here. And nights with Sandy.

The hard breathing behind him tapered off, as he thought it might once she realized they were going the distance to see it all. At the very top they could see a bright patch of the powerline right-of-way, way off, and the upper arms of one of the steel towers. The path angled off to the left, however, and they started down. A half-hour later the lady was brushing the leaves away from the northwest survey pipe.

"I found it!" She sounded happy again. Excited.

But Jeremy was already gone, out under the powerline, taking in the brightness and glory of this new, open space. He sucked in a lungful of the air sweet with newly-mown weeds and grass, and spotted what looked like gravestones in a thicket on the far side. He ambled over there.

"Died 1872 it says here," Jeremy bent over, mumbling. When she finally walked over to him he was brushing at the stone with a gloved hand. "Now I know why you were reluctant to get me this far."

"I was? Well, some people are afraid of a cemetery so close by. But look at it this way: a cemetery can't be sold. No one is ever going to be moving in next to your land." She brightened up again. "Plus this wide powerline separates all the other properties from yours. You'll continue to have all the privacy you want, and all the new graves are way north of this spot where the little church is. Through the woods on this side. Nobody comes all the way back here to look at these old ones anymore."

"So what's east of the cemetery?" Jeremy was standing again, and squinting his eyes toward a glimmering in the distance. A tall, overgrown, chain-link fence? Reflections from what? Glass? Chrome?

"It's an easy walk – they keep this so nicely mowed under the lines." This time she led the way, keeping up her sales pitch. "There's a colored family that has two acres and a cabin near the church. You'll never see them because the church and their cabin is way on the other side of the church property woods. That's eighteen acres, the church land." Her voice faltered but only for a moment as the junkyard came into view. The last prospect she'd shown around had asked if test wells had been dug recently to determine if seepage from the extinct salvage operation was poisoning the ground water.

"A junkyard!" Jeremy shouted. He trotted past her. The chain-link fence topped with razor-wire turned a corner here, running north into the woods and east along the right-of-way as far as he could see. Most of the fence was grown over with bushes and weeds and scuppernong grape vines, but there were a few patchy spots where he could look through. He stopped at a particularly bare place and peered in, locking his fingers into the fence lace.

"It looks abandoned!" He pressed his forehead into the galvanized mesh. "World War Two ambulances! Six-by trucks, god, hundreds of them! Look at this! That busted helicopter! Twin rotors!"

"I saved the best for last," she said, rolling her eyes up to Heaven.

"God, is that a dragline crane way back there? Who owns this place? Looks like it goes on for miles!"

"It's a hundred and sixty acres, but longer than it is wide, I think. The end of it butts against a county blacktop road, the one you probably drove in on."

"I didn't see this!"

"Where the powerline crosses the highway. The main gate is on an adjacent road, near the church property. Look, I'm going to go on and see if I can locate your northeast marker. That's the only one we haven't seen yet."

"Okay. Wait, who owns this place?"

"Old man Gunther's widow. They didn't have any children. She lives right here, well, way over on the other side near the gate. Pretty little trailer with a roof over it. You can see that if you turn down the church road at the crossing. She's quite young but a cripple. Wheelchair. No legs. Even though it's inside the fence, where she lives is kind of pretty. Flowers all around her trailer. Patio decks. I don't know who does all that for her. I've met her but she says she'd never sell. Very nice, looks healthy, and she'll probably live forever."

Jeremy stiffened when he realized that a peculiar and very low sound was building in volume. The lady stopped talking and Jeremy continued to gaze at the wonders through the fence while he held his breath. The sound seemed to be coming from across the salvage yard somewhere and not getting any closer – just louder. He thought he could feel the ground beneath his feet begin to vibrate with the gaining force and beauty of it. Like a single, deep note from a pipe organ. Or a humpback whale.

"Damn!" he said finally, just as the sound clipped off. His own voice echoed in the new stillness in his brain. "What was that?!"

But the lady was gone. Jeremy pressed his forehead harder into the fence and tried to read the faded words painted on the squat, solid-looking structure down near the corner of the yard. It was a small building, made of railroad ties, he thought. Thick, dark, creosoted railroad ties, only much longer. Galvanized roofing covered the top and there was a skylight facing south. The worn, red-paint letters on the padlocked door said:

DANGER! EXPLOSIVES!

He moved back up the fence and found a better view. There was so much to play with here! And J.R., Jeremy's son from his first wife, would go crazy at the sight of all this stuff. Even though J.R. was twenty-two now, he was still a boy at heart. And Jeremy had promised him that when they moved to the country they could build a hot-rod together. The boy was born when Jeremy was only sixteen – his wife, fifteen – and at the time the couple was doing a lot of booze, speed, pot, mushrooms (acid always seemed to be unavailable), and Junior was born a little "slow". "Retarded" was too strong a word for Jeremy, and "differently abled" just plain ridiculous. After the birth of his son Jeremy decided to get his shit together. He finished high-school, divorced J.R.'s mother, and graduated from Florida State University with a BS. The blessed union with wife #2 produced Jeremy's daughter, Julie, now fifteen. Junior, or J.R., or Jeremy Roy as his mother called him when she was drunk, loved his half-sister. The two of them would move up here with their father as soon as the latest divorce was final – of that Jeremy was sure. Junior would have to. And then, Sandy.... Young, wild, succulent Sandy! Junior's age. Well, Junior would love the spacious, modern, second floor apartment some previous owner had built into the barn. And the ground floor was perfect for working on cars. Junior seemed to be a good mechanic even though it had taken him until just last year to squeak through high-school graduation. Yup, this new place was perfect. For all of them!

The real estate lady was calling to him from the other side of the right-of-way. She had told Jeremy her name several times but he kept on forgetting it. Jane Goodall or something, no, not the chimpanzee lady. All of this was so exciting! He took one last look through the salvage yard fence, and as he turned away he noticed the hole in the dirt at his feet. It looked like it might be just big enough for him to squeeze through. Perfect!

## Chapter 3

## Jamie

Jamie carefully bulled the nose of the big church-van through the thicket of blackberry bushes beyond the parish parking lot, and swung the vehicle around behind the fellowship pavilion where it couldn't be seen from the road. Jamie was seventeen, a lean-looking boy but a go-getter. The lawn job he had to do here was the last on his long list for this Saturday afternoon and he would have to hustle if he was to finish before dark. The sign out at the road read:

GRACE LUTHERAN CHURCH

But the van had the sides lettered, in bright, heavenly blue paint:

MOSSY HEAD POND PRIMITIVE BAPTIST CHURCH

Jamie quickly slammed back the side door of the van and horsed the large mower to the ground. His own, old pickup truck was temporarily out of service but using this van, well, it was all for the same god, right? Right. There was very little lawn to cut at the tiny, white-frame Lutheran church but this time the job called for him to also carve a path behind the cemetery through the woods to the old Methodist cemetery near the powerline right-of-way, where the Lutherans and the Methodists were going to have their much advertised get-together in the morning, honoring some common founder. Jamie couldn't care less.

He worked fast, pushing hard against the handles of the noisy mower, mashing the bushes down and listening to the horrible noises under the mower deck as the steel blades chopped the brambles to bits. The job didn't take much brainpower, however, and in his boredom he fantasized the lady in the diary, Rachel, naked and pegged to the ground outside the dynamite shack, on her back, her legs spread, her arms stretched to the sides like Christ on the cross, while he ran the mower up and over her. Bloody chunks of her tits slung out the sides of the machine, splattering the trees and his boots. "Gross!" Jamie hollered aloud. In his fantasy he suddenly remembered that Rachel was pregnant. The lawnmower blades would have made a horrible mess of her stretched-to-bursting womb. Jamie hollered again."Gross! Yuk!" Tired, getting sweaty, and talking to himself.

Even the asshole who kidnapped Rachel didn't do stuff like that!

He had already checked out this mowing job some days before, and he knew there were plenty of clear places under the trees which he wouldn't have to cut at all. The job would go fast. He had told his parents that he had to return the van Sunday morning. The lie would get him out of having to go to church with his mom, his dad the preacher there."I'll go to church in Mossy Head."

He had actually done that once. The Reverend Skipper at Mossy Head Pond preaching with his eyes bulging out, spraying foamy spittle all over the empty front pew at each utterance of the word "Jesus". The ladies in the aisle writhing in ecstasy and speaking in tongues. The younger ones with that long hair down to the crack of their ass like Holiness women do – one of them a real looker, too – _maybe she would be there tomorrow._

Jamie had neglected to tell The Reverend Skipper what he needed the van for. God knew, of course, knowing everything. Wasn't that good enough? It was God's van! Actually, the vehicle belonged to the preacher himself. The congregation could think it was theirs, but it was his. Title, registration, and all. Jamie knew all about the subtleties of such things – his own father was a preacher, after all. Jamie was a preacher's kid, a PK, a term Jamie hated. A couple more months of school, though, and he was outta there. College in Tallahassee. Live with his aunt. No more church on Sunday morning. No more altar-boy bullshit bowing and kneeling and lighting candles (how could grown people believe that the Creator of the entire universe got His rocks off on silliness like that?!) and no more choir practice and organ practice. He'd been getting out of a lot of that lately, anyway, but still!

Well, he did love the organ.

He had already looked over the huge FSU campus in Tallahassee, three hours to the east on I-10. Unlimited pussy! It was everywhere! And beautiful! Not like the overweight, dumb, country heifers at Mossy Head Pond High.

It was darker under the trees than he had anticipated but he should have known. He wasn't worried about getting home late for supper, he just wanted to finish this job. With this and the other jobs today, he'll reach two-thousand dollars in his savings account. Plus Aunt Dora would be letting him stay at her place for free. Neat, shady, old Tallahassee neighborhood. She was lonely since Jamie's uncle had died. Jamie would do chores for her, of course, and he'd already moved some things into his new room-to-be. Separate, outside entrance. Little porch. Perfect for bedding down coeds. City girls with red lips and bright teeth and sexy underwear and flashy makeup.

Bits and chips of hacked wood were getting into Jamie's eyes. He had misplaced his safety goggles. Never mind, one more fast run-through and he was done. He'd forgotten his earplugs, too, but not the electric lantern. No way would he forget that! Not since he'd found that hole under the junkyard fence looking for what he had hoped would be a lifetime supply of dynamite (you never know when stuff like that will come in handy – worth big bucks on the street, too!) and found the little nest somebody had made in there. The cot with clean sheets, the pretty quilt, the bed all made up perfect. And then there was Rachel's diary, hidden under the mattress! God! All through the week Jamie had been planning on getting back there again – he had missed the last weekly visit – but he resisted the temptation to skip a day of school or a day off from his lawn-care business. But then, waiting always made things that much more worthwhile.

As soon as Jamie knocked all the debris off the mower and had it loaded back into the van, he grabbed his electric lantern. There was a bottle of hand lotion he'd brought along, too, and a tiny Mag-Lite he would use for the path on the way back so the colored people living near the church wouldn't see him through the trees.

By the time he got to the right-of-way and the fence, it was dark. He wished that there were a place for him to shower first. Even though the winter cold had dropped the temperature fifteen degrees in the last hour or so, he was still a little sweaty from the job. Crawling under the fence didn't help, either, well, you can't have everything! Jamie looked around after getting back to his feet, and turned the Mag-Lite on the broken padlock. He always replaced it in such a way that from a distance it would look like it was actually locked. But hadn't he left the _Corbin Lock Co_ logo facing out? Maybe not. He lifted the brass lock out of the hasp and eased himself inside, pulling the massive, wooden door shut behind him.

Jamie sat on the edge of the bed for a minute and tried to picture the missing Barbie dolls. Against the east wall, the huge aquarium that Rachel described in her diary was still in place on a table with massive legs. The open top was covered with a tapestry now, the inside empty and clean. The biggest glass box Jamie had ever seen outside a tourist place. There was a time, according to Rachel's account, when it had been filled with vicious piranha fish, and naked Barbie dolls under the water – naked except for thick, rhinestone-studded chokers around their necks – the Barbies straddling corals or hanging from fish hooks inserted into various parts of their bodies. Rachel had detailed all of this, and one of Jamie's favorite parts was where she was being threatened with one of the dolls, the man snatching it out of the aquarium and holding it over her as Rachel lay lashed to the cot on her back, the fishy water dripping onto her pregnant abdomen as he took out a pocket knife and slowly cut off Barbie's round, no-nipple, plastic breasts one at a time.

The several trunks placed against the walls of the shack were still there, each one with a doily or cloth covering the top. Empty Hennessy cognac bottles with candle drippings down the sides had been placed on one of them, but Jamie lit only one candle to conserve the supply. Then he slowly stripped. Goosebumps rose on his flesh and he figured the inside temperature to be down to about sixty-five now. Plenty warm enough, though! Reverently pulling out Rachel's diary from under the mattress and placing it on the night stand, Jamie pulled back the covers. Picturing Rachel in this very same bed, he crawled in. The electric lantern flickered along with the candle. The battery was not making good contact but if the light went out a good whack with his fist would bring it back.

Underneath the covers, Jamie was hard before he could even find a good place in the book. After reading just one page he reached for the lotion bottle and pulled the cover back so he wouldn't get any on the top sheet. Closing his eyes and stroking himself he began to picture her. Here. In this pretty bed. Naked. Helpless. Her smooth, taught, white belly full with child. Her long, long hair flowing over the pillows. Her captor coming all over her breasts and then kneading them with his calloused hands until she screamed. The perp later forcing her to lick those hands and fingers clean. Now it was Jamie's turn and his body shivered and convulsed with spurts of pleasure.

Suddenly he remembered he had forgotten to bring along a pack of Kleenex. How could he have forgotten something so important?!

## Chapter 4

## The Junkyard

The large, weathered but readable sign at the entrance said:

GUNTHER'S SALVAGE YARD & PARTS DEPOT

Swinging underneath was a newer, smaller sign:

CLOSED

The address on the large mailbox at the road had worn off completely, but someone had written with a marking pen:

Sophia

1Gus had just finished with Sophia's breakfast and was heading back to his secret compound in the middle of the vast salvage yard when he heard Jamie's old pickup with the used-but-good muffler Jamie's father had finished installing for him while he did his Saturday lawn-care rounds. It sounded boss as Jamie shifted down, slowing near the main gate. The boy was embarrassed by Sophia's condition, Gus figured, and the boy might not want to stop in if he thought he would have to confront Sophia alone. So the man turned back quickly, slowing his walk at the last second so Jamie wouldn't think he was desperate for company. In fact, however, the young man was Gus's first and only male friend in all the time he had been hiding out in Florida – Florida being as good a place as any. Warm climate. Plenty of fringe types like himself for cover. Plenty of rich widows like Sophia. Well, no, there was only one like Sophia!

The junkyard and Sophia had been a stroke of luck – luck that had dished itself up just in time. Providence. "The Lord's bounty, that's what luck is." His preacher foster parents would tell him over and over again when he was Jamie's age and younger. Gus was a dreamer already back then, when he was a kid – another reason he had decided to take a chance on Jamie. Jamie reminded Gus of himself as he used to be. Innocent, but daring. More balls than brains. Well, Jamie had brains, too, but at that age.... Jamie read a lot, and could talk about almost anything. The best, though, was that Jamie was a PK. Jamie joked about his preacher father a lot and how his dad was trying to make their church the classiest Sunday act in the Florida panhandle. Still, when you're on the run, it's best not to trust anyone. Especially a kid. Especially after everybody on Earth's seen your story on "Unsolved Mysteries" and "America's Most Wanted". Good thing there were no really good photos of him to air on the shows. Jamie probably wouldn't recognize him if he saw the program twice, that orphanage picture of him when Gus was ten. And the computer-aged composite – Sophia and Gus had laughed hard at that. She'd taped the shows but he made her erase them later. Still, for a long time, a copy of the composite Sophia had made with her PC hung on her refrigerator door on a magnet – for a long time – until the two of them became paranoid about it.

Well, he had trusted her with his story, but Jamie? No. The boy had a lot to learn but he didn't need to know everything. Jamie needed to learn how to handle whiskey, too, and Gus wondered how Jamie took care of coming home to the parsonage after drinking some of the junkyard domestic Gus would run for himself and Sophia from time to time.

Jamie spotted him and waved, pulling in and parking just outside the gate – the gate open and Sophia's trailer on the inside – pulling in carefully so as not to run over any of the new red-tip, evergreen bushes on the outside of the fence. As soon as Jamie stepped down though, Gus knew that he'd already started drinking. He walked up to him and put an arm around the tall boy's shoulder.

"I'm worried about them catching you driving with an open bottle of that shine, son. And why so early?"

"It's Sunday! Besides, I'd never tell anybody where I got it."

"You're becoming addicted."

"I didn't drink yesterday."

"Really? Well, good. Don't let that shit snatch you by the balls." Gus headed Jamie to a couple of antique, wood and metal milk crates they could sit on – just inside the gate. The gate was as far as anyone was allowed, normally Jamie included. Except for the county Health Department nurse once a week.

Before sitting down Jamie handed Gus the half-pint Jack Daniel's bottle he'd brought back, slapping the back pocket of his jeans where he usually carried it. "All gone. Empty. Need more!"

"Nope. Not to take off the premises. No more. Not that much, anyway."

"A half-pint is too much?"

"That's shit's a hundred-and-twenty proof!"

"Hey! Gimme a break, Gus!" Jamie's voice was demanding but friendly. He laughed. "Come on! I work! I go to school! I'm perfect!" Jamie grinned at his new friend and wondered for a second what it would be like to have somebody like Gus for a father. Wouldn't that be great! "You're turning gray, Gus." Jamie was referring to the streaks of silver in the man's short, curly black hair. "You're getting old. Stodgy." Jamie ducked and laughed as Gus feigned a punch.

"You'd go to jail before you told where you got it? Let them fuck you in the ass?"

"Sure. You've got my word." The boy held out his right hand and they shook on it. Jamie felt brave with the last of the whiskey warming his gut. "I love you, Gus." Jamie quickly looked away out to the road. "So what's with the new bushes?" Jamie could still feel the coarseness but warmth of Gus's hand shaking his, the leathery fingers around his own, the serrated skin, the lines filled with the black of years working on machines. The hardness of the skin of his hands. Gus wasn't really that old. Probably not as old as his father, whose hands were soft and pink.

Jamie suddenly felt the awkwardness of the silence his thoughts were creating. "It almost froze last night, Gus. This stuff you planted here could've died."

"But it didn't. Jesus loves sinners who garden. Speaking of, since it's Sunday, how come you're not in church worshiping? Kneeling, begging for mercy, praising, singing? All that. Your daddy isn't going to miss your ugly face in the front pew? Taking down notes?"

"Ha ha. No. Anyway, I'm not allowed to take notes anymore. He made that gospel clear. He even watched while I had to burn the notebook. I told my ma I was going to, no, I mean, I told her I would be worshiping at Mossy Head Primitive Baptist this morning."

Gus laughed. "She bought that? Mossy Head Primitive, huh? We should go there together sometime. Those long-haired Holiness chicks wash your feet, right there in the church. Our chance to play Jesus!"

"Yeah, but you have to wash somebody else's feet in return. That's part of the deal."

"Pick out a virgin. Play with her toes."

"I'm practically a virgin myself," Jamie laughed.

"No such thing, practically a virgin." Gus hunched up and slid the crate he was sitting on to get his body full into the sun. It was still early enough to be chilly. "Practically a virgin? Don't worry. I won't tell anybody."

"And I won't tell anybody why you planted all this garden shit in front of the gate. I just figured it out."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. When the law comes for you, oh, Gus, I can just see it!" Jamie made a pretense of covering his eyes with his hands. "Sirens blaring, red and blue lights blazing, tires smoking when they hit the brakes to turn in! Gus! Can't you just see it? Hear it?" Jamie looked over at him. "You see it! You look pale, Gus! You look sick! Woe!"

"Come after me for what, Jamie?"

"Wait, wait, I'm not done! Picture it! Tires spewing up gravel here when they slam to a stop to keep from running over Sophia's new garden. The garden you planted across the main entrance so nobody can drive in if the gate is open. Can't run over the poor, crippled, widow lady's garden! So they get out and walk in and..."

"Shhhh! Not so loud, Jamie! For what?"

"To get you for that still you've got hid back in there. So, anyway, here's the sheriff, up for election soon and all, walking in while you're hot-footing it out the back through the fence somewhere. Cool. You've got your shit together, Gus."

Gus sucked in a deep breath and held it. What a relief! But were the new flower beds that obvious? "Nobody reads the CLOSED signs all over the place. Now they'll know."

"Yeah, sure Gus. Whatever."

"The signs didn't stop you when you first came over."

"I knew you had some pickups like mine back there. That row along the road. Hey! It's cool with me. Planting flowers across the drive. Give you plenty of time to haul ass through the fence."

"Nobody can get through that fence, son. And I'm too old and sensible and dignified to crawl over razor wire."

"That fence goes for miles, Gus. There must be weak places in it." Jamie suddenly realized he'd gone too far with this. It was the alcohol.

"I check that fence. I walk it. All of it."

"So what's the big deal? Everything here is rusting into oblivion!"

"And anybody gets in here gets blown away to oblivion!" Gus punched the boy hard enough on the shoulder to stamp some seriousness into him. He watched Jamie's leg kick out to stop from tipping off his crate. "I mean it, Jamie. Don't try it yourself, okay? I see somebody in there, I shoot. I know myself. I like to be alone. I'd hate for it to be you. No accidents, okay? Trust me."

Jamie looked down at the ground and nodded, his hands folded between his open knees. "Okay, Gus. Jeez!" _He doesn't know about the hole under the fence by the dynamite shack_

Probably never even goes back that far.

Unless it's him that...

"Sophia doesn't want anybody back there."

"Okay, Gus."

"And I do like to be alone."

"It's okay, Gus!" Jamie sighed. "I need a part today, though. I barely made it here. Slave cylinder for the clutch is leaking. Yesterday I thought the whole clutch was fucked up but it's just that leaky cylinder."

"You have a hydraulic clutch in that thing? Okay, but when you need a part you just tell me what it is and I'll get it for you."

"I just told you." Jamie waited for a reply to that and got none. "I know! You're growing reefer between the rows!" Jamie laughed and looked up, catching Gus in the eye. A war of the eyes now. "Got any extra? I hate to cut into my college money for a bag, you know how it is."

"Spotter planes take care of that. Nope. They fly over here about once a month. Low. I keep on hoping they'll hit the top of the crane or something and go straight down to Hell."

"Oh? Hell is a real place now? Hell? An actual place? Gotchya, Gus!"

"You're a smart-ass, kid, but you know that."

"But you like me? Dad installed the muffler when I was doing lawns. That rusted out item wasn't parsonage approved. I still had to nigger-rig my clutch to get here so..."

"It's not cool to say nigger, Jamie.

"Oh? The Simmons family over there can hear us?"

"It's just not right, Jamie."

"Your mother black? No! I mean, your daddy?" Jamie worked down his lower lip, like: Did I go too far? But Gus didn't look angry, just sad. And then Jamie remembered that the man had told him he was an orphan. So he didn't know who his mother and father were. "I forgot. I'm sorry, Gus."

There was a long silence.

"I guess maybe I shouldn't drink whiskey," Jamie said finally. "But you're still a PK like me!"

"Just my last foster parents. Jamie? Oh, well."

"Well what?"

"You know, there hasn't been a single car drive by all this time?"

"Well what, Gus?"

"Jamie, James, you know, your father and mother named you after the brother of Jesus. James. My parents – somebody – named me after a dog. And I don't even know what my last name was. But from as far back as I can remember, my first name was Argos. With an 'o'. Then one day at the orphanage, before they adopted me out, this teacher comes right out with it and tells me in front of the whole class that Argos is the name of a dog. And it cut me. For a long time. I was about five years old when it happened – or six maybe – and then in my last year of high-school we were reading The Odyssey, Homer, and I found out that Argos was the name of Ulysses' dog. After Ulysses finally made it home after years and years fighting the Trojan War and stuff. He comes home in disguise but the dog, who is real old now, recognizes him when he walks up. The dog was waiting for him to return all that time! And then the dog died. Other people were living in Ulysses' house while he was gone, beating that poor animal, not taking care of him – the book says the dog was infested with fleas, and sick – and still that dog was waiting for his master to return."

Jamie swallowed. "Like you're waiting for your master to return?'

"Like everybody is."

"Yeah."

"Homer wrote that book, what, three thousand years ago? Ever since the day I read about Ulysses' dog I've been interested in what our ancestors were like, what they believed, what they knew, what it was really like way back when people actually believed that gods were coming down to Earth and having kids by Earth women, exceptional kids that founded the earliest cities, the earliest civilizations – the people who invented writing – the people who got us out of the cave-dwelling and spear-chunking era. Ancient Greece.... My foster parents told me once they thought I had Greek features."

"That's not a tan? Who's Ulysses?"

Gus sighed. "I read in Herodotus recently that Argos was also the ancient name for Greece – I'd missed that before – so my real parents, or whoever named me, must've been educated."

"Who's Herodotus, Gus? It sounds familiar. I thought I knew the Bible, but..."

"He wrote the world's first history book, Jamie! You're in your last year of high-school, right? What are they teaching you? Football? How to roll on a rubber? Macramé? What to call black people?"

"African Americans. So if the Simmons family had one of those bionic ear sets – one of those ActionEar headsets – they'd be able to hear what we're saying from way over here?"

"They'd hear a lot of bird shit falling through the trees. Squirrel shit. Half-eaten acorns.... Those ActionEars work pretty good, though. You got a set?"

"Too expensive."

"I'll get you a set. Sophia's husband had a crate of them. Still in the original boxes. Batteries got old, though. He was a suspicious guy. I can sort of see him, in the middle of the place, putting on the headphones, listening for trespassers."

"Like you do?"

"Yeah." _One day the kid will have me all figured out._ "Yeah, like I do."

"And I can have a set?"

"I'll think about it."

"I can help with stuff around here."

"You're not going in there. Period."

"I mean, right around here. And maybe just far enough inside to help with Miss Sophia."

"Oh, yeah, sure, Jamie." Gus lowered his voice. "You want a job description? I'll give you one. You know how a person with zero legs goes to the bathroom?" Gus hesitated. "She wasn't sick when her legs were chopped off. At the thigh. High up. She has two, matching stumps. Unless she makes it to the bathroom herself, well, actually she does make it in there most of the time without help, but then she has to hang there over the thing by these trapeze rings while I get a warm washrag and wipe her. Then there's the bedpan, or the drop-seat on the wheelchair."

"You give her a good rub?"

"Jamie, don't be gross."

"Well, wouldn't that be a nice thing to do? What fun does she have?"

"Sometimes I do."

"See? I knew you were really a good guy!"

"So when do you want to start?"

"You serious?"

"I'll ask her." Gus made a motion to get up, to scare him. It was getting warmer in the sun now, anyway. Time to move into the shade in a few minutes.

"No. No! Wait! Give me a minute to think about this!"

"I thought so."

"Let me think about it! Shit! How did her husband die, anyway."

One of his machines rolled over on him. Sophia told me they found him by the smell. He didn't come back to the house one afternoon and she assumed he had a new girlfriend or something. She said he used to take off for a week at a time once in a while. No warning. That was before my time. A health nurse found her all alone. Then they found him. He was old. Three times as old as she was."

"Yeah? How did you find this place?"

"Just walked in off the road one day. Knocked on the door, you know, work for food. Her trailer smelled like cat piss and I cleaned it all up for a meal and a bed on the couch and I've been here ever since. It's spotless in there now. She's finally got over him being gone. She sure must've loved that man and she still talks good about him. All his stuff, everything, it's all to be kept exactly the way it was the day he died. Period. That's my other job."

"You live in the trailer with her? You fuck her?"

Gus snorted and shook his head. Jamie was so much like he was when he was seventeen. "I live in a camper in the middle of the place."

"Is that off-limits, too?"

"Yup."

"You don't fuck her?"

"No."

"You ever think about it?"

Gus shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Sure. I've thought about it. But, well, you know."

"Think she'd let me?"

Gus looked straight at the boy. He looked at him for a long time, the boy looking right back.

"God made each and every one," Jamie said. "Even me."

"Me, too!"

"And Miss Sophia!" Jamie hesitated. "We'd be good for each other. Does she have nice tits?"

"She's a doll, Jamie. "A doll without legs. Okay? Can we talk about something else now?"

"Okay, but when you get tired of wiping ass I'm available. Until I start college in Tallahassee next fall."

"Okay, wise guy, I'll ask her. About helping out with other stuff. There are other jobs. Cooking sometimes, too. Mostly microwave stuff, though. The county Health Department does her grocery shopping. I do the dishes, the floors. Do you do windows?"

"Sure!"

"The fucking part you arrange yourself. You probably both need it. In fact, I'm sure."

"Great!"

"But I want your word on something. Your word, dig?"

"You got it. Except for the dig part. I'm a modern person. My word on what?"

"See the far side of her original garden over there? Once you get inside, that's as far as you go."

"Deal!" Jamie held out his right hand and they shook for the second time that morning. Then they heard a car coming from far down the blacktop highway and they both turned to watch it go by. It was John Simmons in his shiny, white, '78 Thunderbird driving Brenda over to visit Leesa.

"Mmmmmm - mmm!" Gus said.

"Neat T-bird."

"John Simmons' daughters. Both of them. That chocolate was made to be eaten, son."

"Yeah? I see the twins spying on me sometimes through the bushes when I mow the church grass over there. I can't tell them apart."

"They look like they were carved out of each other's ass but they're not supposed to be real twins."

"Well, Gus, black's not my favorite munchie, if you get my drift."

"That's because you don't know everything yet."

"Yeah, well, maybe, but...."

"But what?"

Jamie hunted for something to defend himself with. "Besides, they're kind of young, aren't they. Twelve? Thirteen?"

"Fourteen. Since last Christmas."

"Jeez, you've really been checking them out!"

"They come by here sometimes. Walking down the road. Or riding their bikes. Giggling all the time. Eating stuff, Jamie. Eating stuff."

"I like blondes. Blondes with long hair, long legs, blue eye shadow, red red lipstick, nipples like cherries...."

"The voice of experience."

The bell on the outside of Sophia's trailer began ringing. Gus got up and stretched. "Come on, son. Let me introduce you to the nearest brunette."

Jamie's heart pounded up. Showtime. He got up and followed right behind Gus. Be cool, he told himself. Be cool. He could feel his ears flushing hot. He had seen Sophia before, not real close. He'd waved, nodded, smiled – her eyes would always be right on him when she was outside her little trailer house – but he would always sort of look past her. Past the wheelchair.

Gus carefully latched the gate behind them, and they picked their way through the old garden path which led around and behind her place to the back porch. Single file. Jamie saw that there was a low, rabbit fence on the far side of her little compound. That would be what the older man had set for the boundary. Okay. Whatever you say, Gus.

"Gus. You're horny. Those twins, jeez."

"Nope. Got a girlfriend."

"Yeah? Bullshit."

Gus turned and stopped, and Jamie almost bumped into him.

"Sorry, Gus. Really."

The man was inches from Jamie's face. He was grinning. They were so close Jamie could see the individual points of hair in the shadow of his smoothly shaved face.

"She's beautiful, Jamie. Unique."

Jamie realized that the toes of their boots were touching but he made no move to back up. His nose flared with the discovery of Gus's dark, musky scent.

"You can smell her on me, boy?"

Jamie swallowed. "Is your girlfriend allowed back there?" Jamie jerked his head in the direction of the salvage yard, the first rows of which began at the end of the garden. Rows of ancient, black and rust-brown cars. Flashes of hardy chrome. "She allowed in?"

"She's not allowed out," Gus said.

## Chapter 5

## Brenda

1"I ain' crawlin' under there." Brenda was looking at the hole under the bottom of the fence and picturing herself down there on the ground. "Nope! Not me!"

So Leesa went first, lying down flat and pulling herself through on her back, making sure that none of the cut fencing was going to snag on her stiff, brand-new, page-boy perm. For the slender girl, it was fairly easy.

Brenda grumped and got down, but not before looking around one more time to make sure they were alone. "Sister, if we get caught it's gonna be your little black ass, not mine!" Once inside, Brenda got up quickly and dusted off. "Mama gonna bitch if we come home dirty. Leesa, that door locked."

"It jus' look locked. See? Broken." Leesa lifted the padlock out of the hasp and eased open the heavy door just wide enough for them to slip in.

"Creepy." Brenda looked up at the dirty skylight and patted her identical permanent to make sure every hair had survived the crawl-under. She waited for her eyes to adjust after Leesa pulled the door shut. The sun was high and streaming in from above, and now Brenda could see everything: the perfectly made-up, narrow bed against the far wall, the night-stand, the foot-lockers with the candles.

"The trunks are empty," Leesa said.

"Shhhh! Yeah, but somebody be comin' here at night. The candles. Shit."

"Shit? You talk jus' like Peaches."

"Well, Peaches ain't in no lifetime coma like May Butterball."

"MayBelle's **your** mama!"

They both laughed, Brenda holding a hand over her mouth. "We don' need to be here long, sister. I'm scared. I can't believe you come here by yourself. Uh-unnh, not me!"

"Wait till you see this!" Leesa slid the diary out from under the mattress but Brenda wasn't watching. She was too busy looking around.

"This a 'quarium?" Brenda kicked at one of the legs of the massive table the large, glass box was resting on, and peeked under the tapestry cover. The aquarium was fully eight feet long and four feet deep. Empty except for the dry sand at the bottom and a few chunks of coral. Satisfied, Brenda went back to the door and cracked it to look out.

"Sit!" Leesa commanded, patting a place beside her on the cot. "Now your eyes got to adjus' again."

"They adjus'ed. This better be good."

"I'll start at the beginning. I only got a chance to read the firs' part anyway."

"Place sure is tidy. Mus' have a housekeeper. One of them real high-speed Hispanic domestics."

"Brenda, read!"

Brenda sat down close beside her half-sister and took a part of the open diary in her hands. It reminded her of sharing a hymnal while singing in church. But just for a second.

"Leesa. This ain' real, is it?"

Leesa shrugged her shoulders. "Hurry up. I want to turn the page an' see what happen nex'."

Brenda lips began to move silently as she read. Then she looked up. "Jus' like a white bitch. Got to say she blond. Got to say how long an' straight it is. Of course it have to be straight! Sheeeit!"

"Brenda...."

"Okay, okay!" Brenda read on, and her mouth opened in amazement. They flipped to the next page. The penmanship was bold and smooth. Then Brenda whispered: "How far did you get?"

"I didn' get to the part where she tells about the Barbie dolls."

Brenda read to the bottom of the page and looked away to the aquarium. "That's it! The dolls were right in there when it was full of water. It's real and I'm splittin' right now!" But she didn't get up. Her eyes scanned the dark walls, the raw, creosoted wood. "She say some of them naked dolls was spread-eagle an' nail right through the han's an' feet, on the walls, well, there it is. Look. Jus' far enough apart. Four nail holes."

Leesa looked up at the wall where Brenda was pointing. She saw the holes and shivered even though the inside of the tiny, sun-heated building was almost too warm.

Brenda was staring at the aquarium again picturing the Barbie dolls, naked, dangling from fish-hooks. Rhinestone-studded chokers. "Five more minutes an' we're outta here," Brenda said. They flipped to the next page.

On my first morning, even with one ankle chained to the wall, it took me a minute before I realized that I wasn't dreaming. I dreamed that somebody bumped me from behind and my car flipped over and I was trapped underneath it and the gas tank was split open and fuel was running down my pinned leg. And I remembered wishing I'd worn a bra, like: what will they think at the hospital? It was raining and in the dream the rain was drumming on the roof of the car, not on the tin roof of this building.

_When I came to my senses I discovered that the warm gasoline running down my leg was my own_ urine _pee_. _The only light in the room was so dim, a skylight over the bed, flat panes with wire screen embedded in the glass. I figured it must be first light. Dawn. Plus the rain. The chain was wrapped around my ankle twice and a padlock inserted through the links. I sat up in my soaked bed and felt along the chair to the wall where the chain was fastened with a big bolt. My jeans were buttoned and zipped (my only pair of maternity denims) but my shirt had been ripped open and my_ breasts _tits and nipples hurt. I felt of them, the tenderness and soreness, the teeth marks. And my throat was sore from screaming. I knew I didn't wet my clothes in the car, though. And I never screamed after the accident until this guy pulled me out. I remember being so glad he found me on a country road in the dark until he hit me up against the side of my head, my ear, and ripped my blouse open and started squeezing and chewing, right there next to my flipped over car. Was that a dream, too? I don't remember how I got in here and him chaining me._

"She don' know if she had a car wreck or not." Leesa was going to turn the next page but Brenda stopped her.

"Wait a sec." Brenda leaned back and felt along the wall near the foot end of the mattress, and found the chain. "Holy shit, Leesa, look!" Brenda pulled a length of it up. It had been stuffed down between the cot and the wall. Shiny, galvanized chain. "It look bran' new, too! Time to split, Peaches Junior!"

Leesa stared at the chain and held her breath for a moment. She was picturing herself chained to this very bed and goose-bumps prickled up her arms. "Okay. Let's split."

"One more page, then zip!"

Leesa nodded and turned the page.

I saw a glass of water on the table. Praise The Lord my hands were free! The glass was cold even though this room was sort of warm. Was he just in here? Watching me while I was sleeping? Watching me wet myself? The water tasted good. So good on my sore throat! I saved some, not knowing when he would be back. Nothing had been left for my other needs. No food. No potty chair.

AFTERNOON

I am hungry now, and scared. I hope he keeps his promise. I am writing down every little thing that I can think of (like he said to) so he won't have an excuse not to feed me. He is not all bad. I have clean sheets and he gave me a dry towel to put over the wet spot on the mattress. I am wearing a nice, dry, lavender sweatshirt now, and a clean pair of hospital scrub pants. The pants have elastic and they stretch over my beautiful baby. I felt him moving a few minutes ago, his tiny fists testing the walls of his prison! His little legs kicking! The man told me to write down that if I disobeyed just one single order or rule of his, he would take a long knife and push it through my stomach and through my baby and we would both die together and I could go to the Heaven I look forward to so much. He said that killing two by the sword like that is in the Bible. I don't know why anyone would want to lie about the Bible like that unless it is the Devil telling him to do it. I asked him for a Bible this morning and he said he would bring one for sure. Which was a surprise. But he didn't bring it yet. He brought me a hospital potty chair.

NEXT MORNING

He comes in frequently and empties my potty chair because he doesn't like the smell. He also says I am not writing enough and am leaving things out. I will try to do better. And he also says that I have bad breath from not eating. So he brought me some donuts and a Vitamin-C pill, and a toothbrush. And some Colgate (not my brand, I like the Arm & Hammer "DentalCare" I think is how you spell it). To brush my teeth I have to use my drinking glass water and bend over the open potty chair and it is almost enough to make me throw up. He says that if I write down everything he will bring me lunch, and he will take me to where I can shower.

He hasn't raped me yet but he said he would. And he hasn't laid a hand on my breasts since the night he pulled me out of my car. He said he is waiting for my breasts to make milk for the baby, then he will get it all. I pray for God to speak to him and save his soul. He knows that I know he will be reading this. Please Sir, accept Jesus as your Lord and he will forgive you. And if The Lord guides your heart into letting me go, I will not turn you in.

He washed my maternity jeans and my torn blouse. I just realized that now. They are folded and on the shelf in the night-stand. He did not watch when I changed into the sweatshirt and scrub pants, but he said that he was "saving up". Please, Sweet Jesus, I am so afraid!

My hair still feels clean somehow. It just so happened that I had washed it the day I crashed the car. I grow my hair long for The Lord Jesus. My husband doesn't like it when I say that. He thinks everything has to be for him. But in my mind and in my dreams I am the bride of Our Lord Jesus, and he comes to me sometimes alone in the night, and sometimes in the form of my husband, and I can always tell when it is Him. And that is why I know my precious baby will be special, too.

There was a creaking noise outside and Brenda stiffened and grabbed her sister's wrist. The diary slipped from Leesa's hands and dropped to the wooden floor. The two of them sat frozen for a minute.

"It's the wind," Leesa whispered. They remained still a while longer, their little ears straining, their hands and fingers now entwined.

Brenda bent to Leesa's ear. "Let's go. Take the book along."

"No. What if they catch us with it?"

"They? Who? I'll take it. Peaches don' go nosin' aroun' my room like MayBelle do you."

"No." Leesa insisted. She was on her knees now, pushing the book back under the mattress where she thought the exact spot was. Besides, she didn't want Brenda to get ahead of her on the reading. It was both of them together, or nothing. She felt the diary bump into something.

"Move, Sis." Reaching in, Leesa pulled out another book. Not the same size, and not the same handwriting. "Another diary!"

"Holy shit!" Brenda said. "Fuck!"

## Chapter 6

## Jeremy and Julie

W1alking through the woods now, Jeremy was trying to get his bratty daughter into a cheerful mood as they explored the biggest score of his life so far, the old Norris property. Julie had been sullen all through lunch, their first noonday meal in the new house, but she'd been chipper earlier. Jeremy had gotten up early to prepare breakfast for her and her half-brother, Junior. It was so easy to get up – so beautiful to find himself in that big, brass bed – first light through the filmy curtains of the long windows in the master bedroom. Tomorrow, Sandy was due to arrive, and tomorrow morning would be his last waking up alone. Sandy. Long, red braids wrapped in colorful hippie beads. Freckles. Green eyes. Freckles on her young, perky chest. Pink nipples. And him old enough to be her father. It was a wonderful world!

"How much farther, Daddy, jeez. Why can't Junior do this?"

Julie's voice came from way back there and Jeremy had to stop in the trail. He watched her catch up. The chrome studs on her leather jacket glittered in the sunlight streaming down through the bare bones of the tall oaks. The girl looked fit and trim enough, but if Julie walked any slower, Jeremy thought, she'd lose her balance and fall over.

"Such enthusiasm!" He couldn't help saying that when the teen finally reached him. She trudged on past without a word.

It was nearly impossible for him to walk as slowly as she was and one could only stop to take in so many lungfuls of the clean, fresh, pungent, forest air. He resisted the urge to raise a foot to her behind and send her sprawling down the path. No, better yet: he could put on her leather wrist bracelets with the diamond-shaped studs and beat the shit out of her. Give the child-abuse hotline something solid to chew on when the ambulance brought her in. But Jeremy was, on the bottom line, a practical man. The mortgage on this new place was high. Nothing he couldn't handle as long as there was no outrageous child-support to pay and he could run his piezo-electric plastics brokerage via computer over this rural phone line until a satellite connection was installed.

The two of them finally made it to the powerline right-of-way. For the first time Jeremy thought he saw a flicker of interest on his daughter's face. All this wide open space in the middle of nowhere. The scene was almost eerie.

"I don't see why Junior can't be your lookout," Julie bitched.

"He's busy moving into the barn. We can both be thankful we're getting the mansion to ourselves. You have your own private bathroom, your bedroom has..."

"Mansion? Daddy, get real! Besides, I froze my ass last night! Then Tardo wants to crawl into my bed because he's cold. Christ, Daddy, can't we just put him in a home?"

"Can't afford it. You want your own car when you're sixteen, don't you? I can only do so much. We've been over this before. And I didn't know how to operate the furnace. I read the manual after breakfast. It'll be nice and comfy tonight."

"Yeah, sure." Julie took the suit-coat he was handing her and watched while he hunkered down to get under the fence wire.

"Only a parent of mine would wear a suit and tie to pilfer through a junkyard."

"Country gentleman." Jeremy saw that Julie had wadded up the coat and was trying to toss it over the razor wire. "No! Don't!" He could picture it caught up there, like a flag you could spot a mile away.

Julie grumped and handed it through underneath, deliberately letting the jacket drag through the dirt. Jeremy brushed it off and put it back on. He checked his necktie knot. If he were caught in here they would think twice before getting rough with what looked like some official, or some rich guy. Somebody with real power.

"Junior can't be your lookout because he's too dumb." Julie was watching from the other side, her fingers and chipped, red nails hooked into the fencing. "Why can't you just admit it?"

"Shhhhhh! Not so loud! Because he's my boy and I love him." And it was true. Whenever Jeremy would get fed up with J.R. he would remember when the boy was small. So cute. So trusting. Always had a smile. Always had an "I love you, Daddy". The tantrums and bouts of public masturbation hadn't really started until he was about Julie's age.

"And that business about having the house to ourselves is bullshit, too," Julie said. She kept on. "What about your smart-ass runaway girlfriend? If you think I can co-exist with that, you're as crazy as Junior."

Jeremy sighed and went back to the fence where Julie was supposed to be watching both ends of the right-of-way. The girl had a strange look on her face and was wrinkling her nose and sniffing.

"I smell pot." Julie turned her head this way and that, making sniffing noises. "Somewhere around here."

"In February? Listen, Julie. Sandy is twenty-two. Hardly a runaway."

"She told me she ran away from home when she was my age."

"Yeah? Well, she speaks well of her father so I don't know why she would tell you that. When did she say so? You only met her once and that was for like, what, five minutes?"

"She talked her head off, treating me like I was some kind of little baby psycho, like I need a real mother who would understand my problems, well, **she's** going to be the **problem** and she's not going to be my **shrink!** " Julie sniffed the air again. "She smokes reefer, too. So if you think she can smoke shit while I'm not allowed you're over the hill!"

"I told you the deal. You quit cigarettes and alcohol, you can smoke grass. At home."

"Big deal."

"It is! Now keep your eyes open and do that whistle of yours if you see anybody."

"Father, I'm not an idiot."

"Okay." Jeremy took off. There was so much to see! He turned away from the dynamite shack, though, when he saw the padlock – he could get back to that some other day – and headed down the nearest row, the old six-by-six army trucks on either side. He stopped at one which had a plastic tarp thrown over some equipment in the back. There were two Ford big-block 429 or 460 engines there, complete with carburetors and alternators. So the guy who owned the place had plans for a hotrod, too, Jeremy thought. He flipped the tarp back in place and crossed over to the row of Korean War ambulances.

"Daddy?"

Jeremy jumped and his heart pounded up in his chest. "Damn it, Julie!" His voice was hoarse and he had to clear his throat. "Why aren't you back where I told you?"

"Daddy, there's nobody here. Listen. Big news! There's pot growing all along the outside of the fence!"

Jeremy gave his daughter a hard look, which did not faze her in the least. She grabbed at his arm and pulled. "Come on! Daddy, please? This rusty junk'll be here a hundred years from now. Come on!"

Jeremy followed her. She could walk fast! She could smile! "It freezes in winter here sometimes, Julie. This isn't Tampa. If it's marijuana, the plants should be dead."

"Daddy. I know what it looks like. Besides, there are strains that grow in the mountains in Afghanistan. And China. So why not here?"

"Leave it to you to know the important stuff."

She crawled under the fence quickly while he took another longing look across the largest salvage yard he had ever seen.

"Daddy, your jacket!"

He handed it to her, and after dusting himself off on the other side, decided it had become too warm to put the coat back on. He watched Julie remove hers. He hadn't seen much of her lately without that leather casing. On the other hand her black, shiny jacket was an improvement over the see-through blouse and pointy Madonna bra he was looking at now. Maybe Sandy could do something with her. He hoped so.

Julie was moving down the fence. "Here's one! Look! And here!"

Jeremy looked up at the warm sun. It was to the south this time of year and it shone directly on this side of the fence. He turned around and scoped the fence-line. God, the plants! All females! Dark purple-green and loaded with buds. _In the shade during the hottest part of the summer...._ For a moment he wished he still smoked the stuff. Such a bounty of it here! And it looked like dynamite weed. The plants were not very tall – probably planted late to avoid detection – and Jeremy bent over and crushed a bud. He brought his fingertips to his nose and let out a low whistle. Dynamite. And so sticky with resin!

"Dad!" Julie was shouting. "Down here! More!"

Jeremy rushed over to get up with her. "Not so loud!"

"Great, huh?"

Jeremy had to agree. Stuff like this was fetching a lot of money back in Tampa. And whoever was growing it knew that the spotter planes would not want to get too close to the powerline. Whoever it was wouldn't appreciate his daughter ripping any of it off, either. Jeremy knew from his younger days just how difficult the shit was to cultivate, despite its common classification as a weed.

But just one bud or two wouldn't be missed. Dry it in the microwave for Sandy's arrival....

He wouldn't do any himself but she would love him for providing it. She was always asking him if he knew of any for sale, hinting he should score some for her, which he did a few weeks ago. Shake. Inferior pot. All he could get at the time.

"Can we take just a little?" Julie said. She had already pinched off a couple of buds earlier and stuffed them into one of the zippered pockets of her motorcycle jacket.

Jeremy smiled. _She's asking permission!_ "Just a bud or two here and there. A little for you and a little for Sandy. Down low. If the farmer thinks it's been located he'll move all of it." _Yeah. Sure. The shit must go on for a mile!_

"Okay. Right. Thanks, Daddy!"

Jeremy bent closer to the nearest plant and sucked in a deep breath – a lungful of the fragrance of Paradise. And it **was** Paradise. Their new home. Already, on the second day, he had established a meaningful bond with his daughter. With Sandy due to arrive soon, what more could a man ask?

## Chapter 7

## Gus and Jamie

Gus was grinning on their way back outside after Jamie had been introduced to Sophia.

"Gus. Could you tell I was embarrassed? Huh?"

"Well...."

"Could she?"

"Naw. She's used to people being extra polite and ready to jump out of their skins when they see her. Don't worry about it. Come on. We'll go get a hit of whiskey and then the next time the bell rings, you go. Tell her I was busy with something. She's a lot smarter than she looks, though. Remember that. Don't worry. She knows it's partly her fault."

"Yeah, okay. Partly her fault?"

"When she's in her bedroom. Visitors getting nervous when they see her on her stumps. She doesn't have to be sitting up in the exact middle of her bed looking like she's sprouting out of the mattress. In a flimsy teddy."

"Yeah." Jamie was following directly behind the older man and they were well into the junkyard now. The forbidden zone. Should he remind Gus? Was this a test? Jamie was doing his best to act nonchalant and not too interested in all the antique machinery lined up on either side. They entered an aisle between two rows of Air Force APUs. Huge generators on wheels to crank aircraft engines.

"Gus! I thought you said I wasn't allowed back here."

Gus stopped and turned, his face grim. "Can you give me your word never to come back here unless I'm with you?" His eyes were cold, and bored right into Jamie's skull. He extended a hand and they shook on the deal, Jamie returning the firm grip with equal force.

They moved on to a section of Ford pickup trucks, different from the ones Jamie had seen from the road. All conditions. Some sitting on the ground, rusted, no wheels or axles. Some sitting high and proud, as if to say: "With just a bit of work, I could run!" Air in the tires, windshield wipers still in place, no missing gas caps or hoods or fenders. Jamie looked for one like his own, an ancient '62. Well, maybe a sixty-two wasn't that ancient. They were about to enter a row of 50's.

"My part is in one of these," Jamie reminded him.

"I know. I'll take care of it for you later." Gus made a turn and they began to cross rows. They threaded their way past Galaxy 500's and Fairlanes and Thunderbirds. A red Comet convertible with a tan top....The place was a gold mine.

Jamie felt high. The shock of Sophia. The friendship with Gus. So neat! All these great machines, the sun shining down on good, old-fashioned chrome! But there were other voices in Jamie's head fighting for attention.

Gus, where are we going?

What about the diaries? Torturing women. Rape.

It's okay to read the stuff and get horny – that's normal.

But the man doing that stuff had to be sick. Cruel.

A beast. Not somebody like Gus, right?

Maybe the diaries were older than his two or three years stay here or whatever it was

"We're heading for my compound," Gus said suddenly. "My trailer."

A chill raced up Jamie's spine. Defense mechanisms kicked in. "Let's build a super Ford out of this stuff, Gus!" Idle chatter. Pleasant, deferential chatter to facilitate a bond, an inviolate friendship. "Just you and me, in our spare time. That would be neat!"

"Maybe...."

Does he know what I've been doing in the dynamite shack?

Jamie stopped in his tracks when Gus stopped, staying just out of reach. His toes wiggled inside his boots, testing for grips for a bolt to either side, a twist and a turn and a run for it.

"Where are your friends, Jamie? Don' you have any buddies?"

The question was a surprise, and Jamie had to think. He was still ready to haul ass. "Same question my dad asks. Well, I've tried. Sort of."

"How old are you? Seventeen? No buddies?"

Jamie sighed. "I got tired of talking about hunting season all year long."

Gus smiled at that but he didn't move.

"And I got tired of talking about all the pussy nobody is actually getting."

This time Gus laughed. But he continued to stand there, arms at his sides, staring at him. Jamie could see the slivers of gold in the dark irises of those searching eyes. Eyes set squarely in that weathered face.

The boy swallowed. "I got tired of all the guys around here talking trash about stuff they don't know anything about. All that macho shit. Their entire, known world is hunting, fishing, and fantasy pussy."

"And Camaros and Mustangs and Corvettes."

"Last but not least." Jamie almost jumped when Gus lifted his arms to hook thumbs into the belt-loops of his jeans. But the man's smile was beginning to look genuine.

"No girlfriend?"

"I wish. How about you? Oh, I forgot you told me before. You didn't tell me very much!" _Why can't I shut up while I'm ahead?_

"Yeah, well...."

"I keep on thinking of you as a kind of hermit type." Jamie tried to laugh.

"I have a problem with her, Jamie, so.... She's beautiful. She's a mess, too. Maybe you can meet her one day. She's hard for me to talk about.

"Oh. Okay." _Jeez...._ "It's okay, Gus." The 'one day' sounded to Jamie like Gus meant there certainly would be other days. He began to relax a little. Yeah, but what about this problem with the girlfriend? Like, it's hard to explain the bruises? The chains? "I got a friend at school," Jamie said. "One. But he's sort of religious. We play chess on rainy days. That's about it. My parents think he's wonderful, of course. A good influence. His family goes to Dad's church. He's probably still there now, helping Dad with chairs and stuff after services. Like I should be doing. Fuck it!"

Gus moved up to Jamie and put an arm around the young man's shoulders before Jamie had a chance to even realize what was happening. To Jamie's surprise, that bit of affection felt so very good.

Jamie continued, not knowing what to do next. Now his own belt-loops had thumbs. "One time he, my friend, his name's Othel Goad, Christ, he says to me when our chess game is over, I usually win, he says: 'Don't you believe in God at all?' He said that because I'd just finished crawling his ass about how dumb it was to believe in a god who has hissy fits every time the people he created don't do as expected, you know, like, okay Gus, see that old hubcap over there with the weed growing through the air-valve hole? That one, with the purple flowers. Okay. So beautiful, right? I'm supposed to believe that the same dude who designed that unique plant has temper tantrums? So anyway, Goad says: 'Well, God's ways are mysterious.' And when he asked me if I believe in anything, I said: 'Yeah, but my god has a forked dick, like a possum.' Opossums have forked dicks, did you know that, Gus?"

"Yeah, I've seen it. So what did he say to that?" Gus was laughing. His arm was still around Jamie's shoulder and he suddenly removed it and looked at his hand. "If you're going to be struck down by lightening...."

Jamie felt proud. Two men. Four thumbs in four belt-loops. Father and son. "So Goad is naturally all upset that God should have a forked dick, much less a dick at all, so I explain: 'My god is mysterious, too, and I accept the forked dick part on faith.'"

Gus was nodding vigorously. "Right on, son! You're a smart kid! A lot farther along than I was at your age! Come on, I've got something for you!"

They turned and moved toward the rows of Korean War ambulances and six-by army trucks. The way to the dynamite shack! This was the only part of the junkyard which Jamie knew and the fear knifed its way back into his gut. He looked to the east where Jamie knew the yard ran all the way to the highway almost a mile away. The forbidden zone, no doubt. No sign of any house trailer. No sign of any beauteous, stunning girlfriend. The thought that Gus might have discovered his activities in the dynamite shack was coming down on Jamie full force. He could smell the oily fear in his armpits. The sun was warm now. Hot. And the whiff of his own odor assaulted him. Fear. If dogs could smell it, could another man? Jamie remembered the German Shepherd he had killed here. And now regretted.

"This place is so big!" Jamie marveled aloud. _Keep talking!_ "You could get lost in here!" They were walking slowly now, closer to the shack. "You should have a couple guard dogs running around!"

Gus stopped and Jamie was able to halt just out of reach again. He hoped Gus didn't notice that.

"We did. Somebody poisoned him."

"Yeah? That's right, I remember there used to be a dog in here would bark all the time when I was cutting the church lawn. At least I assumed he was in here. You can't see this place from the church for the trees. A little in winter when everything is bare. Maybe those colored people in the cabin next to the church yard did it."

"MayBelle and Leesa? Naw. Somebody poisoned their dog, too. Awful way to die. Cruel."

"MayBelle and Leesa?"

"Leesa is the daughter."

"Oh, yeah, you told me. The eating stuff."

"Right."

"No need to worry about me there, Gus. She's all yours."

"I wish." Gus held out a hand again for another handshake – another pact – and Jamie realized how serious Gus was about this. Don't ever forget it! Leesa is his!

Gus opened the passenger door of a six-by. It groaned and he had to give it a good, stiff shove to make room for his shoulders. He came out with a small box and handed it to Jamie. A picture of a girl wearing a headset was printed on the top of the box. She was wearing camouflage and there was a handgun in a holster on her belt. Under the picture was printed:

ActionEar

"Wow!" Jamie carefully opened the box and tried on the headset, the earphones. The booklet of instructions fell to the ground and Jamie picked it up. Gus handed him another carton.

"A directional microphone?"

"You aim it and it pulls in sound just from that area. If there's a real loud noise coming from there, like a gunshot or whatever, the unit automatically shuts that down for a second so you don't blow your eardrums out and scramble your brains. Otherwise it amplifies every sound."

"For me?"

"From Santa. At Christmas time I didn't know you well enough to give you anything then."

"Gus, I don't know what to say. I can keep it?"

"Yup."

Jamie had the headphones in his hands again and was looking at the control.

"Sophie has batteries. A whole carton of them. The batteries the old man had back here are no good anymore."

"It's okay with her if you give me this?"

"You'll be nice to her?"

"Well, of course!"

"Nothing in this world is of course, Jamie. Anyway, tell her you're helping me with her chair warrior."

"Chair warrior?" The necklace which Gus had been wearing tucked under his shirt had worked its way out and Jamie was staring at it. Colored beads on a greasy-looking cord.

"I'm building her a hot-rod wheelchair. All-wheel drive. Wait till you see it! I wish I'd thought of it when I first moved in here. What are you looking at?"

Your necklace. No gold chains stashed away in all this stuff here? That shoelace looks like it needs an oil change."

"Ha ha, yeah, well it's a bootlace. Big difference. The beads are more than two-thousand years old, though. Can't beat that."

Jamie leaned forward to get a closer look but Gus was turning away and Jamie had to follow him. They were heading back the way they had come. "Are we still going to your trailer?"

"Some other time, okay?"

"Sure!" Jamie was trying to stuff the headset back into the box while they walked.

"Go get some batteries."

"Before she rings?"

"She doesn't ring that much. She can do most things herself."

"Yeah? I should just go up there? Knock on the door?"

Gus did not answer. It was obvious he was escorting Jamie back to Sophia's place. Jamie thought: he doesn't trust me back here on my own, well, okay. For now.

When Sophia's trailer was in sight (it looked like a pretty cottage, really, with the tin roof which had been built over it and the large, wooden patio deck in back), Gus veered off to the east and headed down one of the rows. "See you tomorrow, maybe, Jamie." He stopped. "I'll put your part in the back of your pickup. The hydraulic slave-cylinder, right?"

"Yeah. I got school tomorrow. But maybe...."

"See you whenever, then. Take care!"

Jamie watched Gus walk away. Shit, there was a whole afternoon left, what's the hurry? He watched Gus turn around and wave, and point to Sophia's place. Jamie smiled, and swallowed, and waved back.

## Chapter 8

## Leesa & Brenda

They had decided after all to risk taking the diaries home.

"Wait!" Brenda said. "Let's stop and sit on that old bench by the cemetery and read some more. "Come on!"

They had been walking fast down through Jamie's closely-mown path – much nicer going than their narrow trail – Leesa with the two diaries clutched in one hand.

"It's Sunday, Peachlet! They be white folks amblin' aroun' here. We can read in my room. I promised Mama we'd be right back.

"Oh, so she's Mama again?"

"Well. I love her. An' she might be mine."

"I love her, too." Brenda's hair snagged on a low turkey-oak branch and she stopped in her tracks and tried to back up to free herself.

Leesa went to help her. After the snag was removed, Brenda patted her hands around her perm. "I feel a hair stickin' up."

"Don' be pokin' aroun' in it, girl! MayBelle can fix it."

"Mmmm-hmmmm...." They started out again and Leesa brushed off the leaves that had stuck to the diaries when she put them down. The new book was smaller but a little thicker, and had red, imitation-leather covers.

"But you don' love Peaches like I love MayBelle," Brenda said.

"Oh.... Maybe I do."

"She favors on you when you visit me. But I know, your real mama be hard to love."

"Real mama! Sure! Wouldn' it be funny if nobody really switch us at all an' they jus' started that rumor to get at Daddy?"

"Either way, the bitch deserve to die. The nurse. You don' see no black person try to hurt a stranger's feelins the way whitey do.

Leesa had to think about it. "No...."

"'Cause whiteys ain' never satisfied wif' their life, no matter how good, an' they take it out on us."

They were walking slowly now, and where Jamie's wide path neared their old trail they crossed over. There were things to decide before the cabin came into view. Like how to get the diaries past MayBelle.

"She's cool, you know, on the outside," Leesa said.

"Yeah.... Peaches be 'spicious on bofe' sides."

They laughed, stopping now because they were nearly there. The church steeple was already just visible through the naked trees.

"Bofe'!" Leesa mimicked.

"Both! Jeez, Leesa!" Suddenly all excited, Brenda went on. "That big white heifer Dorothy is spreadin' this joke about us all over town. You heard it? 'Bout the 'tographer?"

"Nooo...."

"Well, it go like this: our Daddy, he take us to New York City, an' we jus' dumb, country niggers, you know, so we don' know shit. So he drop us off to get our picture took – a portrait – you an' me together – so we's settin' there on this velvet bench an' the 'tographer tell us to hike up our dresses a little an' show some leg, an' we do, an' then he tell us to hike 'em up a little more, an' we do, an' then he tell us to unbutton the top buttons of our blouses, an' we do, an' then he get behin' the camera an' we be smilin' an' lookin' foxy an' the 'tographer he say: 'Now jus' gimme a minute while I focus'. An' we look at each other an' we say: 'Bofe' us?'"

"Yeah."

"You don' get it? Like the 'tographer say: fuck-us instead of focus."

"Oh."

"Leesa, you are a dumb-ass."

"Dorothy's sister Tina tol' me once it was their mama switch us."

"I know."

"An' she still work at the hospital, too. It ain' right. That one time when I tol' you I snuck some of MayBelle's whiskey, well, after I was drunk I was wantin' to go over there so bad, maybe even hitchhike, an' jus' walk up to the bitch an' ast her right out, like, are we switched? She work the evenin' shif'. In the 'mergency room. I could jus' walk right up to her."

"An' slap the fire outta her, the bitch!"

"But if she tol' me, then we still wouldn' know 'cause what she tol' me could be a lie, too!"

"I still think we should tell Daddy who we think it is."

"I bet he already know."

"He don' talk like he know which one. I know what she look like, too, you know, when she come by in that station wagon like her precious ugly little daughters can't be ridin' no school bus!"

"She afraid somebody rape 'em."

"Them? He'd have to be the coal-blackes' nigger in Africa to think white meat that ugly look good. But their mama, now, she always be painted an' wear that uniform to school jus' to show off, all that lipstick an' them white platform shoes. She jus' beggin' for a fuck. I don' see how Tina and Dorothy come out so ugly with her for a mama, though, know what I'm sayin'?"

"Our daddy's ugly an' we come out perfect!"

They laughed. Leesa said: "Daddy's not that ugly. Not real super bad ugly. Did Peaches get real serious when she tol' you not to tell Daddy which nurse? MayBelle sure was."

"Oh, child! She made me sit down after I tol' her what Tina said. She got out the Bible! I mean I had to place my chocolate-ass han's an' swear on The Book!"

"Yeah? I didn' have to swear no oath or nothin'. But she say if Daddy knew he'd go do somethin' stupid an' maybe beat the feathers off the bitch an' that's the last we be seein' of him!"

"Yeah." Brenda suddenly crouched down. "Shhhhhh!"

Leesa hunkered down beside her, clutching the diaries in both hands now. "I don' hear nothin'." She was still thinking about what her father might do to that nurse. Everybody in town knew that he'd killed a man at the lumber yard years back when the sisters were babies, but the victim was an enemy of the high sheriff and he called it self defense. It was something that often worried her, and something her father would never discuss.

"They's people comin'," Brenda whispered.

Leesa could hear voices now herself. With one look at each other they both jumped up and sprinted down the trail to their cabin.

MayBelle was poking her head out the front door when they ran up. Leesa barged past with the books and Brenda followed right behind her. Once in Leesa's room, the books were jammed under Leesa's pillow before MayBelle got to the doorway. She stood there looking in, her large, yellowish-tan arms folded over her ample bosom. "Mmmm-hmmmm!"

The two girls sat on the bed, facing her and breathing hard. Smiles on their pretty faces.

"You can smile the tar out of a mule's ass but you still look guilty."

"Mama," Leesa said. "They's a bunch of people goin' down to the old cemetery!"

"White people!" Brenda added. A little joke of theirs. Like, what other kind of people could you expect at a white church?

"They see you?"

"Noooooooo!"

"No, Mama."

"Let's go over there, all three of us. Scare the Jesus out of them!"

"Noooo!"

"Not me!"

"It's the perfect time to. They're in this get-together mood. The Methodists and the Lutherans. The white churches are losin' their ass. They need each other now."

"Losin' they ass?" Brenda giggled.

"Money. Members. They've been going downhill a long time. Preacher's family going to have to cut down on them Delmonico steaks."

"That's not what our preacher say," Brenda said. "He say the church be on the rise."

"That's because he got a black church with a good choir!"

"Mama, what you cookin'? It smell good!"

"Pork chops, mashed potatoes, Brussels sprouts, baked apples..."

"Daddy's eatin' dinner here?"

"You know it, Sis. Peaches do the same. We eat shit when Daddy's over at your place."

"Eat what?" MayBelle laughed and left the room. But she was back before Leesa could get over to shut the door.

"That boy," MayBelle said. "He mowed a big path all the way to the old cemetery. You see it?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Mama! You walked that far away from the house? You?"

MayBelle smiled and nodded her head. She was proud of them, the two of them so fine and looking up at her, their faces beaming. And they both called her Mama! She shut the door behind her this time when she went back to the kitchen.

"You forgot to get her to fix your hair," Leesa said.

"Later. We got importan' stuff to do here." But Brenda reached for the mirror on Leesa's night-stand and assessed the damage anyway, pressing down the stray hairs with her fingers.

Leesa spoke in a low voice. "I watch that boy sometimes, when he be cuttin' that grass in the summer."

"So?"

"I know he's white, but.... A white lawn boy, but he kinda strange."

"He look good? What you mean strange?"

"Well, like las' time, no, ever' time, he'll like get almos' finish an' then he cuts the mower an' he goes way back there to that old cemetery an' he don' come back for an hour!"

"So? Maybe he jus' layin' out on top of some old girl's grave. They's white folks get their rocks off on stuff like that."

"Oh, Brenda.... No, I mean, maybe he the man that chain up this Rachel."

"What? Like you said. Man! That don' mean no boy!"

"Well, he strong as an ant. He can pick up that mower an' sling it up in the back of his pickup like it was nothin'."

"Leesa.... 'Sides, in the book he be comin' back all the time emptyin' her pee an' bringin' her water an' stuff. Come on, let's read!"

## Chapter 9

## Jamie & Sophia

Jamie's heart was pounding when he stopped in the middle of Sophia's living-room. "Where are you?" he called. Her voice had sounded pleasant enough when he'd knocked on the front door. He looked around. The room was very neat. Normal in a way. A glass-topped coffee table, a couch, normal chairs for two-legged people, a VCR and a large TV. What was unusual were the huge windows – not the regular Hobbit-hole mobile-home fare. When Gus had introduced them earlier the two men had entered the building from the rear and gone straight to the lady's bedroom after knocking.

So Jamie stood there, paralyzed, looking up at the trapeze rings which had been pulled up out of the way and secured with clips.

"Come on, Jamie, down the hall!"

The hallway was different. Here the pairs of chrome-plated rings were hanging free, all the way down the hall. One of the rings bumped Jamie's head as he threaded his way through. The sound it made was pleasant as the metal circle bonged into its neighbor.

Sophia was still wearing the lacy, black-satin teddy and she still looked like the upper half of a mannequin sprouting out of the middle of her perfectly made-up bed. Her short, straight, black hair swooped forward on both sides of her face giving her a pixie look, and two, long, spit-curl sideburns added to the drama. To Jamie she looked like an evil pixie, no, a beautiful sorceress. Black, thick but pretty eyebrows. A perfect, ivory-smooth face and high cheekbones. Full, bright-red lips. Jamie made it to the footboard without stumbling. Trapeze rings hanging at various lengths above the king-size bed gleamed and twisted in the mid-day brightness.

Jamie tried to keep his eyes on her wonderful face. "Big windows for a trailer." He fidgeted with the two boxes in his hands.

"I've had this unit remodeled. It's really not a trailer anymore. Have you seen the bathroom? It's – unique."

Jamie raised his eyebrows for a second. "I'll bet!"

_Don't be a wise guy,_ he told himself. _Don't blow this._

"And wait till you see the bedroom porch!"

"We came in that way before, I think."

"No, that was the back porch. I'm talking about the bedroom porch deck, right here. With the hot tub."

Jamie looked toward the sliding glass doors to his left. "Where did you stay while they did all this? They must've torn out all the walls." Small talk.... His feet felt like they were glued to the floor.

"Right here! Scared hell out of them! Gus stayed with me during the day while they worked. He's so protective."

"He's not here now."

"Oh-ho!" Their eyes clashed. "He told me he likes you. And Gus doesn't like anybody. Well, he likes me, I guess."

"He should. You're beautiful." Jamie sucked in a deep breath and held it. In his entire, young life he had never told a girl, a woman, "You are beautiful." Now he'd just said it to a lady without legs. _Thank you, Mister Moonshine whiskey!_

"Ha! Thank you, Jamie! How old are you, if you don't mind."

"Seventeen. I'll be eighteen when I graduate this spring. How old are you?"

Sophia looked at him with a genuine smile. "Thirty-two. Going on thirty-three, of course."

"A beautiful thirty-two." Jamie nodded his head and tried unsuccessfully to keep his eyes away from an appraisal of her chest.

"They're nice and up-there from all this exercise I get swinging myself from my arms." She raised her arms, and her hands caught the two rings just above and behind her head. The satin teddy poked out nicely in front and Jamie swallowed. He denied himself a glance at how far the hem of the teddy had hiked up, and he hoped that she would not notice the swelling in his jeans – then he hoped she would. _Doesn't she know her nipples are showing through the lace?_

Sophia dropped her arms, and the rings above her twisted and flashed. She sat so straight! Her eyes fixed on his relentlessly, and Jamie flinched and had to look away for a moment. He wondered why her face was made up so, when here she was alone in an empty trailer. He tried to focus his attention on the sewing kit on the bed beside her and the two circles of dark velvet next to it. He was going to ask her what she was making but there was something else side-tracking his hormone badgered brain. The thick rope dangling from the ceiling, the end of it curled and resting on her other side.

"I understand the rings but what's the rope for? Is it okay if I ask stuff like that?"

"Oh, Jamie, you're so polite. And so tall! How tall are you?"

"Six-foot two." His actual height surprised everyone because of his slouchy ways.

"Oh! I love it! Gus is so, well, stubby. Oh, don't tell him I said that. Gus is beautiful. It's just that I'm so happy to have you here. But you're making me nervous with those boxes. Put them down somewhere, or.... They're not for me, are they?"

"A bionic ear and a long-distance microphone. Gus said I could have them. Is that okay?"

"If he said so, sure. The rope is so I can have a lazy way to pull myself back up if I fall over. Or fall off the bed. I exercise in here. What I need is to have about twenty pounds of lead implanted in the end of each stump so that you couldn't push me over! That way I'd keep on righting myself like a fishing bobber!" Her smile flashed white, gleaming teeth. Large, gleaming teeth between lipstick glossed gates. The Gates of Hell. Her teeth reminded Jamie of one of his mother's old fashion magazines. How he used to love to stroll through those pages! One page in particular: gorgeous models with their lips parted and flashing teeth. Pushy, flashy, up-front teeth. The page was headlined:

TEETH ARE SEXY!

Ever since that day – Jamie was fourteen then – he had been attracted to ladies with full lips and large, white, important teeth. No nibblers need apply.

He looked around and placed the boxes on the large, bedroom TV. "Two TV's. Two VCR's. Stereo speakers.... The good life!"

"Oh, yeah. Still waiting on satellite, a DVD." Sophia picked up one of the circles of black-velvet cloth she had been working on. "I'm sewing elastic on the inside edge so they don't fall off. Stump covers." She opened a little packet of sequins. "I'm going to sew these around the outside of the hem. No, maybe I'll sew them into designs. In the centers. Sexy, huh!"

"Try them on and I'll tell you."

"Smarty, they're not finished yet." Sophia made a pretense of checking the hem of her teddy to make sure it covered her all the way around. "The stumps are gross to look at. Not how short they are but the scars. I was thinking about having them tattooed but that would mean trips to a tattoo parlor. I don't want one of those guys coming here, you know?"

"I'll drive you. Anytime."

Sophia looked into his eyes again and this time Jamie did not flinch. Her gaze seemed so intent she seemed to be leaning forward into it. Her eyes were dark and bright, not unlike Gus's.

"You're not the least put off by any of this, Jamie?"

"Nope."

"Pretty good for a man so young. Well, how would you like to drive me to the dentist? The tats can wait. I'm overdue for a checkup but I don't think I really need one. How would you like to work for me? Well, wait, I don't really know you well enough to be jumping into that. We might not even get along."

"I don't see why not."

"Gus doesn't have a driver license. Do you? Do you have a job? Gus told me you have your own lawn care business."

"Yeah, well, that's pretty slow in winter. I have school five days a week. I'm available after school and on weekends."

"You a senior?"

"Yeah. I plan to go to FSU in Tallahassee next fall."

"Well, good!"

"I'll have the whole summer off but I'm supposed to be moving to Tallahassee to stay with my aunt as soon as I finish high-school. But I don't have to move there right away, well, yes I do, actually. My parents."

"Jamie, you don't have to put all your cards face-up on the table. You're sweet."

"What about Gus? What would he say?"

"Jamie.... First of all, I'm the boss here. Secondly, I can't get Gus to take me anywhere. He won't leave the place! He came drifting in here about three years ago and hasn't budged since. It's worked out well, but.... When he started to tell me about you I didn't expect anything to come of it. He doesn't make friends. The only time I've seen him talk to anyone is to warn them away. To tell them the salvage yard is closed, stuff like that. And he normally hates teenagers! Except for that girl he keeps back there, well, I guess she's past twenty by now."

Jamie sensed a chance to find out more. "What girl?"

Sophia had just returned to her sewing but she dropped it. "Shit."

"It's okay. I'm not a gossip. I don't have any friends, either. Not close friends."

Sophia patted a spot on the bed next to her. "Come here. Sit."

Jamie smiled and carefully sat down beside her, but on the edge. He eased himself down so his weight wouldn't depress the mattress and she wouldn't fall over.

Sophia stifled a grin at that. "No girlfriend?"

"I wish."

"Jamie, you don't exactly strike me as a shy type."

"Well I am. With girls."

"You don't seem to be shy now. Oh. Well, I guess you don't see me as a girl. That was stupid. Sorry."

Jamie quickly placed a hand over hers and was surprised by the rush he got from that. Her hands were at her sides, away from her body, buttressing her up. He took another chance and let his fingers curl around hers, forcing their way between her hand and the bedcover. He heard her take a quick breath, and their eyes found each other again.

"I'm nervous as hell," Jamie said. It was the truth, and easy to say. "My heart is pounding." He slowly lifted her hand and placed it against his chest. "See?"

"Oh, Jamie...." Sophia pulled her hand away and slid it up under his sweatshirt.

Jamie felt her warm, gentle hand crawl up against his chest and brush over his nipples. He wondered if she was disappointed that there wasn't much hair there. Her hand was Heaven and he let her fingers do the talking. When he couldn't stand the silence any longer he placed his own hand over hers again, pressing it against his chest through the soft material of the shirt. Suddenly she pulled away and took up her sewing, as if nothing had happened. Jamie swallowed hard.

"Go out on the porch. This one. Tell me what you think."

Jamie got up quietly and headed for the sliding glass doors. He tried to conceal his disappointment and hurt. There was a small table near the doors on the inside with a strange machine on it – a console about half the size of a microwave oven. It had a volt-meter on top of it and a dial. Emerging from the front was a cluster of wires with a small, red suction cup at the end of each one. He squeezed one of the suction cup bulbs. "What is this?"

"Later."

"This enquiring mind wants to know."

"Well, it would be perfect for The Enquirer! Are you ready for this?"

Jamie turned toward her, dangling the cable with the suction cups. "Shoot."

"You won't tell anybody?"

"Promise."

Sophia sighed. "Jamie. I have a nice ass. Guess how it stays that way. No legs for the muscles to work against, okay? Okay. Guess how I keep my butt nice and firm and toned up."

Jamie shrugged. "I don't know. Let's see it. Is it really nice? Is it fancy?"

"No. Yes! Okay. I take that machine and I stick the suction cups in all the right places and I electrocute myself with it. I turn the dial up until I can't stand the pain, the twitching, and I leave it on as long as I can stand it. It makes the muscles work against each other. Satisfied?"

"Not until you show me your ass."

"Don't be fresh. Now git!"

Jamie returned the wiring harness to the hook on the machine and slid back the door to the bedroom deck. "Damn!" The sun had moved just low enough that it's rays reflected off the water in the small pool. Jamie let out a low whistle. The pool was only about ten feet long but it was neat. A step down from the slotted deck. About four feet deep, and heated. Through the steam curling up from the surface Jamie could make out the whirl-pool jets on all four sides. "La Dolce Vita!" he shouted. "Yaaaaay-hoooooo!" The trapeze rings, hanging at various lengths above the pool, rang with the sound of his voice.

"That's my baby!" Sophia shouted. "My favorite toy, well, my most expensive toy."

A thick, white, nylon rope dangled down into the water from an arbor above the pool. "I can see it's expensive. And lo! TV set number three! The sweet life!" Jamie returned to the sliding door. "No telephone?"

"Fuck it, what for?"

"Yeah. But what if I want to call you and you're in your tub?"

"I'll get one installed. No, Jamie, I'm just kidding. All the phones here are hidden. See the cabinet beside the pool? There's one in there. And all the lines are underground so they can't be cut. That was Gus's little indulgence. He's so paranoid." Sophia patted the bed again. "It's kind of chilly out there. Close the door and sit. The pool is heated and once I'm in it doesn't matter what the outside temp is. But right now I'm not in there, so.... It's also a two people-er."

"So? Let's go!"

"Don't tempt me. Like you said before, I wish! You're so young."

Jamie was just turning to sit down beside her when three shots rang out. He had closed the sliding door but the shots sounded loud. Close. Jamie froze.

"That's probably Gus. We have this code. Three shots means he's just scaring some people off who can't read signs. Happens a lot on Sundays. If he's working on something he doesn't like to stop and run out to explain."

Jamie eased down beside her, sitting as close as he dared. He wanted to kiss her – at least a kiss on the cheek – but he was too chicken. He thought he could smell perfume which wasn't there before.

"You dabbed on some buck lure while I was looking at the pool."

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"You're right."

"For me."

"For me!"

Jamie let his eyes drop, but just for a second, to the tough-looking nipples poking through the lace. It was all he needed. He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. She knows what she's doing. He twisted around and put his arms around her and gave her another kiss on the same spot. Long and soft.

"Hmmmmmmmmm...." she said.

His eyes found hers but she quickly looked down. He looked down, too. He had expected her to be thick waisted and stubby but she wasn't. Before Gus had introduced them, he expected she would be dumpy looking. And all the rumors he'd heard about her had not led him to believe any differently. But how many local people had actually seen her? Now he found his hands roaming about her waist – that tiny waist – and over her tight tummy. His hands screamed to his brain to move them up.

Feel her tits!

His mouth screamed to his brain to kiss her lips.

Do it! Go for it!

Lay her down on her back! Suck on that mouth!

Now!

## Chapter 10

## Gus & Rochelle

Gus lowered the binoculars when he saw the girl in the leather jacket pull the man away, the two disappearing behind the army trucks. When he had first seen the suit he thought it was an EPA inspector snooping around – they hadn't been back for over a year – but Sophia insisted she had taken care of them. The chick looked like one of those Satanic cult groupies. Blond hair all hay-stacked out under a studded motorcycle cap. Gus pictured her breasts bare under the leather of the jacket. He pictured her spread-eagled on top of the high, mossy, stone slab on the Treadwell family sarcophagus in the old cemetery, the cultists holding torches and chanting; the priest advancing on her and slowly unzipping the black, dusty leather; the girl's creamy tits bursting forth and quivering at the tip of his gleaming knife.

"Back to Earth, Gus." Gus often spoke to himself when he was alone, which was most of the time. He turned and looked over to the thin wisp of smoke curling from the stovepipe above the shiny Airstream trailer he lived in. He had shut the wood-stove down before he left, but.... And he began to think about just how many people were finding out that he lived back in here – besides Jamie and Sophia. The worry deflated the erection which had crammed his jeans since he'd played the Satanic sacrifice movie in his head.

The people who bought the Norris place! That's who they are!

How did the idiots get in?

Gus decided to drop everything, check on Sophia and Jamie, and then walk the fence back there. Maybe better get the Jeep and drive the whole thing. In fact, it was time to go back to patrolling the perimeter fence every day like he used to when he first moved in. And it wouldn't hurt to bring along a good padlock to replace the one on the dynamite shack, too.

But first he'd check the wood-stove and get his carbine.

The woman in the bed next to the door poked her head out from under the covers and said: "What's going on?"

There was a pantyhose commercial blaring on the TV: a happy, suburban mother, seconds later shown to be wearing the preferred brand of pantyhose under her tweed pants-suit. A school bus was hissing to a stop and she was running up to it – quick and so nimble – to retrieve her happy-to-be-home children.

The girl in the bed said, "Oh, yeah, sure. Life in the normal world. Fucking bus load of squirmy monkeys. Look at 'um!"

The air-conditioner was running hard against the residual heat from the shut-down wood-stove.

"Gus, I wish we could have a baby."

"Uh-huh. Just stay inside and out of sight right now. I'll explain later."

Her eyes scrunched shut as he reopened the door, the slash of light brightening the nest of her small bed. "I have a choice?" She spoke with a New York, Jewish accent.

Gus looked at her, still the most beautiful and precious prize of his career. "No." He slammed the door and took the automatic carbine down the rows until he was about a city block away from his compound. Aiming up into the air and just slightly in the direction where he had seen the trespassers, he snapped off three shots. He hoped the damn slugs would fall back out of the sky and punch through the tops of their heads.

The echoes of the shots rang through the length and breadth of the salvage yard.

God I love this life! This place!

From off in the distance he heard two, metallic clinking sounds, like stones thrown at a frying pan. Well, two shots came down. On the dynamite shack roof maybe? Shit, he hoped they didn't hit the skylight glass! And he had left the radio control back there at the trailer when he picked up the gun. The radio control for Rochelle's collar. No, he'd left it when he went for the binoculars earlier. He was getting slack. He was going to lose his grip on the whole wad if he didn't tighten up his act soon. Like right now!

He sucked in a deep breath of the sun-warmed, fresh air and grease and hot metal ambiance of the junkyard. He was hungry, too. Scrambled eggs fried with bacon came to mind. The incongruity of Rochelle sacked out in bed in the middle of a sunny day struck home at the same time. Gus turned and headed back, the heels of his boots punching divots out of the greasy loam of the salvage yard grid. Lace-up, kangaroo-skin, Browning, upland game, one-hundred-and-twenty-plus dollar hiking boots, a gift from Sophia and the L. L. Bean catalog.

The TV was off when he returned and she had the covers pulled up over her nose and just under the eyes. Dark, dark irises shot through with glints of jade and hints of gold. Under thick, black eyebrows, her eyes followed his every move.

"I'm hungry," he said. He went to the bookshelf next to the television set where he'd accidentally left the radio control, and turned sideways so she could see him shove the unit into a back pocket. He lifted the tea kettle from the stove top. Full. He looked back to make sure her eyes were still on him. It was a small trailer, but classy. A genuine, twenty-eight foot Airstream "Land Yacht" – but with no dividing walls between anything. The bedroom/living area and the kitchen with the little gas range and the stainless steel sink and the antique, still working, antique Frigidaire. The wood-stove was his idea.

Gus grumped at her. "We never make more than two cups of coffee at a time so why do you have to fill the tea kettle? There's no sense heating up a gallon of water to make one fucking cup of instant coffee!" He lit a burner with a match and poured most of the water out into the wood-stove humidifier.

"I'm not your slave. I am Elissa."

"You're booty. Remember? What's your name?" As soon as he asked he regretted saying it. He didn't want to be that cruel and was glad she didn't answer.

"Sit up, Rochelle."

She struggled to sit up without letting go of the cover she was holding up to her nose. She sat very tall and erect, and her slightly-kinky, raven hair flowed over her naked shoulders and back.

Gus sighed. "You are so beautiful, Elissa. I'm sorry."

Elissa....

Christ! What next? Time to tighten up, Gus!

"I need to check your collar."

The lady pouted and lowered the cover to her shoulders. She held the cover with both hands, her long fingers. The cover was of soft, white flannel printed with little, tan teddy bears holding blue balloons on strings. Gus approached slowly so he wouldn't frighten her, and allowed in a breath of her fragrance. She lifted her chin while he turned the collar a little to get to the battery pack. Unclipping the small, 9-volt unit, he replaced it with a new one. Eveready brand because he liked the Energizer Bunny commercials.

The collar was made of thick, brown nylon and not very pretty. It was made for training dogs.

"Too tight?"

"No."

Rochelle's face was heavily but perfectly made up – something she enjoyed doing. Gus had to look away, even after their years together. If "gentlemen preferred blondes" then Gus was no gentleman. Rochelle was maturing into the exotic, heart-crushing, dark side of lust, a daughter of the Tigris and Euphrates. Nevertheless, Gus's stomach was growling louder than his balls.

"Bacon and eggs, scrambled, with toast and butter. Butter the toast while it's still hot. Slice the bacon small and fry the chips first."

When the tea kettle began to tick and groan, Gus poured himself a cup of instant. Maxwell House instant. It wasn't just because he had become used to the brand – he simply could not bear the silly names of the others. Before heading out with his coffee mug, he reached for the clear moonshine jug on the counter and knocked down a hit.

"I'll be back soon." With his free hand, he pulled out the radio control and extended the short antenna with his teeth. Locking eyes with her, he poised his thumb over the red button.

Rochelle's lips parted but she did not flinch. A real princess.

"Elissa, Queen of Carthage," he said, smiling, still holding out the control.

Her eyes followed him as he backed out the door. "You know it's true," she said.

The Jeep burst into life on the first crank, and he sipped on the coffee while the engine warmed up. It was an old Jeep, no top, and the engine didn't run properly until it was up to temperature.

"Like me," Gus said to the machine. _Plus a hit of good whiskey, a cup of strong coffee, bacon sizzling on the stove...._

"What more could a fugitive from justice ask for?"

The Jeep did not answer and Gus shoved the shift lever into first. The engine died and he had to restart it again.

A beautiful slave who goes down on you at the flick of a button.

A Jeep that cranks on the first flick of the starter.

Gus and the Jeep took off. He had forgotten to get a new padlock for the dynamite shack but he could take care of that later.

## Chapter 11

## Jeremy & Julie

Jeremy and Julie raced across the powerline right-of-way, Julie catching up with her father just as they reached the woods on the other side. Slowing to a walk in the chilly darkness of the path, Jeremy was not surprised to hear that Julie's breathing was a lot more labored than his own.

"God, Dad, we could've been shot!"

"Well.... It sounded more like a warning to me. No bullets whizzing by."

"Next time we'll come at night."

"Next time hell!"

"Sandy will love this stuff. You going to get her high when she comes?"

"Julie...."

"She'll be putty in your hands. She'll be putty in my hands."

"Julie, reefer is to make you happy to be where you're at."

"In your arms."

"No, that's what alcohol is for."

"You going to get her drunk, too?"

"Julie...."

"Just trying to relate. Share."

"'Okay."

They got to a little clear place near the top of the hill. So pleasant and quiet. Squirrels. A hawk swooping overhead. Dry, pungent pine straw to sit on.

"Let's roll one right here, Dad. Rest for a minute."

"No papers."

"Dad, I always have papers."

"Semper paratus."

"What?" Julie shoved a pack of JOB 1.5's under her father's nose. "Here. You roll us one. I want to see how good you can do it."

"Think I can't?"

Julie shrugged her shoulders. "You used to do it when I was little but I wasn't watching then."

Jeremy hunkered down and leaned back against a big, rough-barked loblolly pine. After carefully pulling out a single sheet of the thin paper, he creased it from end to end and held it out while Julie crumbled in a bud. God, that sharp, sweet smell! Where had all those wonderful days gone? "Up in smoke," Jeremy said.

"What?"

"Be here now."

"Dad, you're not making any sense."

Jeremy wanted to say: Did I ever? But he kept silent. He was going to bond with his kid. Very important.

And get high for the first time in years.

On my new place. My land.

And see how it will look and feel for Sandy when she gets high tomorrow.

But somehow, seeing his own daughter hunching over the lit joint cupped in her hands, her eyes squinting shut, her lungs sucking in and holding, it just didn't seem right.

## Chapter 12

## Leesa & Brenda

Before the girls could settle down on the bed together with the two diaries there was a gentle knock on the door and MayBelle came back in. "Brenda. Your daddy say when he comin' back?"

"Nooo...."

"Mama, can you turn up the heater? It's gettin' chilly." Leesa looked to her window where the sun was getting lower and streaming in with its golden, late-afternoon glow.

"It ain't chilly standing over the cook stove. You're cold because you ain't doin' nothing. You go on out and fetch in s'more firewood."

This time MayBelle left the door open.

"Hey, Sis," Brenda said. "It's okay. I'm the nigger at my house. Come on, let's get it over wif'. Then we can read as long as we want."

Leesa got up. "Dorothy an' Tina say they never have to do chores. You b'lieve it?"

"Fuck 'em! Honky heifers. Fat an' flat, that's them! Hell, we don' weigh half as much an' we got nice tits already."

"Brenda!"

"Well, what's wrong? You got the same tits I got! They perfect. They jus' right!"

"I don' go talkin' about 'em."

"An' they ain' no silicone jobs, neither!"

"Brenda...."

They were both standing now, facing each other.

"Leesa? You're jus' like your mama. Peaches can do all kin' of bad shit but when somebody's lookin' she can fart bluebirds."

"Brenda, that's enough!" MayBelle hollered from the kitchen.

Brenda put a hand over her mouth and grinned, and Leesa giggled with her.

Brenda spoke lower. "Tina was sayin' one day that her mama, after she got her boob job, she wen' back an' had silicone 'jections under her nipples to make the nipple stan' out. You b'lieve that?"

"I don' hang aroun' when them white fren's of yours be talking jive. I don' hang aroun' wif' them no how. Period. They don' care about us. We jus' niggers an' tha's that!"

"Fuck 'em!"

"But you hang wif' 'em at recess an' stuff."

"Jus' to listen!"

"So tell me about the silicone nipples," MayBelle said. Neither of the girls had seen her come back to the doorway. "Well? They inject it in with a needle or what?"

"Oh, Mama," Leesa said.

"Peaches say a man's a fool for a good nipple," Brenda said.

Leesa brushed her way past MayBelle. "Firewood."

Brenda followed her out. As soon as they were on the front porch they started giggling and laughing. They walked over to the woodpile, and Leesa went for the barrow. "Long as I got help, I wants to bring me in a load!" She parked the wheelbarrow next to the chopping block and they both began to stack into it the wood their father had split.

"My nipples stan' out stiff," Brenda said.

"Mine, too."

"Peaches do, too, but she ain' got no tits. She say, if you got a nipple a man can get a grip on, that all you need. I'm glad I got both'."

"Bofe'!" They began to giggle again.

"Yup! Bofe' us!"

More laughing.

"Wood!" MayBelle yelled from the porch.

"She mad about somethin'."

"She was okay before. She jus' nervous 'cause Daddy might not show up for dinner. Him an' Peaches is havin' a time wif' me gone, I bet! Him bein' off on Sunday."

"Peaches got a collar on Daddy," Leesa said. "I figure he stay here one day for every two wif' you guys."

"Not that much. But when Peaches want somethin' – ooooooooh! One time when she was anglin' for a new washin' machine I was 'spose to be in bed an' I got up to hit the baf'room an' there's Mama cuttin' down the hallway – your mama, mind you – an' she turn an' saw me. She was sportin' these spike heels an' this ole timey hose, you know, wif' the seam down the back? An' this red garter belt, and she have this skimpy red bra on, ohhh, an' she give me this hateful look 'cause I seen it. But she got her washer!"

"MayBelle say Peaches be anglin' for a new car now."

"MayBelle's a bargain. No telephone bill. She don' even drive!"

"A bargain for Daddy. I can' go nowhere 'less Daddy's here to take me."

"Peaches don' take me nowhere. Hey! We was 'spose to figure out about the Community Center dance, 'member? Daddy won' let you go, neither, right? He bag my boom-box on a curfew, too!"

"My stereo's broke," Leesa said. "The red light don' even go on. I think Daddy done somethin' to it 'cause the other day when he was over I had my Cameo tape crank up an' I come outta my room an' I seen Daddy sittin' there at the table an' I thought, oh shit, now he gonna tell me to turn it down, you know, but he didn' even make a face so I lef' it jam. I mean the nails was workin' outta the woodwork! Nex' day it wouldn' play."

"Daddy don' dare fuck wif' mine 'cause Mama play it. When he not home. Mens don' like no kinda comp'tition."

MayBelle yelled from the porch. "Firewood!"

"I'll run a couple sticks up to her," Brenda said. "You fill the barrow."

Leesa watched her half-sister amble toward the cabin, and wondered what Brenda saw in the community dances. Who was there to dance with? The white boys would walk right past the two of them like they weren't even there, and the brothers were slim pickings at best. Marty was okay, but he was in love with that high-yellow bitch, Kara. Leesa shivered, but instead of picking up wood she just stood there. She held an arm out in the golden, waning sunlight and her skin appeared to be darker than ever. "Somebody cranked out all them light-skin niggers!" She'd heard another, darker girl at school say that one day. White men fooling with black girls. Everybody knew it was happening but when? Where? Why? And whenever MayBelle would tell her how pretty she was Leesa could only think about black men always wanting their women to be lighter than them. Like Daddy. So what did that leave for her? A black, black man. Or a white husband one day – possibly. One of those yuppies. Bringing his business friends home with him for dinner some nights, Leesa embarrassing him with her dumb, country manners. She'd pictured it a thousand times. Then she'd picture herself single, her own career, New York, Atlanta.... Who needs a man? In her dreams she was a college graduate! But who would teach her how to drive a car? What would happen to her if she got lost in the big city? Or got sick? Who would she call? Maybe she'd meet a nice black man in college. Maybe a nice Spanish guy! (But no, she'd heard some bad things about them). Brenda was always saying she would find her man in college, not here. And he would be black. Black is beautiful! Oh, yeah.... Well, that Gus that took care of Miss Sophia, now he had eyes for Brenda. For both of them. She could tell. It was so obvious that sometimes when they went on the road past Sophia's place, just walking or riding bikes around, they'd see him staring and smiling, and they would try to hold back their giggles until they were out of sight. So maybe the white boys at school just had to pretend they didn't like colored girls so they wouldn't be hassled by the white girls. And that's why white girls tried so hard to get a sun tan.

White girls....

Leesa tried to picture herself white. Long, blond, straight hair. Silky-smooth, soft, long hair. She tossed her head to flick it out of her eyes, the golden fleece swirling about her shoulders. She pictured setting the supper table for Gus, flicking her hair back out of the way with a toss of the head as she set his plate before him, his eyes cutting up to her with a smile, the dark five-o'clock shadow on his distinguished looking jaw...

"I seen you toss your hair!" Brenda screamed. She laughed and gave Leesa a hug.

"Tossing my hair?" Leesa's heart was speeding. She hadn't seen Brenda return.

"Your blond curls!"

"Blond curls?"

"Come on! We're twins! I know you! Besides, I do it myself. Sometimes. I ain' hankerin' for white as bad as you, but...." Brenda laughed again.

"It was blond and straight!"

"Oh. Yeah. Straight. And soft!" They both laughed as they hugged each other.

They turned and waved to MayBelle, who was on the porch again, hands on her hips, wondering what they could be talking about.

"I love her," Leesa said quietly. "If she my real mama or not."

"I know. I know 'zackly."

They began to fill the wheelbarrow one stick at a time. It seemed that the older they got the more they were getting to see each other, visit, and the more they were able to share. It was a beautiful time.

"I was picturin' married to that Gus," Leesa said, after a long silence. She stood still, tensed, and held her gaze on her half-sister.

"I done that. I thought you liked Bubba on them Heat o' Night re-runs on TV."

"Sure, but Bubba's not real. I mean, a deputy like him in a little bottom-out southern shit place like this?"

"Sure! I b'lieve it. There's white mens like him. For real."

"They ain' 'zackly bustin' outta the woodwork. I thought you liked that new Tibbs they got, whatsisname, the new black-ass detective."

"Oh, yeah, well.... You know who I miss? Tubs on Miami Vice. I keep on hopin' they re-run it again. Philip Michael Thomas, I love you!" Brenda sighed, her eyes looking off into the distance. "Peaches love 'im, too. She tol' Daddy one time an' it piss 'im off."

Leesa shouted: "Alan Autry, I love you!"

"Girl? Hey, come on, we got diaries to read!"

The two of them began to hustle. When they finally made it back and had all the firewood neatly stacked inside, MayBelle informed them that they had only fifteen minutes before dinner. Whether their father made it in time or not. In seconds the two girls were in Leesa's room sitting side-by-side on the bed, Marylyn's red diary between them. They picked Marylyn's first because they had discovered there was hardly anything in it, and to finish Rachel's would take forever.

## Chapter 13

## Jamie & Sophia

"You ever see that movie?"

Jamie could not answer right away. Sophia was still sitting where he had left her. Sitting up like a fireplug in the middle of her bed, still in his embrace. His arms and hands paralyzed while his lust demanded he feel her up. Explore.

"What movie?"

"You hollered La Dolce Vita a minute ago."

"Oh. Yeah."

Feel her tits!

She'll probably let you!

Sophia found a way to give him a gentle shove – away – without falling over backwards. She pretended to be unperturbed. "Where does a boy get to see a Fellini movie like that here in the Redneck Triangle?"

Jamie obediently broke contact. His ears burning, he looked away from her and straightened up. He looked out through the glass, sliding doors. "My mother, well, she belongs to this foreign film club. The tapes come in the mail. In plain, brown wrappers – little, priceless boxes – but you know this fucking hick post office – they probably sneak a look."

"Priceless?"

"Oh, Sophia, if I ever have to thank Mom for something, it's that. Those foreign movies. I've never had a chance to go anywhere, but I can still remember the exact minute I saw the first one on the VCR. It was like I was seeing another planet! Dad hates for Mom to get them, though. To spend money on them. He hates the club. The movies they send." Jamie was having a hard time speaking and trying to remember the feel he had just had of Sophia in his arms for the first time. He wanted that memory to last forever, too. Somehow he knew it would. "He threatens to divorce Mom over it. She calls the movies her window on the world. He's a preacher."

"Gus told me. So when does she watch the tapes? With him?"

"When Dad's not around. She has this old VCR that can only play, not record. She keeps it out of sight most of the time. Anyway, I caught her last year and she had to let me in on it." Jamie shook his head and smiled. "Sophia, you just don't know what that did for me, seeing that first, weird, foreign movie!"

"Sophie."

"Sophie." Jamie decided against turning around and grabbing her and throwing her down. "She has all the Ingmar Bergman movies, all the Fellini, some of the Kurosawa. The classics, she calls them. The first one I saw was Juliette of the Spirits. Picture this: I'm sitting in my parents' dark bedroom in a chair with my mother propped up on the bed and this foreign flick comes on the screen – Dad was at Wednesday night prayer meeting which Mom refuses to go to – and..."

"Good for her!"

"...this movie comes on in Italian with these English subtitles running across the bottom so you can tell what they're saying, and I'm thinking: God, this is going to be boring!" Jamie hoped that Sophia would understand. He needed her to understand. Suddenly he felt her hand at the nape of his neck, her fingers probing the thick curls there, tugging, smoothing....

"Go on."

"Well, it wasn't five minutes and I forgot I was reading what they were saying. It was like I could understand what they were saying – the Italian – the movie was that good. I was in a different world! I didn't say a word through the whole thing. I don't remember Mom saying anything, either. (Jamie wanted to add: She's really kind of neat!) And when it was over it took a while to realize that this country, Italy, these Italian people, these Fellini people, are right here! On Earth! Our planet! I just didn't know it before! Italy was just a word before. You know something? After that movie I was a changed person. I was a new man! I haven't been the same since!"

Jamie turned on the bed and faced her again. She reached out and took his hand in hers and pulled it toward her, resting it in her lap but keeping hold of it.

"I know that sounds dumb, Sophia – Sophie – and if I'd seen that movie in a theater around here with kids from school the effect might have been different – not that they'd ever show a Fellini movie here – well, and the next one I saw with Mom was Through a Glass Darkly. Ingmar Bergman. Sweden. Then Fellini's 8 1/2. Same thing. Total revelation! More new worlds! Ideas! How much do you think I've missed being born in this hick county, no cable TV, stupid schools with teachers who were born here, too. The first sixteen years of my life and all I saw was dirt roads and log trucks and the weather report and peanut and soybean prices. And programs like Cheers! But, when I was a kid, Miami Vice! Oh! But then I never thought Miami Vice was real. Now I think it is. The beautiful city. The beautiful people. The different ways! Now I know it is!"

"It is. I lost my legs there."

"Huh? Oh, Miami?"

"I lived there. I was born there. Jamie? I saw 8 1/2. I know what you're talking about. I saw Cinema Paradiso. I know what you're talking about. And now I know why Gus said you were okay."

"Cinema Paradiso! I love it! So great!"

"Jamie? You're beautiful."

"You're beautiful."

There was a long and eventually awkward silence. Jamie wanted to have Sophia in his arms again but she had shoved him away after the first time. And the more he hesitated now the more paralyzed he became. But he could picture himself doing it: leaning over and pulling her to him, laying her down, pushing her over backwards, pressing her down and hugging and kissing her. Running his hands up under her nightie....

"I – liked – Satyricon a lot. maybe the best. I can still see the ending!" Jamie's voice faltered from the force of what he had just imagined. "Did you see that one?"

"No...."

"I'd sure love to see it again. I watched it with Mom, too – she'd already seen it once before and wasn't too keen on letting me watch that one – but we finally saw it together and, oh, god, it was so beautiful. And eerie! It made me horny, too, which was embarrassing because Mom was right behind my chair sitting on the bed. Dad would shit if he saw Satyricon. I tried to see it again, by myself, but Mom said she lent it out. I don't believe it. The ending! God! I actually cried but I don't know why."

"Satyricon?"

"Yeah. By Fellini. I know why. Because at the end everybody turns into these frescos and their eyes are staring out of the plaster at you. Now, every time I see an art book or history book picture of a fresco and these people are looking at me from that wall I know they're real people. Trapped in painted plaster. Trapped in death."

"Jamie! Seventeen!"

"My favorite foreign movie is Japanese. Dodes Kadén. Kurosawa. Mom keeps it locked up because it's a pirate tape. Not available."

"Jamie, hand me the phone. Slide back that door under the bed. Next to your feet. There. Just pull it out."

Jamie bent over and pulled out an ivory colored keyboard with a handset on one end. He watched her squirm her ass around to get a better balance. She tapped at the keys and a number came up on the little screen. An 800 number. She punched a function key and waited. "I want to order a movie. Yes, VHS." There was a pause. Sophia looked at Jamie and smiled. "Satyricon." Another pause. "Fellini's Satyricon, yes. You have it? Good! Let me punch in my account number. Ready?" Sophia beeped out the number on the keyboard. "Got that? Okay! Thank you!" She hung up.

"Thank you, Sophia!" Jamie moved close to her and encircled her with his arms and she went down backwards with her arms around him and he laid his head against the scratchy lace over her breast and he could feel the tears coming but he didn't know why. He let the tears flow, rubbing his eyes into that lace, so wonderful, rubbing his eyes closed, wet eyes into the nipple poking through, and then he raised up a little and pulled the satin teddy up and laid his head back down between her breasts, his hands cupping the sides of them, his sobbing out of control now but he knew it was okay.

LATER: Jamie let himself out quietly, hoping Gus was not around. He didn't think he could handle a conversation with anyone just now, especially one with Gus asking about Sophia.

The man was nowhere in sight. Jamie suddenly remembered he'd left his new ActionEar in the bedroom. Shit! He still needed the part for his pickup, too. Now he would have to add brake fluid for the hydraulic clutch, and then stop every few miles on the way home to add more. If there was enough brake fluid in the bottle to make it home.... School tomorrow – no time to fix it then. Good excuse to come back here, though. And get batteries for the ActionEar.

All of these thoughts were trying to push their way through the movie in Jamie's mind of Sophia. She was everywhere in front of him. Her beautiful face. Her warm, hot, wet lips. Her pokey tits. Her whispers in his ear. Her hands and her fingers and...

The hood of his pickup raised reluctantly with a dry groan. The clutch cylinder was clean, the filler cap shiny, the tubing running down to the slave-cylinder a gleaming, cadmium-plate yellow. Gus had changed the whole works! Jamie slowly unscrewed the filler cap. Full. The fluid was clean, and full! This is great, Gus! Jamie looked around and slammed the hood down with a crash.

The sun was low, just clearing the treetops. Jamie took what he called "the scenic route" home. About ten extra miles on an old, narrow, macadam road that used to be a big deal back in the old logging and turpentine days. Now just a meandering tour past occasional hundred-year-old houses and collapsing barns and a house trailer here and there set back from the road, wash-lines flapping, wood-smoke curling from crooked stove-pipes shoved through missing windowpanes, sleepy dogs perking up their ears as Jamie's pickup rattled by. Shadows as the road cut through low hills, the orange-gold glow streaking across the road through the wetlands. Jamie gloried in the sure and steady purr of the six-cylinder 223 engine, fourth gear, the mud-grip tires singing.

"Thank you, Heavenly Father!" Jamie shouted it out through the open window, cool, brisk air blasting in. He had not thanked God for anything in years. "No more practically a virgin, Gus!" He pounded his fist against the outside of the door panel. "High on life!" he yelled. "Yaaaaaaaay-hoooooooooooooooooooooo!"

High on life. Jamie hated that phrase. It always sounded suspect. It was bullshit. And the look of the people promoting it. Believers. This is the way I wish it could be, so this is the way it is. Grasping at straws. People who were compelled to wear neckties. People who sprayed their hair brick hard and fastened it down over their foreheads. People who drooled at the corners of their mouths when they were witnessing for Jesus. People like his dad.

"I am high on life," Jamie repeated, only quietly this time. He remembered the joint he had rolled, waiting for him where he'd stashed it in a finger of one of the greasy, leather work gloves resting on the dashboard. Get high, drive home at sundown with the stereo blasting, dinner tasting so good even with his father sitting right there across the table, Jamie trying not to grin all the time, his mother bitching about whatever was on the preacher's wife bitch agenda for the day. Trying to make her husband pay.

Jamie declined on the reefer, and shook his head at the revelation that he wasn't even interested in it. His head began to nod with a silent tune. "High on life!" to no one in particular. "Surprise, surprise!" He slowed the pickup down to forty. "Now I'm a Sunday driver, too! Oh, Lord, forgive me, you know how I used to hate them! No hurry, right? Maybe a little late for supper, but so what!?" But Jamie's stomach was growling and he was a man now and his mother's cooking was always good, no matter how unhappy she was with her parsonage life.

He wondered what Sophia would be doing about supper. Was Gus back in there? Taking her to the bathroom while some frozen dinners warmed in the microwave? But she had told Jamie that Gus usually ate supper with his girlfriend but would sometimes sit with Sophia before going back to his own place. Jamie tried to picture Gus's girlfriend, whoever that could be, and drew a blank.

"Sophia," Jamie said softly. "Sophia.... Sophia Loren. Lorén.... I love you, Sophia!"

After parking at the side of their little, white, clapboard house, which sat alone on an acre of woods and closely cropped grass, Jamie did a hop, skip, and stomp on the back-door mat before heading in. His father's car was gone but Jamie had seen through the kitchen window that the table was set and waiting.

"Hi, Mom!" Jamie sucked in a deep breath and smiled. Mingled with the aroma from the stove, Jamie thought he caught a whiff of Sophia's perfume. On his sleeve? He brought up an arm to his nose.

"Baked chicken," his mother announced. She gave him a funny look and sniffed. Jamie walked up to the stove and put an arm around her. She seemed so old and thin and bony suddenly and that surprised him. She wasn't quite forty yet. Bony.... He reached around her and lifted one of the pot lids.

"English peas and fried bacon chips." She did not try to wiggle out of his embrace and Jamie wondered why he didn't do that more often. With his free hand he was going to lift the cloth over the basket at the side of the stove but she slapped his hand away. "Now git! Homemade steak fries."

"So when do we eat?" Jamie broke away and was about to sit down.

"Wash up first. Jamie? Are you high on something?"

"On life."

"Oh, sure. Jamie? What did I tell you about smoking that stuff before coming home?"

"I didn't. Really! I swear! Mom, I'm straight!" As he spoke, Jamie realized he had forgotten to get more whiskey, too. Even though Gus would grumble, he'd always give Jamie a little shine to tide him over until the next visit. "Surprise, surprise," Jamie said aloud.

"Well, you're doing something."

Jamie headed for the bathroom, humming the background music for the old hooker scene in 8 1/2. It was a happy, Italian revel of a tune and Jamie loved it. He began to whistle it. A hint, for his mother, but she didn't get it.

"Jamie!"

Mood swings. The warning signs of drug abuse!

Jamie turned and faced her, his hands on his hips. He was grinning. He was grinning like he did whenever he was high on grass, and he could almost see himself. "Mom? I'm in love." He turned away quickly and went down the hall. "Don't tell Dad. Please!"

He considered a quick shower but that would signal to his mother that he'd just had sex. Well? No.... After drying his face Jamie leaned into the mirror over the sink and stared at himself – that grin still there. "No – longer – practically – a virgin."

He struck poses: looking tough and mean, looking innocent, looking suave. It was hard to look suave with a peach-fuzz mustache. But Sophia had liked it. She said she did. She had run her little finger over it, the painted nail, gently, remarking at the reddish tint which contrasted with his blond hair.

He had done some exploring of his own.

"Look all you want to," she said, "but don't look at the ends of my stumps." But Jamie was in love. Everything he saw was wonderful and the scars were Sophia's scars. After he had undressed in front of her, just kissing her would have kept him high for a month. And all of his boyhood fantasies and questions: How do you get a girl to let you feel her tits? What do they really feel like? He had always known that they would feel good. Like nothing else on Earth! Jamie, so many times before while taking a shower, pulling his shoulders forward and trying to hunch up enough of a male breast to squeeze and rub and test. And here was beautiful Sophia, lying on her back with that dreamy smile on her face, letting him squeeze and knead and probe, letting him mash his face into them. Letting him pull on the long nipples with his teeth and lips, kissing, sucking. "Harder, Jamie, harder! You can't hurt them!" Watching her flip onto her stomach, her chunky ass sticking up in the air. "Did you think I was a turtle, Jamie?" Laughing. So wild! "You thought that once on my back I was helpless?" Jamie kissing and biting her bottom, squeezing the muscle of it, running his hand in between and exploring there. His brain suddenly shouting to him to slow down, that he didn't really know what to do next, and his erection dying, shriveling, at the thought!

"It's okay, Baby."

Baby....

No girl had ever, would ever, call him "Baby."

Baby, lie down on your back. There. Now close your eyes and pretend you are in the Garden of Eden. Oh, Jamie, it has been so long. And you are so beautiful.

Now Jamie, at home, still standing in front of the mirror, played the Garden of Eden movie over and over in his head. His eyes scrunched shut and he shivered.

From a distance: "Jamie? Are you all right?"

"Yeah, Mom. Coming!" Pun intended!

His mother was in the hall, right outside the door by the time Jamie emerged from the bathroom. "I'm sorry, Jamie, but you were in there so long, you know, you're my only child. The first thing I thought was: Is he shooting up in the bathroom now?"

"Oh, Mom, no way!" He gave his mother a real hug. A "full-length" hug as she used to call them before he grew out of such things. "Mom, I told you, I'm in love. I'm so bad in love I can hardly stand it!" Jamie felt a tear coming but this time he was able to buck up and regain his poise.

After his father drove up, Jamie and his mother sat silently at the table while the preacher washed up. Jamie had to smile when he remembered what had been suspected when he was in the bathroom himself. And he recalled the exquisite exploration of Sophia and finding no needle marks. "Where do you get your shots? Your insulin? Do you give them to yourself?" Sophia had looked so surprised. "I don't have diabetes. Oh! The county nurse told me about that fucking rumor. Assholes!"

He remembered going back to her after dressing, and leaning over and kissing her one more time, nudging her breasts with his nose and lips, kissing her again one more time. Telling her he loved her.

His mother's hand reached across the table and touched his. "Who is she?" she whispered. Jamie jumped. Back to reality. But Sophia is reality! He looked at his mother's weathered face. She looked tense. She was bracing herself for the answer.

"I can't tell you yet. Well, I could, but I...." He shrugged. "Not today, okay?"

"Oh, Jamie, why not? She's not married, is she?"

"No. You don't have to worry about that, Mom."

_You'll love her, Mom_.

Dad sure as hell won't!

When we go grocery shopping, she can ride on my shoulders and hang onto my headband. My neck is going to smell like pussy for the rest of my life!

His mother seemed reassured by Jamie's sudden smile and she relaxed a little. The Reverend Newsome plunked down at the head of the table, coatless, tie loosened. He bowed his head and folded his hands and closed his eyes. Jamie and Mrs. Newsome followed suit.

"Dear Heavenly Father, we thank Thee for Thy endless bounty. Keep us, we pray Thee, ever mindful of Thy love and grace. In the name of Jesus, Thy Beloved Son. Amen."

"Amen," Mrs. Newsome said, lifting her head and opening her eyes.

Jamie's lips moved silently, head still bowed. And I thank Thee for the only Sunday I ever enjoyed. The best day of my whole life. Please watch over her while I am away. "Amen," Jamie said. He looked up. His father was staring at him and frowning. Wondering. Suspicious. Jamie's mother was looking at him with a loving smile.

Jamie smiled back at her and then at his Dad. "Endless bounty?"

"Don't start! I'm not in the mood!"

Mrs. Newsome was up, dishing out the spuds and peas. She had already carved the chicken. The Reverend got all white meat. She served up what was left of that and added a drumstick to her own plate and to Jamie's. "You could try to get home for supper on time," she grumped as she went along. It was her thing to do this at supper, every night, because Newsome was late for supper every night.

Jamie looked at the drumstick. All he could see was Sophia's firm, chunky ass sticking up in the air while she lay on her tummy. "I wonder why The Lord didn't make chickens all white meat," Jamie said. He turned to his dad while his mother shook her head. "I wonder why He didn't make people all white meat."

But Newsome wasn't taking the bait. He was hungry. He would remember everything Jamie said and nail him to a cross later. After dessert.

Jamie saw his mother's face fall and realized why. Tell her, what the hell! "Don't worry, Mom, she's not black."

Mrs. Newsome nodded, and smiled, but The Reverend was completely in the dark. "You always insist that I'm prejudiced when I'm not. There are some colored who are very nice."

"Oh, yeah, some. But all white people are, right? Never mind." Jamie shut up when he saw his father begin to rise up out of his chair. He was a big guy, in fair, middle-age trim, with a craggy, handsome face that often reminded people of Billy Graham in his younger days.

"Sorry, Dad." Jamie took a tearing bite out of the browned-to-perfection drumstick.

And the lamb shall lay down with the lion.

And the man shall lay down with the chicken, and cook it.

And devour it.

"Mmmmmm! Good, Mom! Thanks!"

## Chapter 14

## Leesa & Brenda

"She write like a dumb kid." Brenda squirmed her ass closer to Leesa. "I do better when I was five year ole!"

"The man don' like it neither. He make her write stuff over. See where the page is tore out?"

"Where she learn grammar?"

"Where did she learn grammar?"

"Hey, Leesa, lighten up. I know the difference. I can switch on the whitey anytime, okay?"

"How can I lighten up readin' this? God!"

_I aint had to eat since he bring me. Now I got to start this over and I got to go to the bathroom outside nakid with this chain. He said I better not pee on the chain. I have to write this down too. If I dont write it all I dont get no food_ and no water.

"He made her cross out the no water," Leesa said.

"Can we start at the beginning?!"

"May we." Leesa flipped to the middle of the book, which was blank, and started to page back for the last entry of the new diary. Brenda slapped her hand down over the pages.

"Leesa! Let's do it like we promise'! Like Rachel's! Read it like a mystery, okay? From the beginning?"

"Okay.... I jus' wanted to see if she still alive."

Brenda snatched the book out of her hands. "From the beginning! Okay. Firs' page's ripped out an' she had to start over, see? Okay. Now no cheatin'!"

Start over. OK. No last names he said. My name is Marylyn. I am going to be thirty soon but the people at the church say I look much younger still. I belong to the Triumph Deliverance Holness Church.

"She don' know how to spell holiness."

"She don' know how to spell her own name!"

"Some have two Y's. I seen it."

"She sign the bottom of this page," Brenda said. "Then she put a dot after it. Dumb."

"Is that all you care about?"

"She dead by now. Got to be. Turn the page."

"You think she's white? Or black."

"I picture her white. I didn' even think about it. Turn the page!"

"Another page missing." Leesa ran a finger down the rip, then pulled her hand out of the way so they both could read.

He is back. He is watching me write this and he yells out spellings. He says I leave out stuff. Start this page over.

_When he came back he made my bed. He made me stand in the corner_ nakid _naked. Then he took me outside and my eyes hurt it is so bright. It is warm out. He took me down a path in this junk yard. I see a Ford Pinto but it is red. My daddy has a blue one. The windows are missing. He locked my chain on the window hole around the door and then he took this garden hose and hosed off the cheeze burger off my tittys. He turned the water on real hard and he made them bounce around and that hurt. The water is cold. I am cold now. He put a towel on the floor so I dont get the nice rug wet and I have to stand on it while I write. He wont let me dry myself with it._

Leesa shivered and pressed her fingers over her eyes for a moment. Brenda turned the page.

He said to write I am a dumbass. He said I leave stuff out. So I am lying on the floor on my tummy to write now. He said he is going to teach me how to spell. If I live. He is telling me not to write anything that isnt true. Everything I wrote is true. I swear to Jesus. He said to write dumbass people should not picket around abortion clinics because of God and the Bible. He said that God is not prolife and he can prove it in the Bible. I still cant find it about how to treet the slaves. He says he is going to kill me and if God is prolife then Jesus will rescue me. He is sitting on a box right behind me and he is wiggling his boot around in my ass and laughing. He is making me write ass instead of bottom. I am still cold and wet. The bottom of his boot feels dirty and sandy.

"Ha ha! She snuck in the word bottom anyway."

"Hush. That was an accident."

"You don' know. She might be jus' pretendin' she dumb. She desperate. I wouldn' want nobody wigglin' no dirty shoe in the crack o' my ass!"

"Read!"

I am still cold and wet. He is looking in the good book. He said after I copy down some Bible passages I can go to bed. It is not night yet but I am wanting to go under the covers. The bed is specially nice because he took my clothes.

He said we are not pro life. The people in my church are pro birth, not pro life. Because the orphanages are full of older kids nobody wants. He is asking me stuff and then he waits while I write it down. What do I know about my Bible? I say Jesus was born in a manger in Bethlehem. He says How come you know how to spell Bethlehem? He says he is waiting for a cold night. Then he is going to make a stack of hay with a warm place for me to crawl in and sleep. Like a manger. Then he is going to take a rifel and shoot into the hay. He says not to cry. Maybe most of the bullets will miss. He will shoot seven times. He says my church likes that number seven a lot. He says maybe I will only be wounded in a couple places. Then he is going to pull me out by my chain and he is going to rape me while I bleed to death. (He is making me write this all down but I can't write fast enough and then he gets mad.) (Now he is smiling). I ask him why he hates me and he said he doesn't hate me any more. I am not crying now. But I am cold. He has his radio controll in his hand now. He says my coller is wet from the hose bath and it will hurt more. (The electric). He will mash the button if I make mistakes when I copy out of the Bible. He said no mistakes because he wants who reads this to know it is really in the Bible. He wont tell me who he is going to show this to.

Leesa was slow to turn the page and Brenda jumped up and hooked the bedroom door shut. "MayBelle said fifteen minutes an' that mus' be all ate up by now!" She slammed back down beside Leesa.

He says I am a Jesus groupie. He says we dont know whats in there (The Bible) because we dont want to know. He says we are taught not to think about it. Right? I say: I don't remember being told not to think. Start coping. Copying:

EXODUS 21: 20-21 When a man smite his slave, or his female slave, with a rod, and the slave die under his hand, he shall be surely punished. Notwithstanding, if the slave lives a day or two he shall not be punished, for the slave is his money.

I have to write what this means. (Please dont mash the button if I am wrong) It means for him not to kill me. (He says he wants more)(Don't write that!) I start crying again. He is watching me write and pointing to the button on his controll. I am trying! It means: it is okay with God if I am his slave but he is not supposed to kill me.

He says more. It means: if he mashes the button and I don't die it is okay. He did not mash the button.

He says I am learning. He says most Bibles substitute the word servant for the word slave so us dumb Christians can feel better about it but the Hebrew word says SLAVE. Most Bibles after (from before) the Civil War. Do I believe that? Yes. But nobody told me.

ST. PAUL TO THE COLOSSIANS 4:1 Masters, treat your slaves justly and equally, knowing that ye also have a master in Heaven.

He is mad because I take longer to copy. He says: here is a quiz. Do I know what St. Paul meant?

Yes.

Did God change his mind between the New Testament and the Old Testament?

Yes.

MORNING He mashed the button when I said yes. Yes was a mistake and I knew it as soon as it came out but he mashed the button before I could change it. He was mad and the coller was wet and I think I finally passed out because all of a sudden he was slapping me and telling me to write but I couldn't move. So he chain me to the bed and I crawled in there and it was nice. Thank you. Marylyn.

He is back. He wants me to write more. He put a fresh battery in the coller. I am so scared! He said I have to write when he was changing the battery I said: Will I have AIDS from when he come in me? He said no. He marked the Bible and laid it down on the floor for me. He is sitting on my bed and he has his radio controll on his lap. He has the antena pulled out long.

EXODUS 4:11 And The Lord said unto him, who maketh the dumb? Or Deaf? Or the seeing? Or the Blind? Have not I The Lord?

He wants me to anser who wanted me to be a dumbass. I am thinking. I am afraid to write it down. My anser is God.

_He tells me to write: If the Bible is really God's word and it is all true, then it is God_ Who _who is to blame._

He wants me to write down who I think he hates. Him, not God. I am thinking hard. He is looking at what I will write. Please don't mash the button! Ladies. He did not mash the button. He says to write: Christian ladies. He is mad. Please dont hurt me! Please. Thank you.

"That's all," Leesa said quietly. Her slender, brown fingers felt of the arteries in her neck – the pulse. She turned to Brenda and saw her sister doing the same.

Leesa shivered. "That collar. She didn't mention nothin' about them cut up Barbie dolls, neither, in the 'quarium."

"She writes thank you – can you b'lieve it?" Brenda got up and unhooked the door.

"The bed must've felt so good after that, even wif' the chain. Look, the nex' two pages are rip' out 'fore the res' go blank, like...." Leesa was thumbing through the remaining pages to make sure they didn't miss anything.

"She didn' write no more 'cause she dead."

"Yeah...."

MayBelle called from outside their door. "What you two doing in there?!"

Leesa shoved Marylyn's diary under a pillow. "Comin', Mama!" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Brenda. That stuff really in the Bible?"

"I never saw it. I saw the part about Jesus born in a manger."

They both giggled. "You don' have to read in it for Sunday school?"

"Not that stuff. Tha's a big book an' it all fine print. You livin' wif' a comm'nist wif' MayBelle an' no Bible in the house. Come on, I'm hungry."

"I los' my appetite. Wish that Marylyn wrote what happen later, though."

"How can she after she dead?"

MayBelle opened the door soon as they unhooked it. "Who's a communist?"

"Well, atheist then. Right?"

"I ain' that either! Come on. Let's eat!"

Brenda plunked down at John's place at the table and Leesa helped MayBelle dish up. "Mama? Brenda have to go to church every Sunday an' she don' know shit about The Book."

"I know the creed," Brenda said. "We memorize it."

"I used to know it," MayBelle said. "When I was little."

"Mama, you was never little."

"Your daddy like me plump."

"That's not what I said." Leesa sat down and caught her eye. "Tell me that creed. Is it long?"

"Let's see.... I can't remember how it starts but it goes like: He was crucified, dead, and buried. On the third day..."

"MayBelle, it start like: I b'lieve in God the Father. Maker of..."

"Not now," Leesa said. "My appetite come back."

"Oh?"

Leesa looked at the browned pork chop on her plate. The mashed potatoes and the pat of butter melting in the middle of the heap, the Brussels sprouts, the baked apple. "Hungry! An' Daddy ain' here so we can start right in!" She looked at Brenda, who was already shoveling in a mouthful. "Ain' you s'pose to pray firs'?"

"God the Father," MayBelle mumbled, her mouth full. She hurried to swallow. "Now my step-daddy, he took better care of me than my real father or the man up there. One time he took us kids to a tent revival. Daddy was a real communist, Brenda! Leesa already heard this story, but..."

"I did, too, Mama."

"He took us all in there – Mama wouldn't go because she knew what Daddy was like – an' the preacher was telling how God was telling the Israelites to throw all the people with leprosy out of the camp, like He wanted His people to be clean! And the preacher was telling about how God the Father was testing Job – the poor man had all these boils all over his body and his crops were dying in the field and his chirren were all dying and Job was having all these other problems, and Daddy gets up and he hollers real loud: 'Now is that any way for a father to treat his chirren?' You could've heard a pin drop in that tent just like on that telephone commercial on TV!"

"This sure is good, Mama. Thank you. An' the Brussels sprouts is done this time, too."

MayBelle laughed. "Well, at least you're thanking me!"

"What?"

"She mean, thankin' the cook instead of the Man upstair'."

Brenda shoved in a mouthful of sprouts. "The Man upstair make this food grow in the garden, don' forget that."

"He makes you hungry, too," MayBelle said.

"An' He make my sister talk wif' her mouf full."

"Peaches don' never cook Brussels sprouts. I don' think they even got 'em at Thriftway."

"Your daddy takes me to Winn Dixie," MayBelle said. "I like Winn Dixie. Thriftway is where all them long-hair Holiness ladies and all the food-stamp niggers shop."

"Mama don' use food-stamps, neither," Brenda said. "Daddy too proud." She realized that she had just called Peaches Mama, something she avoided when MayBelle was present. Leesa did the same when Peaches was present. At least lately.

"Well, your daddy has to work extra hard to afford to be so proud."

Brenda nodded. Her plate was already clean but she did not get up when Leesa did to get another helping.

"I a'ready two poun' over."

MayBelle said, "You want to be a bluebird, you're about a hundred pound over."

"No, I'm gonna be the nex' Hanes stocking commercial. On TV. Picture it! The commercial 'tographer have all these white hunks sniffin' after me when I go steppin' down the street. An' they be ignorin' all these blond heifers, an' at the end of the commercial I turn aroun' an' I look smack in the camera an' I say: 'No matter what gentlemen prefer, this here nigger prefer Hanes!'"

"That's my commercial," Leesa said.

"Peaches thought it up firs'."

MayBelle laughed. "Peaches still look fine for her age."

"So do you, MayBelle."

"Mmmm-hmmmm."

"Mama," Brenda said. "when we was at Thriftway las' time we had two shoppin' carts pract'ly full an' this lady behin' us she be fuming an' fussin' wif' this ole honky bitch she was wif' an' when I get the second cart all unloaded on the check-out belt she say to her honky fren', but real loud, she says: 'Now you watch them pull out a shoebox full of food stamps.' An' Peaches, she turn on 'em an' she say: 'Food stamp heifers is all fat an' ugly, like you!' An' the white lady says: 'If I was born black I'd be careful what I say.' An' Peaches says: 'Oh? Did you choose you mama an' daddy? I guess I must'a been asleep when the Good Lord ast me what color parents I wanted! But I was lucky, anyway, 'cause I turn out beautiful!' Well, the honkies didn't say shit after that but, oh, you know how Daddy sit at the dinner table all serious an' like a statue? Well, when Peaches tol' him what happen at the groc'ry he gets up an' goes over to Peaches an' plants a big kiss on her!"

"Speaking of your father, you might have to stay over tonight, you figure that?"

Brenda nodded. She pretended to be hurt but Leesa knew better. There was Rachel's diary to read.

MayBelle smiled. "It'll be nice, Brenda. After dishes and showers we can sit on the couch, all three of us, and we'll put our feet up and watch the movie on TV – it's one of those James Bond movies – and I'll make up some popcorn with real butter."

"Thank you, MayBelle, but..."

"I seen the TV Guide," Leesa said. "He fuck a nigger in this one."

"Leesa!"

"We already seen it, Mama."

"He fall in love wif' her. Bad."

"Naw, love? That James Bond, he all three-F. Find 'um, fuck 'um, forget 'um."

"We could see it again," MayBelle said.

"Mama, tell Daddy our set get only one channel good for over a year now."

"You tell him!"

"Daddy could at leas' bring me over clean clothes for school tomorrow." Brenda was pouting. "An' my schoolbooks an' my homework. We got homework to do tonight."

"We can dig through my clothes after showers. We bofe still the same size. We can dress up weird tomorrow!"

"Bofe' us! Leesa, the boys on your school bus gonna fool on that twin stuff wif' us the whole ride."

"Fuck 'em. I want a man."

"Eat up," MayBelle said, trying to sound jolly.

"I can't," Brenda said. "I wants to stay beautiful for The Lord."

Leesa popped a finger to her mouth before realizing that her mama could not know what Brenda had referred to. MayBelle heaved herself up and placed a Pyrex dish on top of the woodstove. "Left over peach cobbler, and plenty of it!"

"Oh oh!" Brenda said.

"Oh great!"

It was a happy time. Warm. Comfortable. Soon they would have their hot showers, warm slippers on their feet, pretty flannel robes snug and soft. Leesa got up from the table and latched the deadbolt on the back door first. Then the front. She hoped their father wouldn't come. Her bed was plenty big enough for two. The sisters had slept in the same bed many times before, but tonight it would be better than ever.

## Chapter 15

## Jeremy & Sandy

Sandy arrived the day after Julie's marijuana discovery. When the VW beetle put-putted into the yard Jeremy was still busy moving things around, and dusting, and putting curtains into the washing machine and taking curtains out of the drier. He'd even done some ironing. The master bedroom, at least, looked presentable, and Sandy would understand the clutter in the living-room – the huge boxes from the moving van – the things he hadn't had time to unpack yet.

He rushed out to greet her, and nailed her with a kiss. "I was getting worried. I expected you for lunch." He was thankful that the school bus hadn't arrived yet and he had this moment to savor in peace. "I was hoping you didn't have a wreck or a flat tire or something."

"Well, shit, Jeremy...." Sandy shivered in her cotton dress, although the temperature was up in the seventies. "It's so chilly here!" Jeremy proudly watched her look around as she stood there next to her white beetle – the small car all white with pictures of sunflowers air-brushed on here and there. A bee or two. A butterfly.

Sandy's voice brightened. "Is this where I park?"

"Beautiful lady, you may park anywhere."

"At least while you still love me." They hugged. "So how much land do you have here?"

"We have. Forty acres. Woods as far as you can see. A big garden in back of the house. A barn with a second-story apartment. A tractor which I haven't tried yet. We can check it out together."

"I'm late because I didn't get up in time!" Sandy laughed and pecked him on the cheek, leaving a lipstick mark. "Your divorce final yet?"

"No, but it will be."

"Hmmmmm...." Sandy was wearing a long, ruffled peasant dress, blue with large, white polka dots, sleeves off the shoulder. Flaming red hair – no braids today – and peachy skin and freckles. Jeremy swallowed. He loved her so much it hurt. He waited while she bent into her little car to fish out a sweater. When he tried to help her on with it she gave him a playful shove.

"I may not be able to stay," she said, but sounding happy. "So, you'll have maybe twenty acres after the divorce?"

"No, we have forty acres, before and after."

"Well! And where do I sleep?"

"With me of course!"

"Ha! We'll see about that! I'm very old-fashioned, you know. I was drunk that one time we made love in the computer lab. That was a Christmas party thing, and I've told you that before. So don't get your hopes up."

"And that time in your girlfriend's Winnebago?"

"Same thing. No, that was date rape." Sandy laughed and ran toward the big house, slowing down to allow him to catch up and hug her from behind.

He kissed the back of her neck and pressed his growing erection against her buttocks. He sucked in the fragrance of her. "You smell good!"

"I smell like a girl!" She halfheartedly struggled to get out of his embrace. "You horny old man!"

"I'm not old. Not yet."

"Are too!" She startled him with her strength as she suddenly broke free, whirled, and cracked him across the face with a sharp slap. A bright light flashed in his eyes.

Jeremy stood there, shocked. "You don't fool around!"

"I told you!" Sandy laughed and took off again, Jeremy right after her. He tackled her and they both went sprawling in the grass near the front porch. She rolled over onto her back and Jeremy tried desperately to pin her down with his body as she struggled beneath him, still laughing. And as hard as he tried to force her arms down she was strong enough to twist her wrists out of his grip. A panicky feeling cut into his brain as his heart pounded to supply the inadequate muscles, the part-time workouts at the Tampa gym now failing him. Her eyes were bright with triumph.

"You're out of breath, Jeremy!" But her own chest was heaving and she relaxed. Jeremy leaned his face into her and nudged down the neckline of her dress with his teeth, exposing her left breast. He smooched the nipple.

"Ohhhhh!" Still laughing, "More! More!"

Jeremy heard the growl of the school bus slowing at the entrance of the driveway down at the road.

"Somebody coming!" Sandy struggled to get up.

Jeremy pressed her back down. That tit had felt too good to be turning it loose now. He knew he had at least two more minutes, at the speed Julie walked, anyway. He ran the palm of his free hand over the rubbery, freckly mound. Julie will probably start right in on how she hates the new school....

And how all the kids hate her.

"Off me, Jeremy! Off!"

Jeremy let Sandy go and got up. Helping her to her feet, he watched her make a big deal of tucking the tantalizing morsel back into her blouse.

"Mmmmm, Jeremy, you got it all drooly and lickety-spitty and you didn't even offer to wipe it off!" She stood there, hands on her hips, as Julie came trudging up the drive.

"Piss poor timing," Jeremy said in a low voice.

"Not her fault, now be good."

They both watched the sullen face get closer, the eyes with the typically childish lavishing of 360 degree mascara. The black, studded boots dragging through the gravel of the driveway. The lazy, sloppy swing of the hips. No "Hi" or "Hello."

"Oh!" Sandy exclaimed. "Look who's showing her ass!" She took the words right out of Jeremy's head.

"You're not my fucking mother, so chill out!"

"Oh, Julie, nobody says that retro shit chill-out anymore."

A loud, raspy laugh came from the front porch. Jeremy turned and saw Junior standing there, leaning over the railing. Jeans. No shirt, no shoes. Jeremy was glad he had thought of cutting J.R.'s hair the night before – he looked bad enough with his pimples and buck teeth. Poor guy even had pimples on his chest. Big red ones with tumescent white-heads. You'd think he'd have enough sense to wear a T-shirt at least.

Jeremy said: "How long have you been watching?"

Junior cackled, and wiped the drool at the corner of his mouth with a forearm. "She's pretty," he said.

"And she's mine!" Jeremy turned back to the two females. He was surprised to see Sandy's arm around his daughter's black-leather shoulder. Sandy was incredible. Literally.

"Well, no problem, I see!"

"Bullshit," Sandy said.

"And the school sucks!"

Another loud cackle came splitting down from the front porch.

## Chapter 16

## Julie & Junior

As soon as the house and barn were out of sight, Julie regretted asking Jeremy Roy Junior to come along as her bodyguard. She turned to see why he was so far behind and caught him carving a notch into the bark of a tree alongside the trail.

"Junior! That takes too long! We're not going to get lost for chrissake – we're on a path!"

Junior sheathed the huge Bowie knife in the holster hanging from his belt and stood back to admire the bald wound he had just created.

"Come on! It's going to be dark soon!" She waited for him to catch up.

"That lady let's Daddy suck on her tits. I saw it."

"Oh, Junior.... You're so gross, you know that?" Julie suddenly smiled. "Well, then I guess you shouldn't be calling her a lady!"

Junior laughed and wiped his lips with a forearm. "I get it!" The laugh continued behind her, in spurts, all the way to the hill. Half way up Julie stopped to light a cigarette even though she was already panting from the climb. Junior was enjoying himself, however, and passed her up, then waited for his half-sister at the top. When she caught up with him he was carving another notch into a pine sapling there.

Julie sighed. "Let's wait here a minute so I can finish my cigarette."

"Dad says we're not supposed to smoke."

"Fuck it."

"Fuck it." Junior laughed and continued his hacking away at the sapling until it started to lean. "Oooops! Went too far. Now Daddy'll be mad. What should I do?"

Julie made a face and looked at the baby tree. "Chop it off at the bottom and throw it in the woods where he won't see it. But hurry up!" She stubbed out her smoke and buried the butt under some leaves. From another pocket in her jeans she got out a rolling paper and some crumbled, microwaved, reefer bud. Checking the ground first for fire ants, she sat and began to roll a joint.

"Ohhhhh," Junior said.

"Remember? Fuck it."

"Oh, yeah, okay but.... I want some. I won't tell."

Julie studied him. There was an unknown quantity to her half-brother which she could not figure out, and it scared her frequently. The missing stuff she could figure. He had always been good to her personally, but when he was still in school he was always getting into trouble for fighting and beating up other kids.

He hunkered down next to her and she wondered why he always wore the same, camouflage T-shirts, regardless of the weather. Junior was not simply retarded; he was unreal in every way.

_But I always wear the same leather jacket...._ "No," she said finally. "I don't know what you're like when you get high."

"I always did it with the other kids at school. I'm cool."

"Oh. Yeah. You're cool all right." She licked the edge of the paper and rolled the finished joint around-and-around between her fingers until it passed inspection.

"At school if you say you're cool they give you a joint. Mellow Yellow." Junior swiped at the drool at the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah, 'cause they were afraid of you." Julie hesitated. Maybe it would mellow him out. Back in Tampa there had never been an opportunity like this. The two of them alone and a plentiful supply of pot. "One hit."

"Two! Okay?"

"And keep that knife in that holster. Okay? Promise me now. I don't know why Dad would give you a knife that big, anyway. It's crazy."

"It's a Bowie knife! I read in a book this soldier he stuck his Bowie knife in this Korean soldier right in the stomach all the way in and he could feel the end of it scraping the inside of the Korean's backbone!" Junior had the knife out again and was holding it up to the light. "The blade's long enough!"

"Okay, no reefer."

"I'll put it away." Junior stood, and sheathed the long, stainless-steel blade. "I promise I won't take it out again."

"Unless somebody attacks me or something, okay?"

"Okay. Right!" They slapped palms and Junior laughed, and Julie had to duck the spray.

"Daddy gave me this knife because I was good. If you would be good he'd give you neat stuff." Junior reached out for the joint she had just lit, and nailed down a long pull. He sucked in another on top of the first, burning the doobie clear down to the middle. He held his breath.

Julie stood up and snatched it out of his hand. "Time to roll!" She sucked in a hit, held her breath, and started down the hill. When she turned she saw him still standing there. "Well?"

"I'm not high yet."

"You will be. You better follow me. You're my protection, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah!"

When they finally neared the powerline right-of-way, Julie felt her brothers hand grip her shoulder. She froze.

"What?"

They were still in the woods and the path was narrow. He worked his way around to the front of her. He had to look down at her because he was so big and she was so close. He was grinning. "I love you, Julie."

Julie nodded. "Thanks, J.R."

Junior was blocking the path. "You used to say I love you back."

"I love you, Junior."

"No. I can tell. You grew up and now you don't love me anymore. You don't play with me anymore. You don't care about me. Remember when we used to ride our bikes? And that dog would chase us?"

"Buster."

Yeah, Buster. And I would kick him and he'd run away?" Junior was gazing up into the treetops now, a faraway look on his face. "I didn't have my knife then.... And we used to play around, remember?"

Play around....

"You used to come in my bed at night."

"Yeah, when I was scared. When I was little!"

"Not so little."

"Junior! You're in the road! Git!" To Julie's relief, Junior backed away and let her by. When they got to the end of the path but were still hidden in the woods, Julie stopped and put a finger to her lips. "Shhhh! Now we have to be quiet. When I was over there with Dad somebody fired a couple shots and there were bullets dropping down near Daddy and me."

Junior nodded. He whispered: "I'll be quiet."

"Okay." Julie moved up and crouched, peering through the huckleberry bushes at the edge of the clearing. The steel powerline towers looked like silent robots, their arms akimbo, waiting for the next command. "Nobody in sight. Junior. You as high as I got?"

Suddenly Julie felt Junior's cold hands slide up under her jacket from behind and reach around for her breasts. "Junior!" She twisted and slapped at him and he backed off.

"Please, Julie."

"No! period!" She spoke in a loud, hoarse whisper and hoped he got the message. It was something he would try every now and then. Later, he would beg her not to tell. Maybe she could channel all that lust in Sandy's direction.

Right! Sandy!

Perfect!

Julie stood tall and began to head out onto the right-of-way when Junior suddenly jerked her back by the collar. Pissed this time, she jammed an elbow back as hard as she could into his ribs.

Junior grimaced but did not make a sound. He was pointing, and hunkering down as low as he could. Julie crouched back down beside him. He was pointing toward the dynamite shack. The tin roof and the skylight glimmered in the afternoon sun above the razor-wire ridge of the fence. Then Julie saw them. Two black girls at the edge of the woods over on the other side. They seemed to be looking around to see if the coast was clear.

"Shit!" Julie whispered. "What are those niggers doing here?"

"Girls," Junior said in a low voice – a voice filled with wonder. "Girls."

"Shhhh! Are you blind? They're black!"

"They look nice, Julie."

"Freeze! They're looking right over here!" Julie held her breath. Were they the ones growing the pot? Julie had never tried growing it herself. Her perception of gardening amounted to knowing that you put seeds in the ground and waited.

"Twin girls," Junior whispered. They look like Jody Watley. She's sexy."

"Was sexy. Jody Watley got old, Junior, Christ, now shush!"

Julie saw how petite they were. Probably younger than her, too. They were both at the hole under the fence now. Pink sweaters. Jeans and white sneakers. Reeboks? Probably bought them with the dope they sold. One of them was just standing there, looking around, while the other crawled under. The one on the outside was handing some books through. Gold earrings....

"They must live in the woods around here," Junior whispered. Do you think Daddy would let me have one? Just one?"

"Lenny – they're not rabbits. Forget it!"

"Daddy said for you not to call me Lenny anymore."

"Well, you act like him!"

"Look. They're arguing about something."

The one who had run to the shack was back outside the fence again, the two of the crouching near the hole and flapping their arms.

"They must be whispering, just like us," Julie said.

"Yeah...."

They watched the girls suddenly get up and run for the woods on their side.

"They must be scared like us, too," Junior said.

"Like rabbits, Lenny."

"Yeah...." Junior started to get up but Julie held him down.

"Junior. You're scared?"

"No, but...."

"You look like it."

"I just, well, those girls are so..."

"Stop it! Just stop it! Jeez! So what if something happens to me while I'm over there? Are you going to help?"

"Sure."

"Very reassuring."

"I love you, Julie."

"Okay, listen. When we come out in the open, you stand under that powerline thing there. Stand under the middle of it, okay? Underneath so you won't stick out like a sore thumb. And I'm going over to the fence and pick a little. But farther down from where I picked the last time s\o they won't notice. Got it? And don't be looking at me all the time. Look around! If you see somebody call me and then wait for me to run past you and then you start running right behind me to our path here. Okay? Wait. Don't call my name. Um....I know! Call Sandy's name. Just holler Sandy! Okay?"

"Okay. Boy, that Sandy."

"Right. Okay, you go first."

Julie watched her half-brother walk out into the clearing and take his position under the nearest tower. He began looking around in all directions. Dumb, Julie thought. But not real dumb. Just dumb enough to be dangerous. Or smart enough....

Julie sprinted across the right-of-way and ran down along the fence as far as she dared. And as far as she went she could see reefer growing. Stunted and dark purple. The color was the result of a mild freeze, something beyond the pale of Julie's information base, purple merely recognized as a dynamite, psychedelic color, something to be very pleased about. And the shit was loaded with buds and tiny seeds! She stopped, ripped off a small pocketful, and turned to race back. Past her brother. By the time she reached the safety of their path in the woods he was thundering in right behind her.

"That was fun, Julie!"

Julie was gasping for breath. She took one of the buds out of the pocket and sniffed it. "Oh, Junior, this shit is so good! Smell this!" But Junior wasn't interested. He was hunkered down back at the edge of the clearing, looking over toward the dynamite shack.

"Junior, come on, it's getting late!" Julie was no longer whispering. On this side they were on their own property. But the darkness under the trees surprised her. "J.R.! It's getting dark!"

"Maybe they'll come back."

"What?"

"Those girls."

Julie snorted and started back on her own. But the deeper she got into the woods the darker it became and she wasn't even near the hill yet. The sun goes down so fast in winter! In the city she'd never noticed. In the city, only people lived in the shadows. She turned and hollered. "Junior!" Something scampered off into the bushes on her right. Instead of running back to Junior she turned back slowly. Placing her feet carefully one step at a time, she began to sneak along to keep her presence from the ears of whatever roamed the forest at night. It was a relief, a few minutes later, to find Junior exactly where she'd left him.

She stood over him, behind him, and laid a hand gently on his shoulder. His shoulder was so meaty, so rippled with muscle! All that working out every day. Every night. "Junior.... They'll come back. It wouldn't make any sense for them to come back now. They must come here after school, you know what I mean? You could, like, catch them some other time, like after school tomorrow, okay?"

Catch them.... What am I saying?

Julie, her heart beating, was thinking hard. Needing her brother now.

Junior would never actually hurt a girl.

You can always get him to back off when he's horny.

If he was really bad he would've raped somebody by now.

That's why he was caught jerking off in the movie theater.

He would do that but he wouldn't rape somebody

Julie spoke up. "Junior!"

"Okay! Okay!" He got up and sighed.

"You go first, okay? It's getting scary in the woods. I heard something in there next to the path."

"This all belongs to us now, right? Everything on this side?"

"Well, yeah. I guess. That's what Daddy said."

"Even the animals that live in here?"

"Yes, even all the rabbits, Junior."

"And the bears, and the alligators, and the squirrels..."

"Junior! Can we go?"

## Chapter 17

## Rachel's Diary

"Leesa! Come on, hurry!" Brenda was in a hustle to get out of the woods – get back to the cabin and get warm – but Leesa was just poking along behind her in the path. In fact, when Brenda called to her, Leesa stopped cold and Brenda had to walk back to her.

"Leesa!"

"We shoul've jus' stayed up las' night an' finish it."

"With MayBelle fussin' all the time about the light on?"

"Well, now it's worse. If we want to read the end we got to go back there. Les' jus' go now an' finish it in that dynamite shed."

"Gonna be dark soon."

"There's candles in there."

"An' when we burn 'em down to the nub ain' nobody gonna notice? Get serious!"

"So les' go back an' jus' keep Rachel's diary an' leave Marylyn's like I said before."

"An' nobody gonna miss it? Girl? You crazy!"

"I don' think there is anybody to miss it. This happen a long time ago. I don' remember no stories goin' round about no tortured an' raped white girls. Not on the news, neither. An' that 'quarium she mention at firs' wif' all them tore-up Barbie dolls hangin' from fish-hooks an' nailed to crosses an' shit. They gone! It got to be old."

"She don' mention 'em no more in the diary. Maybe the man took 'em down before she finish."

"Sheeeit. An' drain the tank? Long time ago, like I said."

"Then what about them tire tracks by the fence? They weren't here when we was here the firs' time."

"That jus' be that man Gus drivin' aroun' checkin' stuff, you know, keepin' pilfers out an' stuff like that."

"Maybe he the one, that's what I'm thinkin'."

"He look like a nice man. He don' have that killer look. An' he got eyes for us."

Brenda snorted. "Killer look! Show me what that look like!"

"I'm too good lookin' to show you."

"Uh-huh. It's that man, Gus. Maybe we better off if he didn' like us."

"Let's go back," Leesa said. "Get it back. I don' think Daddy's comin' for you tonight, neither. Peaches an' him is up to somethin'."

Brenda shivered. "Nex' time, okay? Tomorrow. Once a day over there in the killin' field is all this girl need."

"Well.... I could go back myself an'..."

"No!"

Brenda led the way and Leesa did not speak again until they neared the cabin. It had been a long time since she and Brenda had argued like this – Brenda sounded really angry – and it didn't make sense. "Brenda? I'm sorry."

"Mmmm-hmmmm."

"I jus' wanted to know the end, tha's all."

"Yeah, well, maybe I don' want to know the end."

"We still fren's?"

"No, but we still sisters!"

In the safety of the yard, the girls slowed to a gravity-defying, graceful glide. No arrogant roll from side-to-side like the brothers at school affected. This was the stuff of legend, the desert-princess glide. Returning from the well with the priceless jug of water balanced-on-her-head.

They sat on the front steps of the porch.

"Feels warmer here, you notice?"

"Feels like rain."

"See, I been thinkin' maybe we read enough already."

"Yeah.... All day at school I had it in my face."

"Oh! You know it!"

"I still want to finish it, though. I got to know what happen' to Rachel."

"Not me."

"I don' b'lieve you!"

"'Member when everybody was headin' out for lunch break an' you had to come an' get me? I didn' even hear the bell!"

"'Member me screamin' when MayBelle woke us up this mornin'?"

"Yeah! You scared the shit outta me! I wonder where she is now."

"Cookin' our supper! It smell good, too."

"No, I mean Rachel. It was nice readin' all that bad stuff in your nice, warm, safe bed. Mmmmmm-hmmmm!"

"Better if Daddy was home wif' his shotgun under his pillow."

"Oh, yeah, tha's another thing. What's MayBelle gonna do if somebody break in!"

"She got her own shotgun!"

"Sure. Like she's gonna say to this pervert pushin' his way in: Oh, Sir, would you wait a moment please while I get this here shotgun down off the wall."

"Sometime she hide it in the closet."

"Same shit."

"Sometime she have it loaded, like ready? An' then sometime she say it too dangerous to have aroun' like that an' she unload it. I jus' don' know."

"Right."

"But I check on all the door locks after supper. Sometime Mama forget."

"Bes' for him to come for supper then."

"Who?"

"Him!"

"Mmmm-hmmmm."

They sat in silence now, waiting for MayBelle to call them in. Remembering what they had read the night before, Leesa wishing they still had the book. She could even hear Rachel's voice. It was like if she ever did hear Rachel's voice she would recognize it.

I don't know what day it is.

I am supposed to write everything down every day but I missed the last couple of days. Now I have to make it all up.

I tried to escape on the fifth day. I am trying to count back but it's no use. I asked him when he came back this morning what day it was so I could write it down and he just laughed. He said that in my position it didn't matter. No, he said it would never matter. I have not had a bath since the day I tried to escape and I asked him if I could have one today and he said if I write down everything up to now including the days I missed, and if I tell the truth exactly, and if I promise not to try to escape again, he will let me get cleaned up. And I can have clean sheets again and clean, dry clothes. He is still standing in here looking over my shoulder. He says to start with my escape. Wait. First I should write down what I think is important to him as I see it. If I get that part right he will leave me alone for a while.

1.He does not want anything left out (in this diary).

2.He will punish me if I do not write the truth, or leave out things.

3.The truth is what I think is the truth, not what I think he wants to read.

4.I should write not just what happens, but what I am thinking.

I guess this is correct because he smiled and left. It sounds like a padlock on the outside of the door but I think he just hooks it in there. I never hear him messing with a key. That means there is no hope for me, because apparently nobody else ever comes around here.

_I was getting my bath when I tried to escape. After I took off my clothes he made me put on this electric shock-machine collar around my neck. He had another one, smaller, for my ankle but he changed his mind about that. The collar is set off by this radio control he carries. He can either press a button, or if I get too far away the collar will go off automatically. (I keep on thinking: what if_ _he_ _goes too far away! I hope he remembers!) Then he led me outside to this old car where he has a shower and stuff, and a couple stepping stones to stand on. He laid his radio control on the hood of the car and told me that if I tried to get it, it will go off. Then he adjusted the shower water (cold only)(fed by a garden hose) and left. I had this feeling that he was just going around the corner somewhere so he could watch me bathe without me seeing him. I don't know. I thought about unbuckling the collar real fast and then running for it. I almost did try that. But I thought I wouldn't make it if he was watching, and how fast can I run as pregnant as I am? Then I thought I would walk off until I could get behind one of the junk cars, then unbuckle the collar (dumb). I had this feeling he was lying about the part where if I got too far away it would go off automatically. My brother has these radio controlled electric cars and if you get too far away the control doesn't work at all. But then, maybe its the radio that keeps the collar from going off in the first place. Well, he was right back before I could figure all this out. I was cold and wet by now from the shower but I stalled him by asking for some shampoo for my hair and he surprised me by reaching into the junk car he had the shower head attached to, and he had all kinds of stuff in there: soap, a back-brush, different kinds of shampoos and conditioners (used or partly full) and even a stack of dry towels! I said to him: "How long have you been getting away with this kind of thing? I take it I am not the first one!" He said I wasn't the first and I should get a move on if I want to do my hair. Then we heard a car honking from way far away and he complained about people not being able to read a "closed" sign on the gate and he took off. I still had shampoo in my hair but I figured there wasn't much time. Since he took the radio control with him when he left I also worried that my collar would go off by itself. It was on tight, the buckle, and I was also afraid to pull on it too hard in case that would set it off. Just then I jumped, scared to death, because these three shots fired off real close by. At first I thought it was the electric shock electrocuted my ears or something (dumb) but what it was: he was warning that car away by shooting up in the air instead of running all the way over there! I had the buckle part-way loose when this happened and as soon as he saw it he mashed the button and held it d\own. The pain went through my brain like a flash of light. My whole body spazzed and I slipped off the stone slabs and landed in the mud around the shower. He wouldn't stop mashing the button and I couldn't breathe or yell or anything. My eyes felt bugged out and I thought it was ripping my neck open. I was lying on my side, twitching in the mud, with my legs drawn up. Then my legs started to cramp, real bad, and I also bit my tongue. I could taste my blood and I thought I was going to die. I don't know how long he let me twitch around in that mud puddle but he finally must've let up, of course, or the battery wore down, and when I came to, all I could feel was my baby churning around in my belly and the cramps in my calves. I was gasping for air, and I think I even breathed in some of the mud water because I had to cough. When that stopped, he was straddling me, still lying sideways in the mud with my knees drawn up. He had the control in one hand and an assault rifle (I guess) in the other. He told me to get up and that my hair was a mess! But I couldn't move. (My baby could). I was just trying to breathe, like the electocution paralysed my lungs or something. While I was trying to get my breath (I couldn't talk, either, he put the gun and his boots and stuff on the hood of the car and started taking his clothes off. He was laughing and said I was making him horny lying like that in the mud. Then he yelled at me to get up again but I still couldn't. I kept on shaking my head because I couldn't make a sound. At least the cramps in my legs eased off. Then he said for me to get on my knees and I was finally able to do that and then he grabbed my muddy hair and tried to make me go down on him but I was too sick. When he gave up on that he mashed my tits together (I am not allowed to write "breast") and he worked himself off between them. (He said the word "breast reminds him of Thanksgiving Day and he doesn't want to be reminded). After he came all over me I had to watch him, still on my knees, while he showered off all the mud I got all on him. I asked if I could rinse off and he said: "No!" When he got all his clothes back on he walked me back here and took all my clean clothes and towels away and locked me in._

I forgot to write about my baby. While he made me watch him shower off, with all the mud and his stuff dripping on my belly, on my baby, I was crying and thinking about how my precious baby was due on Thanksgiving and that now we both probably weren't going to make it. He yelled at me what was I whimpering about because he told me not to try to escape, it was my own fault. I could talk by then and I yelled at him: "You'll never make it to Thanksgiving!" (dumb) When I said that my beautiful baby gave me a happy kick, so hard I jerked from the pain.

So after I was back here and locked back in, so wet and filthy, I just kneeled by my bed and cried. I got this pretty rug all messy, too, but I couldn't help it. All I could think of to do, though, was crawl in my warm bed, which I finally did. I was so glad he was gone (leaving me alone) and the bed felt so good that I didn't even care anymore how wet and dirty I was. I just crawled in with my muddy, soapy hair on my nice, soft pillow and pulled the covers over my head. I stayed under the covers all afternoon and all night. The first time I had to get up for a minute, though, to go the bathroom, it was dark and my potty chair was gone. I shined my flashlight all around but the potty was definitely gone so I went back in the bed and tried to shift around to keep off the coldest, wettest spots. I tried to hold it for the longest time and I started to cry again. I tried to think about my husband and my bed back home and our bathroom but it didn't seem real. Then this pleasant feeling came over me and I covered my head with the blanket again, on my side with my knees drawn up, and I just let it go. I know this sounds gross but it wasn't. It felt warm and hot and good running down my legs and pooling around me, and I remember I said out loud: "Thank you, Sweet Jesus. Thank you." When I said that, my baby stirred in me and I felt so good inside of me that I know Jesus heard me. This was three days ago.

The next morning (day before yesterday) he came in and I was still bundled in bed, and filthy and damp. It was early and I could see the gray light through the open door, and cool air rushed in. I was afraid of getting chilled so I pulled the cover around me as close as I could and he thought I was doing that to protect myself from him and I said, no, please bring me some dry bedding. And my potty chair. And I asked him to please let me have a shower. I won't try to run this time. I promised him over and over. I was hungry, too, but I was afraid to mention that, like I was already asking for so much! I thought I could see on his face that he was beginning to feel sorry for me. (I know that's what I saw). He stood there in the doorway for a long time after I stopped begging. I thought suddenly that maybe he was waiting for me to get back to work on this diary, so I got an arm out and reached for the book, which is kept on the nightstand, and he said to stop. Not now. Then he said if I follow every instruction to the letter from now on, and be a good slave like the Bible tells slaves to be, then I would have a better life. Then he went outdoors and brought in this little bucket. He said it was not to pee in but for vomit only. He put the little brown plastic bucket on the floor next to me head and I said: "Thank you." Then he left.

I decided right then to be good. I want him to be nice to me, too. I have the Sweet Lord's baby growing inside of me and I will do anything the man wants for Him. And I have this feeling that deep down inside he is a good person. Even though he says he owns me now. Up until all this happened The Lord owned me. Now this man is my owner. But The Lord is The Master of everyone.

When he came back in the afternoon he left me two new pens. I could tell it was warm outside because I could feel it coming in the door, and he was just standing in the doorway for the longest time. I wanted to ask him for some food, I was so hungry, but something kept me from opening my mouth. Then, out of nowhere, my memory came back so strong about the night I had the wreck, when he bumped my car off the road. I was driving home from a prayer meeting at this other church that I'd read about because they get together and picket the abortion clinic in (I'm not supposed to write any names of any places around here). The church itself is about seventy miles away and I did not tell my husband because he is so narrow minded (he is a Nazarene Christian) and he doesn't like me to go anywhere far without him. I figured an hour and a half. He is very immature sometimes, and jealous, but I thought it wasn't a lie since I told him I would be leaving early and that I was going to a prayer meeting. I was not guilty of anything, or having an affair with somebody, like, what man would even want to have sex with a woman as pregnant as I am? (Well now I know, don't I!) So I had my wreck on a Wednesday night. That would be about a week and two days ago? Wait, plus three days. (I had to change ballpoints and I can't erase). I am remembering everything so clear suddenly. I remember the wet highway and sliding toward the ditch. Somebody must have seen my wrecked car by now. They must have been looking for me for over a week by now! (When I try to count the exact number of days I get this terrible headache!) I think maybe my headaches come from what happened with the electric shock collar. Anyway, I asked him when he was going to bring me a Bible, because he promised, and he stomped out and locked me in.

_I am afraid of getting sick. I was glad that when I was in the shower I drank in some of the water. Now he is mad at me, even though he promised the Bible, and I don't have any food. If I get sick my baby will die with me. Please let me have a warm bath and dry bedding. And food. Maybe a vitamin-C or an orange or a lime or something, to build up my resistance._ _I will do anything you want me to_ _._

Brenda and Leesa both looked at each other when they read that line.

"One guess what that be."

"I be thinkin' of two."

"She underline it, too. Come an' get it!"

"An' nobody seen her car 'cause he tow it to the junkyard, that's what I figure."

"Who?"

"Him! The man! That Gus."

"Oh. No, well, maybe – no. I don' think so. Well...."

"Come on, turn the page!"

## Chapter 18

## Rachel's Bible Lesson

NIGHT TIME

The skylight is dark but I can see stars through the panes of glass, through the wire mesh of the glass. The glass seems to be clean. I guess it is washed whenever it rains. I have not been out of my bed since I tried to escape. My hair is matted and stiff with mud, and the mattress is totally soaked and smells terrible. I just drank the last of my water. The glass was empty when he was here and I saw him looking at it (I think he was, anyway)(He made sure I have plenty of pens!). I reached over for my pitcher with my flashlight on and I poured the last out of the pitcher into my glass. There was about an inch of water at the bottom of the pitcher but it made about two inches in my glass. There was stuff floating in the water, and a dead, baby cockroach which I picked out before I drank it all. It tasted warm and dirty. Like me. I held the pitcher up-side-down for a while to get the last drop, and then I put it on the table up-side-down so that he can see it is empty in case he looks in on me while I am asleep. Sometimes I think something might happen to him while I am locked up in here, and he won't be able to come back. Or he will find something more interesting than me and just forget about coming back. The police will never find me here, I am sure. If they are still looking for me. I don't know how long before they give up. If they find him before they find me, he might run for it. If he gets away, I will starve to death in here.

Sometimes a hunter or somebody finds a decomposed body in a field, and everybody thinks she was killed the day she was kidnapped. But they don't know if she was held captive for weeks first, and tortured or starved.

I am so tired and filthy and hungry, I guess I will die in here.

I hope he checks on me tonight. It will be a long night.

YESTERDAY MORNING

I dreamed last night that he came and looked in on me, and that he brought me some cool, fresh water. When I woke up from the dream, I thought I could see a full glass on the table in the dim starlight. I could even see cold beads of sweat on the outside of the glass! But when I reached for it, the glass was empty and warm to the touch. The room was fairly warm but I thought about how cold it can get around here at night sometimes. Not every night, but one, good cold snap and I'd be dead. I wondered if he would bring me a heater or something like that. Good thing the walls are so thick.

Once I woke up in the dark thinking I could actually hear his footsteps outside. I wanted to call out but for some reason I couldn't. But I sat up a little in case he came in, and I smoothed out my hair with my fingers but it was such a dried-up, gooey mess. Anybody with real long hair knows how hard it is to keep beautiful and silky clean. I need a hair brush. A good, stiff one. I will ask him for one if he doesn't read this first.

I needed to turn on my other side. I wait to do that. Each time, I wait until I can't stand to be on the one side another minute longer, then I try to turn slowly so that I can keep most of my body in the warm spot on this soaked mattress. I try to rearrange my body so that it contacts the same place, where the wetness is still warm. The turds I wanted flick off the side to the floor but I must be getting sick because they are soft and mushy and my hands get all smeared. I tried to clean my hands by rubbing them hard against the blanket, way down near my feet. I used a clean corner of the blanket and ran it between my fingers until they got hot but they still feel tacky and I can't bring my hands to my face for the stink. And now my hair is probably full of it, too.

My baby does not seem to be moving as much as he used to. I remember thinking in the middle of the night: Oh, please come and check on me. I'll do anything you want. Just please come and check on me.

He came back at first light. I could feel the cool, night air when he pulled open the door. This time he came all the way in. He brought a box full of stuff but he didn't let me see what was in there at first. But I heard water sloshing in a jug when he set it down on the floor. Then he looked for a dry part on the blanket and pulled it over to where he could sit next to me. First he leaned over me and touched my forehead with the back of his hand (I was trying not to cry) and then I told him I was worried about getting sick and I asked for some fruit, for the vitamin-C. He didn't say anything right away. Then he slid a hand under the blanket and felt of my tits, which were swelling with the baby so close to arriving. I remember placing my hand over his while he was feeling of me and I said: "Please take care of me. I don't want my baby to die." He nodded and then he took his hand away and began to stroke my forehead and he brushed the hair back from my eyes. I pulled an arm out and I reached over sideways and dug my hand in between his legs, his stiff jeans, and I tried to stroke him there but he jumped up and pushed me away and yelled: "Are you trying to escape again?" I was shocked. I told him over and over, no, I just wanted to make him feel good so he would want to take care of me. He started to leave and he said: "You sure?" and I said "yes" and I said: "May I have what's in the box?" and he said" "Whatever!" and then he stomped out.

I had to half crawl out of the bed to reach the cardboard box and drag it over. I think I didn't ever get out of the bed because I couldn't stand to face my nakedness covered with my own filth and dirt. The top of the box was inter-locked the way you do with a used, cardboard box. It was a thrill, leaning over the side of my bed and slipping the cardboard leaves back to see what was inside. There was a jug of cold water and an ice-cold jug of cranberry juice! Without even looking at the other stuff I grabbed the juice bottle and poured some into my smeary glass. I drank so fast my throat froze and the pain was intense. Even the outside of my neck hurt from that. But it was so good! Then I added a little water to the glass to sort of rinse it out. I don't know if cranberry juice goes bad after it gets warmed up but I know orange juice does. You can get food poisoning from warm orange juice that's been left out.

The cranberry juice was in a Styrofoam hugger and I put the jug back in there so it would stay cold. There was a Bible next to the juice thing, and a notebook, small (smaller than this diary). On the cover of the notebook is printed:

A BIBLE STUDY QUIZ FOR YOU

His handwriting is neat and clear. On the inside cover of the notebook it says:

I ONLY HAVE A KING JAMES CONCORDANCE. SO WHEN YOU LOOK UP THE WORD SLAVE YOU HAVE TO LOOK UP THE WORD SERVANT, TOO. OR MAIDSERVANT. IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE THAT WORDS HAVE BEEN SUBSTITUTED, I HAVE GREEK AND HEBREW DICTIONARIES I WILL SHOW YOU ONE DAY IF YOU ARE STILL HERE.

EACH PAGE OF THIS NOTEBOOK IS A NEW QUIZ. WRITE YOUR ANSWERS AFTER COPYING THE QUESTIONS IN YOUR DIARY, ONE UNIT EACH DAY. BESIDES THE KING JAMES CONCORDANCE THERE ARE THREE BIBLES IN THIS BOX. USE ALL THREE BEFORE WRITING YOUR ANSWERS. THERE IS NO EXCUSE FOR YOU TO MAKE A MISTAKE AND YOU WILL BE SEVERELY PUNISHED IF YOU DO. FOR YOUR ANSWERS, WRITE WHAT THE BIBLE SAYS AND NOT WHAT YOUR PREACHER TOLD YOU WHEN YOU WERE TOO DUMB TO KNOW ANY BETTER.

COPY THIS INTO YOUR DIARY, TOO. COPY EVERYTHING IN THIS NOTEBOOK WORD FOR WORD.

I got the concordance out (it looks old and used) and got the Bibles out. One is an Oxford Bible and one is a "New Revised Standard Version" in modern English. There was a cardboard separator under them so I got the juice and water jugs back out and went into the second layer. It was a big, white, brand-new looking box that just barely fit in there, with a red ribbon around it. I didn't have anything to cut the ribbon with but I finally got the bow untied and guess what? Inside was this cute, brand-new, stuffed toy raccoon. He was so big and beautiful! I was afraid to take him out because my hands smelled but I found a fairly clean spot on the blanket, way down at the foot, and I rubbed my hands as thoroughly as I could. My fingers still smelled but they looked clean enough and when I eased him out of the box his long, fat tail plopped out. His tail is plump and cute and it has a black band around it like the stripes on a real raccoon. When it was out of the box that first time I talked to him and I hugged him and I said: "There, now you don't have to stay in that box anymore. You can live right here with me where you can be warm and safe." Then I started crying and I fell asleep with him in my arms. I call him: "Benny".

I was hoping he would come back soon so I could thank him for Benny. I gave up on wondering when he was going to let me have a bath or a shower.

It gets very bright in here around the middle of the day, I see clouds pass over from time to time, and I thought I should do my first Bible lesson right away in case it started to rain and got darker and it would be hard to read. There are candles in here but no matches, and my flashlight is getting weaker and weaker. I thought about tearing out a page of the notebook, from the back part where he didn't have anything written, but he didn't say to do that so I didn't. I wanted to start a list for him of things I need like batteries, and the hairbrush.

I am supposed to read one chapter each day but he didn't write down the days or dates. So today is my first Bible lesson day. I am looking forward to it. It would be even better if I wasn't so hungry all the time!

I thought about getting out of bed but then it would get cold from the soaked mattress and eventually I would have to get back into it. What to do? I thought about starting to pee in the far corner of the room, too, but then this building would smell permanently, whereas if I use the bed he can always change the mattress and bedding when my punishment is over. But if I keep on using the bed, isn't it going to start dripping on the floor underneath and the rug?

Please bring my potty chair! I promise not to try to escape again. And food!

Before I started this page I took the cleanest corner of my sheet and dribbled a little of my drinking water on it and dabbed out my eyes clean. That felt good! Then I "brushed" out my hair as best I could with my fingers again. Holiness Christian women pride themselves when their hair grows all the way down to the "crack". It is pride in The Lord.

I am sitting up on the side of the bed now but I am very uncomfortable. This is my first pregnancy and I had no idea how much room the baby takes up in here. At least I don't have a stomach full of food to take even more room! It seems like the hunger I felt at first isn't as bad, but it gets strong all of a sudden, like a minute ago when I finished the last of my cranberry juice. I know that the lack of food is making me and my baby weak, and I can tell my breath is terrible. When I went to sit up to do my hair and read the Bible, I got dizzy and faint for a couple minutes. Anyway, I am doing the best I can.

I set the Bibles on the floor so they wouldn't get damp and I did exactly as told, that is, I read all three (just the part needed for each lesson, though). The King James uses older English but otherwise the three translations are pretty much the same. My biggest problem was bending over to change books because of the pressure from my baby and the dizziness. I have my diary in my lap, open, when I read, and put the translation I am reading on top of it to protect the Scriptures from my filthy condition. He wrote in the notebook that the first lesson was Deuteronomy, Chapter 20. I will be careful not to make any mistakes in copying his questions from the notebook. I will write them in capital letters, like he did, and my answers in regular script.

1.WHO IS SPEAKING TO US IN THIS CHAPTER?

Moses. God is telling Moses what to say, so it is really God speaking.

2.WHY SHOULDN'T THE PEOPLE BE AFRAID WHEN THEY INVADE A COUNTRY WITH A LARGER ARMY THAN THEIRS?

Because God will be on their side and help them win the battle.

3.WHEN GOD'S PEOPLE COME TO A DEFENDED CITY, WHAT SHOULD THEY DO FIRST (AND THE RESULT)?

They should offer peace first, and if the army of that city surrenders, everyone there can be the slaves of God's people and not be killed.

4.WHAT IF THE ARMY OF THAT CITY DOES NOT WANT TO SURRENDER?

After God's people win the battle, they should kill all the men of the city but not the women and children.

5.WHAT WORD(S) DOES THE BIBLE USE FOR THE CAPTURED WOMEN AND CHILDREN?

Spoils. Or "booty".

6.WHAT SHOULD GOD'S PEOPLE DO WITH THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN AND ALL THEIR POSSESSIONS.

Take them as spoils, or booty, and enjoy them.

7.WHERE ARE THESE CITIES GOD OR MOSES IS TALKING ABOUT? (VERSE 15)

The cities that are around or on the way to the land God or Moses promised them. The Promised Land.

_8.WHAT DOES THE BIBLE SAY TO DO WITH THE CITIES_ _INSIDE_ _THE PROMISED LANDS?_

They should kill everybody, including the women and children, and the animals, and everything "that breathes".

9.SPECIAL QUIZ: FROM WHAT YOU JUST READ, PLUS WHAT YOU BELIEVE YOURSELF: WHO CREATED THE PEOPLE GOD WANTS KILLED, AND WHO CREATED THE PEOPLE GOD WANTS TO BE SLAVES?

God.

10.WHO CREATED THE WOMEN GOD'S PEOPLE CAPTURED FOR THEIR ENJOYMENT?

God.

11.IS GOD MERCIFUL? (DO NOT WRITE: "I DON'T KNOW.")

Sometimes.

12.IS GOD UNCHANGING?

I don't know. (You told me not to lie)

I had a hard time with the last two questions. For the last one: It is true that I don't know, and I am supposed to answer the truth no matter what. The unchanging part might be in the Bible someplace else. I heard it in church.

I tried to do a good job. Please let me have a bath now, and some food, and a clean bed and mattress. Food first. And I am almost out of drinking water.

EVENING

I am sorry I got the time of days wrong. I will mark everything down in order from now on.

You told me that I should also write my feelings and tell the truth. Here goes. I do not think it is right to criticize the Bible.

You did not come back today to read my answers. Please excuse this writing as it is dark and hard to see. I need new batteries, too.

I hold Little Benny in the crook of my neck when I am lying down. My neck is still fairly clean and Benny is soft and furry and so cute! I love him already. Thank you for him.

The aquarium pump sounds funny. If it quits, will the fish die? I think they are rare and that they need food, too. They seem to be trying to eat the Barbie dolls you have hanging there in the water. I try not to look over there, but it would be wrong to let the fish starve.

_Please come and check on me tonight._ _I will do anything you want me to do._

Leesa snorted. "Like you said before, there she go again. Sock it to me anyway you want it. Stud. My knees is already dirty." She looked at Brenda. "Why you holdin' your head like that? You look pale!"

"Pale? I wish!" Brenda got to her feet and then sat back down. "I didn' know that stuff was in the Bible."

Leesa laughed. "You ought to hear Mama talk about it. Compared to MayBelle that pervert in the diary is a saint."

## Chapter 19

## Sandy & Family

Jeremy and Sandy had each other half undressed in the master bedroom (after two Grolsch snap-cap beers each, and a joint of fence-grown domestic pot for the lady). Jeremy was trying to pull her panties off but Sandy kept on jumping away, just out of reach, teasing, her plump breasts bobbing as she would dash from one place to another.

Her pink nipples were dancing in Jeremy's oxygen-starved brain.

"Oh, Jeremy! Windows on three sides! How beautiful!"

He would catch her, throw her down onto the big, brass bed and score a smooch or two before she was up again.

"Oh! This bathroom! Such a big tub!" Sandy leaned over the tub to look out the window there and Jeremy finally snatched her panties down. Black, bikini panties with little, pink bows here and there.

"Oh! This view from the tub! ha ha! A bathtub with a view!"

"You're a view all right!" He had them down around her ankles now and while she looked out she lifted one leg out of the panties and then the other.

"Not me, silly! The view out the window!"

Jeremy mashed his face into Sandy's plump, young ass and she moved her legs apart compliantly.

"Yummmmmmmmmmmmmm," said Jeremy.

"Oh! Look! There's a hawk in that tree, right in our own back yard! A hawk! Oh, Jeremy, he's so beautiful!"

"Mmmmmmmmmmmm, you taste so good," Jeremy gurgled.

"I did a strawberry douche before I left home, just for you!" Sandy spread her legs to an even wider stance. She was still leaning over the tub. "I had to get up early to have time to do that, too! Oh, look who's coming up our path! It's J.R. and Julie!"

Jeremy extricated his head. "You don't have to sound so happy about it."

"But I am, Honey! It's so beautiful here!"

Sandy straightened up and stepped over Jeremy who was still on his knees at the side of the tub. She tossed one of her suitcases on top of the bed. "Mmmmm...." She rummaged through her things, poking around until Jeremy got right up behind her.

"Stop, boy!"

Jeremy stopped, his hands up mid-leg. "You don't fold your stuff when you pack?"

"No, and I don't do windows."

"Can't this wait? What are you doing?"

"No, it can't wait. I'm looking for a sweater or something. You said the kitchen is colder than the rest of the house because there's no heating duct there, remember? Let's see.... Something nice and country looking. How about this?" She pulled over her head a cable-knit sweater. Gray with a pink butterfly appliquéd over the tip of each breast. "The little critters tickle my nipples. Do you like it?"

"Everything on you looks wonderful." Jeremy slid a hand under the sweater but Sandy slapped him away.

"Guess I should've brought some bras along but...."

"You don't need to wear a bra."

"That's what all the men say. Well, but, your children are here. Your son."

Jeremy felt pain double in his gut. _...all the men..._ "I love it when I can see your tits bounce."

"Oh, Jeremy, that's so sweet!" Sandy looked at him, her head cocked to one side, and laughed. "But, Jeremy, we already caught him snooping once, so...."

"That was an accident. He just happened to come out on the porch when we were fooling around."

"Yes, I guess that's true. You're right." Sandy pulled up the sweater and lifted her arms. "Okay. One kiss each and then we get dressed. Oh, it's so nice that you love me so much! Okay, nuff nuff!"

Jeremy sighed and plunked down on the edge of the bed. He watched her load herself into a pair of tight, corduroy jeans. She sucked in to zip up.

"Sandy, you are a fucking doll."

"Jeremy. I am a fucking lady! Do you think I'll be warm enough? Do we eat in the kitchen tonight?"

Jeremy frowned. "The kitchen doesn't have a heating duct because it's assumed the warmth from the stove will do it." He got up to embrace her but she jumped out of the way.

"There has to be something cooking for that, doesn't there?"

"Supper can wait."

No, no. You told me that when you move to the country you're going to go with the flow. You're going to live with the rhythms of nature, not by the clock. Supper at sundown. When the days get longer, supper later, at sundown. Sundown it is!"

Jeremy plodded over to his dresser to hunt up a pair of Levi's. They were all new and he wished he'd taken the time to break them in, but it occurred to him that Sandy wouldn't notice anyway. The jeans would be uncomfortable and stiff though....

"Jeremy, look!"

He turned to see her flopped back on his big, brass bed, legs and arms spread out. Her sweater was hiked up to her neck and her jeans were unzipped. Jeremy growled and grabbed for one of her feet, kissing the toes, the painted nails. Then he tugged off her jeans and dove between her legs.

"No, no, no!" she laughed, pulling his head up by the ears. "First things first, silly old man!"

Later, Jeremy looked out the little window located half-way down the stairs, but it had gotten too dark outside to see much. He was following Sandy, who was tip-toeing down – both of them in their stocking feet. Not turning on the lights over the staircase was Sandy's idea. They would sneak up on the kids and scare them. The "young'uns" would be uneasy, Sandy had said, in a new house and all, especially with the wind picking up the way it was. Jeremy was glad to hear her call them young'uns, with Junior the same age she was. She understood! She was getting into things, and getting into sex. He hoped the weather forecast was wrong, though. The first few days should be sunny. Cheerful. He had looked at the satellite picture during the weather report – it could go either way. Well, if it does rain more than the dribble they had the night before, and the roof doesn't turn up any leaks...

"Shhhh!" Sandy stopped on the last step. "Light on in the kitchen."

Jeremy embraced her from behind, his hands under her sweater. So soon and he needed to have her again. Sandy was so pretty and so firm and so young – he wondered if he would ever get enough. He leaned forward to kiss the nape of her neck, his nose poking through that wonderful, flaming hair.

A sharp elbow-jab into his gut ended it. Sandy whispered: "Come on."

He tested the smoothness of the hardwood floors by sliding his socks along the polished grain. The planks felt warm. He had already checked out the insulation work the previous owner had done on this old house and it looked like a good job. Everything, in fact, could hardly be better!

There were no doors to the wide entrance from the living-room to the kitchen so they moved up on the opening a little to the side in the shadows. Sandy stopped and Jeremy looked over her shoulder. Junior was sitting at the long table in his camouflage T-shirt, cleaning his fingernails with the tip of the huge Bowie knife. The black soles of his combat boots faced them as he leaned back in his chair, the lugs clogged with red clay. In the florescence of the bright, overhead lights – and in the silence – the scene evoked a twinge of apprehension in Jeremy's gut.

Julie was standing on the far side of the room, still wearing the same, leather jacket. The microwave went ding! and she took something out.

"Boo!" Sandy yelled.

Julie jumped but Junior simply looked up, the Bowie knife now pointing in the direction of the sound. When he saw it was Sandy a grin spread across his shiny, pocked face. Julie bent over and picked up the plastic sandwich bag she had dropped. Her eyes turned to Jeremy and Sandy, who were still standing in the entranceway. Her eyes were cold. "What's for supper?"

Sandy looked surprised. "You asking me?" But her voice was friendly, even cheerful.

"Well? Yeah!"

"I'm not your fucking mother, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah. Right."

Jeremy laughed and Julie shot him a cutting look. She was feeling of the stuff in the plastic bag. "Sandy, how long do you leave the reefer in there? This smells burned but it's still damp."

Sandy zoomed over to Julie's side. "I use a paper bag. Plastic holds the moisture in. "Sandy went over to the kitchen garbage can and poked around in it until she came up with a small, brown paper bag. She handed it to Julie. "Try two minutes first so you don't burn it."

Jeremy grumped. "Yesterday's shit all smoked up already?"

"My whiskey's all gone, too, Jeremy," Sandy said. "See? This is the bag from the liquor store in Tampa. I don't like to buy more than a pint at a time when I'm driving. If I get pulled over. A pint will slide under the seat."

Jeremy looked up to the tongue-and-groove ceiling while Junior laughed and sat up straight. "What's for supper, Dad?"

The microwave dinged again and Sandy took out the bag. She picked out a small bud and crushed it between her fingertips. "Oh, just smell this shit!" The nostrils of her freckly nose flared. "So good!" Where on Earth do you get it?"

"I'll show you tomorrow," Julie said. "We'll get some more."

"I can show you!" Junior said. "Please?"

"Oh! All this cooperation!"

Jeremy hugged Sandy from behind again but did not allow his hands to roam. "I think you guys better stay away from there. You're going to get caught."

Sandy wiggled out of his arms and faced him. "But Julie said there was so much! They won't miss just a little bit, will they?" She batted her eyes and planted a kiss on his mouth, pressing her packed sweater against his chest. "There! Now hush!"

"If you go over there every day you're bound to..."

"Hush! Okay, then. Now it's my turn. Germy? What's for supper?"

Julie said: "Germy?"

"That's Jeremy if you say it real fast."

Junior grinned. He was leaning back in his chair again, so far that Jeremy had to stop and ask him to move so he could get around to the refrigerator. Wife No. 1, despite her faults, her persistent drug addiction, always managed to have an evening meal ready – even if she would pass out at the table from drinking while cooking. Before getting anything to eat herself. And between wives, the dates Jeremy could bring home were whirlwinds in the kitchen, showing off what miracles they could perform with whatever he happened to have in the fridge. Then Wife No. 2, Julie's mother, for all her nit-picking and perfectionism – and (later) indifference to Jeremy's needs in the sack – never failed to have meals planned at least a week ahead.

Now there was Sandy. "Do we have any whiskey in the house?"

"It's all gone," Julie said. "I'm hungry for a burger and some French fries."

"Me, too!" Sandy said. "But I want a good swallow of good old Jack Daniel's first!"

Jeremy searched his mind for where he got the idea that Sandy was a back-to-nature, Mother Earth type. The VW beetle with the flowers and the toadstools and the bumble-bees and the butterflies. And patched jeans and that long, wild hair....

"I want to go to McDonald's," Junior said.

Julie clicked her tongue. "Let's get stoned first, Sandy."

"Okay! We can drive to the liquor store high!"

Jeremy sighed and pulled a Coors Silver Bullet out of the fridge. _pschttt!_ He sat down at the head of the table and watched the three of them get a joint rolled and pass it around. Sandy looked so beautiful. And Julie was actually smiling and looking happy! Junior looked like he was high already – probably was – they all probably were staying high. He declined the joint when they handed it his way. He had a business to run, starting back tomorrow. In fact he could have had the computer and the printer, the FAX board and the phone line modem all hooked up and operating already if he didn't have his head so far up Sandy's ass. He sure didn't need to get his mind anymore fucked up than it already was. This country place had to succeed – it had to! He was a techno-peasant now. A cyber-hick. Work at home out in the sticks via the land-line DSL modem. Jeremy sucked in a whiff of the smoke hanging above the table. It reminded him so much of the old days.

Dynamite weed, man!

Far – out!

Too – much!

Junior.... Jeremy noticed that he rarely took his eyes off Sandy. Well, out here, he would be able to handle him. If they ever had to move back to Tampa he would be forced to institutionalize the boy. It would be a heartbreak and it would be expensive.

McDonald's.... That had been Junior's first, properly articulated word when he was a tad. He was two years old and still hadn't come up with da-da or mommy. On his second birthday they took him to McDonald's. They took him there because J.R.'s mother was tripping and she said the birthday cake dough she'd made had turned into bubble-gum and she couldn't bear to ruin the oven by putting bubble-gum in there. So they went to the fast food joint and stuck two candles in Junior's cheeseburger and sang "Happy Birthday", and on the way out Junior said, as clear as a bell: "McDonald's".

They had all clapped, and on the way home, while Junior's mother peered out of the window saying "Wow" and "Heavy" while the buildings going by turned into purple-crystal towers and emerald spires, Junior would answer her, over and over again: "McDonald's." "McDonald's." He was so precious and cute!

Junior reached over a second time and handed the joint to Jeremy. "Here, Dad."

They were all staring at Jeremy now, and smiling. They all looked so happy for a change, and Sandy was a splendor. Her bright-green eyes were looking right into his. She was nodding encouragement, Junior's arm still outstretched, the roach curling smoke from his fingertips.

"What the hell," Jeremy said. He sucked in a hit.

They all clapped for him.

"McDonald's," Junior said.

## Chapter 20

## Gus & Sophia

1Gus, would you ever lie to me?" Sophia was in the middle of her bed, leaning back against the large, square cushion the man had snugged behind her back. It was dark outside and the aqua glimmer from the pool lights shone through the sliding glass door. It was a sight Gus was particularly fond of. He watched Sophia pick up a small portion of the ice-cream with her spoon and dip it into the hot fudge at the side of the bowl before bringing it to her mouth. She was wearing the soft, comfortable, shorty robe he had laid out for her after carrying her back from the bathroom – an unnecessary indulgence.

"This is so good, Gus, your home-made fudge."

Gus smiled. He was sitting on the edge of the bed and he leaned over and gave her cushion a little shove, pressing it tighter against her back. "You don't look very hungry."

"My mind is.... My mind is jamming, Gus." She took a larger helping with the next spoonful and shoveled it in.

"No lipstick," Gus said. "And none yesterday. You're letting yourself go." He laughed. Sophia loved to make up her face, and mail-ordered packages of cosmetics arrived every few weeks via the UPS truck.

"Jamie wore it off. That's yesterday's excuse anyway!" Sophia looked Gus in the eye. It was a questioning look, but steady and defiant.

"It's okay! Jamie was my idea, so...."

"Gus, I'm scared."

"Of Jamie?"

"No, no. Oh, Gus, Jamie is the sweetest boy! I'm so happy about him!"

"Yeah, well, he's not being a smart-ass, is he? Sophie? If he ever gives you any shit, you tell me, okay? Is he coming back?"

"Oh, he'll be coming back but not tonight. I told him not to. I need to think. I told him tomorrow, after school, if he wants to. Oh, Gus!" She began to attack the ice-cream with a vengeance.

"So what's bothering you? I see he took the garbage out last night. Did the dishes. Did you let him take you to the bathroom?"

"I'm sure he would have, but – I couldn't."

"You made love with him?"

"Gus, you waited a whole day to ask me this stuff? I'm afraid to tell you. Yes. I seduced him." She watched his face. "I think he was cherry, Gus. He told me he loves me. Do you think I did wrong?"

Gus reached over and laid his arm on the cushion behind her. He stroked the back of her head with his fingers, the tips tickling through her short, dark, silky hair. Short but for the pointed sideburns curling forward under her cheeks. "No, Sophie, you guys did what you needed to do. But in the outside world your ass would be hamburger."

"He's almost eighteen."

"Yeah. True."

"You're biting your lip. You think I fucked up?"

"No, Sophie. I was just picturing the two of you together. I was just wishing for a second that I was him." Gus leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, brushing the thick bangs aside with his lips. "I love you, Sophia."

She swallowed and laid her spoon down. "Gus."

"I do."

"You never said so. You act like it sometimes but you never said so."

"I just found out."

"That's what I was afraid of. Gus? I love you, too."

The man stiffened. He turned his head so she could not see the tears trying to form. So many times he had wanted to tell her but he never could risk it. And lose everything he had now.

"Your ice-cream is melting," he said finally. He reached for a Kleenex and dabbed the tears away from her eyes and then she snatched the tissue away and dabbed at his face.

With her mouth curled down, she laughed through her tears. "And your ice-cream isn't?"

They finished the stuff in silence. Spoons clanking against the thick, porcelain bowls. When Gus went down the hall to take the empty bowls to the kitchen she called after him not to leave right away. He stopped in the bathroom on the way back and splashed water in his face, and brushed his teeth with the brush he kept there but rarely used. He looked at himself in the mirror. His face looked old. Weathered.

What am I doing here?

Is this place real?

It's been such a long road.

Sophia studied him when he returned. Such a tough looking dude to be so intelligent and so shy at times. And why was he standing there looking at her like that? That grin.... She squealed when he suddenly lunged at her, picking her off the bed, growling like a dog and slamming himself backwards down into the armchair next to the patio doors with her ass plunked firmly in his lap. She wiggled herself comfortable while his arms encircled her. He was being careful not to touch her breasts, well... His teeth pulled on her right ear.

"You stubby little beauty!"

"Oh oh!" She could feel him growing underneath her and she wiggled her butt deeper into his lap. "Oh, Gus, not after all this time!" She laughed. "Not today!"

"Don't worry. It only does that when it knows there's no chance."

"Oh, Gus, you could've had me when you first came here. You know that, don't you? Well, if it makes you feel any better, Jamie was impotent at first. That's a secret."

"And you cured him."

"Oh, yes, yes! You would never let me try my little tricks on you!"

Gus felt his erection die. He nibbled on her ear again, and kissed her cheek, and she turned her head and they gave each other a preliminary invasion of the lips.

"I do love you, Gus." She turned her head away and took a deep breath while his hands suddenly moved up to her breasts. She relaxed and closed her eyes and leaned back into him.

"Gus?"

"Mmmm-hmmmm."

"You won't tell Jamie?"

"No. Is that what you're afraid of?"

"No. Well, right now it is. He would be so hurt."

"Don't worry about it. I like the kid. I am a little jealous, though. I am, Sophie. I love you." Gus paused, hunting the right words. "Plus you're my whole life. You gave me a place in this world. My camp, my compound, is on your property now. My first home in years. I don't want anything to change."

Sophia wanted to say something about the woman he kept back at his trailer but she had something more important to discuss now. "Okay, Gus. I don't want anything to change, either. You know what I am afraid of!"

"You? Afraid?" Gus smiled. "Afraid you'll fall in love with Jamie?"

"He's a kid. I could be his mother."

"Barely. Not hardly."

"So why did you bring him here? You didn't know what would happen?"

Gus did not answer. He was trying to keep everything in perspective while his hands had more important things to do.

"Gus? It's you I worry about, not Jamie. I can handle Jamie. I'm afraid you'll get pissed at everything one day and leave. Leave me for good. I'd rather be dead."

"Really? Come on, Sophie. Besides, you'd still have Jamie."

"For how long? You think I could chain him here like you do with your, oh, never mind."

"Rather be dead, huh? That's sweet."

"You think so? You know how many times I thought you were going to finally hit on me and then you'd leave me alone here? Night after night? So you could bed down with that slave you keep down there? You don't think I've ever spent the night staring at the ceiling picturing her curled up against you? Have you ever thought about that?"

"All night?"

"Well...."

"Come on. How was I to know? I'd tell you neat stuff like how good you looked, how foxy, you know, and you'd say: 'Thank you Gus. That's sweet.' Shit like that."

"I thought you were just ass kissing because you needed to stay here. Don't forget, I've seen her. And she has legs. Long legs! You know how that makes me feel?"

"You let her stay with me here."

"I was afraid you'd leave if I didn't."

"Leave to where? Where would we be safe, especially from the law? You never felt that I had feelings for you?"

"Yes.... Sometimes. But then I'd picture her and I'd picture me and, you know. And if I told you I loved you I saw how you could take advantage of that. You have to picture yourself in my position. I have to defend myself with what little I've got. You see where I'm coming from?"

"Sort of. With what little you've got? You're sexy-beautiful and you're rich!" Gus went to tickle at her ribs. "This is getting much too serious!"

"Stop! Stop it!" Sophia threw her head back and nudged the top of his shoulder with her head. Grabbing one of his hands she placed it back over a breast while she arched her back. "I have trouble remembering exactly what she looks like, just that she's tall and – stunning. Like a European model."

"It was dumb of me to bring her here to meet you that time."

"I asked you to, remember?"

"I didn't have to do it."

"So why are you playing with my tits right now?"

"Greener grass."

"Is it? Always greener on the other side of the fence?"

"For a man it is. Is it for you?"

"I've never been in the position."

"Oh, come on! What about before you married Gunther, when you had your legs. When you were hustling?"

"That was different! I didn't think about it! I was young. I needed to do it for the next high! Gus, I'm tired of this. Put me back on the bed. Please."

Gus sighed. His big mouth. She had told him some things from time to time. About when she was a teenage junkie. A hooker....

"I'm sorry, Sophia."

She twisted around and hung onto him, her arms around his neck. He felt an erection begin again with the press of her breasts against his chest and the velvet of her cheek against his face. As strong as he was, it was a struggle to get up out of the depth of the armchair with the added weight of her. To his relief, she laughed and gave him a peck on the lips.

He laid her down onto her bed.

"Gus? Let's make love. Just this one time."

Gus knelt beside the bed and laid his head against her tummy. "If I could, baby."

"Is it a problem because you're thinking about your – about her?"

"No...."

"You told me you love her. A few minutes ago you told me you love me. Was that bullshit?"

"No. I love both of you."

"Well, at least you don't lie. You can't get it up for me because of my stumps?"

"No! That makes you look even sexier!"

"Oh, yeah, sure. You can't get it up because you're afraid she'll find out?"

"Shit, Sophia! She doesn't even know what day it is anymore. She doesn't know where she is, or what I'm doing all day or whether it's winter or summer, I mean, her mind is so far out somewhere."

"I don't look like a woman."

"Sophie, don't. You are so sexy. Kinky sexy. You're a dream!"

"Then prove it."

"I don't have a switch on this thing I can turn on. I can't control it. I can't help it."

"You told me once you're never impotent. I assume that's with her."

"I'm not afraid of her."

"Oh, Gus! You're afraid of me?"

"No. Yeah! I don't know. It just came out. Yes, actually!"

"Gus, if you're afraid of me, take your clothes off and get into bed with me. Let me feel you close. I know where all the little switches are."

Her voice and her words made him tingle. He stood, then hesitated. He had already left Rochelle too long. Chain and collar off so she could take a bath. "I've been doing stuff all day. I need a shower. I'm all sweaty."

"Gus, remember all the baths you've given me. So professional acting, like you were still that orderly in that hospital you told me about up north? Come on. Let's forget all that and get in the pool. Both of us. Let me give _you_ a bath this time."

Gus pictured it. He began to unbutton his shirt.

"We'll both always have this night to share," she said.

"Sexual bonding."

"Bonding. Fun, too. Don't forget the fun part! Your foster parents crammed more religion up your ass than you think!"

"Yeah, well, who knows. What about Jamie?"

"He'll never know. Gus, I could have a hundred like him. There's only one man like you." Sophia held her breath involuntarily for a moment. How easy it was to get back into the old come-on routines! Did he connect that?

"Jamie's unique. We talk a lot."

Sophia slipped out of her robe and pulled herself up on the rope dangling from the ceiling. "Carry me to the pool, Gus."

He was in the middle of stepping out of his Dickie work khakis. There were so many mirrors in her bedroom! He felt naked and wrinkled and old, while Sophia looked as slick as a peach.

"You never take that necklace off? I'm going to buy you a gold chain for those beads. That rope is so..."

"Bootlace." He went to her outstretched arms and leaned forward while she clasped her arms behind his neck. Her tough little butt felt warm in the crook of his right arm.

Gus slid back the glass door with his left hand and stepped out onto the deck. The wood was smooth but cold on his feet and the night air brushed his ribs and buttocks. He felt his scrotum tighten. Slowly, he lowered himself down into the steaming water.

"I love you, Gus, and I want you to come in me."

Then he knew he would. Oh, how he would!

"We're in the Garden of Eden, Gus."

"No. We're in Heaven, Sophia. In Heaven."

## Chapter 21

## A Happy Time

There was a clatter from the kitchen and both girls jumped, startled, each putting fingers to her lips and turning to stare at the other. Brenda shifted her weight on the rough boards of the steps. "I was thinking about the diary. Both of them."

"Bofe' um."

"Yeah.... Feel how warm the air got? Soon as it got dark."

"It's gonna rain I bet."

"Yeah, and then it'll freeze, an' all the firewood'll be wet."

"We don' have that problem," Brenda said. "We got a man come an' fill the propane tank but I got to tell 'im my mama's at work while she be hidin' in the bedroom. Daddy give me the money for the gas now."

"I was thinkin' about the part where Rachel thank the man for Benny."

"Me too!"

"Yeah? Can't you jus' see 'im?"

"Little Benny? Yeah."

"You two look like bumps on a log," MayBelle said. She smoothed out her apron as the screen door banged shut behind her. She stepped between them and gave Brenda a friendly bash when she plunked down between them on the steps.

"You gonna kill me, Mama, wif' that big, chocolate, heifer ass!" Brenda appeared to be startled at her own words and clamped a hand over her mouth.

"I think I'll just stop feeding that mouth, Chile. So how did you get your school books?"

"The principal stop by my homeroom an' say Daddy stop by wif' my stuff. No note. No 'splanation. No nothin'. An' some clothes in a big, dumb, Thrift Way paper bag. It was embarrassin'."

"You waited long enough to tell me. I thought he was coming here to pick you up. I've been holding dinner."

"Sorry."

"Hmmmmm." MayBelle turned to Leesa, who was lost in thought again. Rachel's diary was something Leesa would never forget – she knew it – and it was the first time she ever felt sorry for a white woman. She wished she could discuss it with MayBelle. And turn the diaries in to the police or somebody. But Brenda had said: "Not wif' my fingerprints all over it!" Plus there was the breaking of the rules, the sneaking into the junkyard, trespassing, pilfering around in the dynamite shack, taking stuff out.... Their father had always trusted them.

After a long silence, MayBelle heaved herself up and went back inside.

Brenda began to whine. "I don' think Daddy love me."

"Oh, Brenda, tha's dumb. He treat us like we was pure gold. Bofe us."

"That 'cause we bofe' pure pussy!" Brenda was laughing now.

"I heard that!" MayBelle yelled from inside. The girls heard her laugh.

"She don' seem upset about Daddy chunkin' me off here."

"She tol' me that Daddy always give her extra money when somethin' ain' right. He'll prob'ly give her some extra for this, you wait an' see!"

"But by then I'll be home, an' you an' MayBelle be livin' high on the hog!"

"We high on the hog now!" Leesa laughed. Mama's makin' sour beef an' sauerkraut an egg dumplins."

"Ohhhh! Yeah, but when I think about food now, I always 'member Rachel goin' hungry."

"Yeah...."

The deep yard was sunk in long, dark shadows, the bushes and trees glowing with a rising moon. MayBelle came out for a second and switched on the porch light, a small, yellow bulb, a Bug Lite speckled with fried insect droppings left over from summer. Leesa followed her back in and came out with a blanket.

"You two going crazy." MayBelle said.

"We two hungry!"

The screen door spring twanged. "Everything good take time!"

Brenda lowered her voice as Leesa spread the blanket over their legs. "Now we ain' got Rachel's diary to finish tonight."

"I'll run over there an' get it right now. I ain' afraid of the dark."

"Oh, yeah."

"Heat of the Night be on that re-run channel tonight. Last night MayBelle was kinda upset we didn' watch TV wif' her."

"Your favorite show? Your dream honkey-hunk, Bubba? Oh, Bubba, kiss me. Love me. I do anything you want!"

Leesa gave her half-sister a poke in the ribs with an elbow and suddenly dropped to a whisper. "Brenda! Look! Over there in the trees behin' the pump. There's a man wif' a net!"

Brenda stiffened and clamped a hand over Leesa's knee. "Where?!"

Leesa laughed.

"Leesa, don' do that! I be on edge all day as it is!" Brenda relaxed a little but her eyes continued to scan the far edge of the yard at the tree line. Satisfied, she changed her voice. "Bubba _your_ honky, Leesa. Oh, Bubba, will you go to bed wif' me tonight? I wants to give myself to you so bad!"

Leesa said nothing. She began to imagine her wedding night, with Bubba, the white, Sparta Mississippi deputy sheriff. But in her picture, Bubba's face kept on giving way to the face of old Gus. Well, Gus wasn't that old, and he was real. She could see him carrying her over the threshold of the motel room door. Gus lying in the bed as she emerged from the bathroom in her red, Wal-Mart, bikini sleep outfit. She was kneeling beside the bed and brushing her lips along his chest. His chest was white with a crop of black, curly hair.

It was the scene Leesa had seen so many times in TV love stories: the woman brushing her lips over the man, brushing and nibbling. Bubba probably wouldn't like her full, African lips, though. When she was still in elementary school a white girl had told her once: No white boy will want to kiss those lips! But Gus would, Leesa thought. He had it in his eyes. But what if he didn't? What if he would jerk his head away when she leaned over him for that first kiss on the mouth?

"Peaches Junior? You losin' it!" Brenda poked her. "You look like you out to lunch! I know, you're in Bubba's po-leesa car. It got Jus' Married wrote on it. In white."

"I ain' never gettin' married."

"Oh?"

"Nope. No man gonna dominate over me an' tell me what to do."

"When to take a baf'. When to pee."

"What color to shit."

"When to go down on him."

"Brenda, that's gross."

"That's the way it is!"

There was a long silence.

"Last freeze killed all the crickets an' stuff," Brenda said. "It's so quiet. You ever picture it? Doin' it? Doin' that?"

"I jus' been."

"Yeah.... Me, too. I don' know if I could do it." Brenda looked behind her to make sure MayBelle wasn't standing in the doorway. "Peaches, she do it to Daddy. I seen her a couple times when they thought I was in bed asleep. In the living-room, too."

Leesa covered her eyes. "Oh, Brenda. Really?"

"Not so loud."

"Could you see everything?"

"No. Mama had her back to me, kneeling in front of Daddy's chair like she was prayin', an' I was afraid to get a better look in case Daddy see me. But he had his head way back an' his eyes was rolled up in his head like there was somethin' importan' up there on the ceilin'."

"How long do it take?"

"Mmmmmmm – five, ten minutes? An' Daddy he be moanin' an' groanin' the whole time, an' sayin' stuff like Don' stop now! Don' stop now! So you know it make him feel good like nothin' else. But I don' know if I could do it."

"I think I could. If mens like it that much."

"That 'cause you Peaches' chip off the block. I heard it taste bad when they come."

"Kara she say she do it to Marty all the time. She say all you got to do is think about how good that thing feel when it be up in you later an' you get to where you love it to death."

"Not me. If I had her high-yellow skin I wouldn' have to do nothin' special to keep no man."

"Kara's not bad. Anyway, she say she did it at firs' 'cause if she didn', some other bitch would. An' Marty, he the catch of the school! An' that Camaro an' all. She say that now she love to do it, though, an' if you swallow it real hard an' fas' it ain' bad like they say."

"Don' soun' like it good, neither. You picture doin' it to Bubba?"

"Yeah...."

"Well...."

"If I do it for 'im he'll know I love 'im."

"Yeah, well...."

"You were right. We should've kep' Rachel's diary for tonight."

"Yeah. My bet is she goes down on 'im nex'."

"That jus' what I be thinkin'."

"An' that way he won' have to cum on top of the baby's head."

"Oh, Brenda! That's too gross!"

"The Bible tell me so."

"The Bible say what?" MayBelle was behind the screen door. "Dinner's ready. The table ain't set. The wood bin's empty."

Leesa grabbed up the blanket and the two of them rushed inside. The wood bin was full and the table was set on a clean cloth that Leesa usually saw only on Sundays. Brenda took in a deep breath of the roast which was steaming in a crock in the center of the table. She clapped her hands.

"Oh, MayBelle, I'm so hungry! Thank you!" She plunked down in John Simmons' chair and tucked a paper-towel napkin under her chin. "Mama, Peaches don' never cook like this!"

"There be a lot of stuff Peaches don't do as good as me. How long you say it takes her, Brenda? About ten minutes you figure?" MayBelle laughed. "Brenda? I believe you're blushing!"

Leesa cringed and looked at her half-sister, whose face was blooming with a light, pink blush.

"I'm too black to blush, Mama." Brenda was holding her napkin over her face now. "Leesa! you blushin', too!"

"Oh, look at this! Both of you!"

"Bofe' us!" the girls said.

It was a happy time.

## Chapter 22

## Gus & Rochelle

Gus was thankful for the early, nearly full moon. As he hurried down the shadowed aisles of the salvage yard he knew that he had left Rochelle free for too long. She loved her baths and could spend an hour in the tub, but after that? Despite his fears, his heart was singing with the memory of the time spent in the pool with Sophia. Sophia....

Sure knows how to get what she wants!

It had been so beautiful for him, to play with a female on an equal basis. And Sophia had been so aggressive with all her erotic tricks! Gus felt like a new man.

He did not slow down until he neared his own compound. All around it, near the center of the salvage yard, were the largest of the scrapped vehicles and machines, their shadows painting streaks and dark blocks across the moonlit rows. Dismantled cranes and earth movers and giant dump trucks. River and canal dredges with towering pilot houses. And at the entrance to his compound: the last and largest piece of equipment cast its eerie silhouette across Gus's domain. A monster canal digger, a Ferris wheel of buckets edged with steel teeth, the grinning scoops rising one above the other and throwing toothed moon pictures across the white, picket fence, the dark shapes spilling over the whitewashed ferro-cement, free-form structures which Gus had built for himself and his household.

He stopped. No lights.

He did not feel frisky enough just now to jump over the low gate, and he decided not to reach for the hidden outdoor light switch there, either. Better to move in slowly, quietly – see what Rochelle was up to. He thought that if she were back in the Airstream she would have seen from the windows that it was time to turn on the outdoor lights. On the other hand, there was no telling what she could be thinking.

After carefully re-latching the gate he moved down the bordered gravel path, the shadows of the canal digger crawling across his shoulders as he walked. To anyone seeing the compound for the first time, the clearing was an astonishment. Hidden from view from all points of the junkyard, it intersected four rows on each side. When Gus had first arrived there the compound consisted simply of an expanse of previously well-kept lawn, some clumps of sassafras trees, a huge live-oak in the center, and the white picket fence all around. Under the shade of the oak stood a perfectly preserved, early sixties Airstream trailer, the polished aluminum gleaming in the dappled light. It had been Sophia's husband's personal hangout, and when Gus saw the place for the first time – the compound's magical appearance in the midst of all that hulking, rusting machinery – he instantly fell in love with everything. At first, until he came up with its permanent title, he named it "Central Park".

Gus felt that he was seeing it all with the dead man's vision as no other man could. It had to be his now – he was its natural heir – and he would do anything to ensure his dominion. For the rest of his life. The added bonus of getting to actually like, and then love, Sophia had been a happy and extra bonus. Maybe there was a conscious god after all , the God of The Arts, the God of Joyful Spirits, who guarded over places like this, and Who had steered Gus off the road and into Sophia's realm after her husband's time had come.

She had told him his name was Gunther – "Goon-tear" she pronounced it – and that he was a Yankee, like Gus. Gunther had transplanted himself to Florida as a boy when he ran away from a strict upbringing by German-born parents. Long before the days of hot-lines for teenagers in trouble. Long before The Great Society and government as surrogate parent. Gunther's first home in Florida had been an automobile junkyard west of Miami, on the edge of The Everglades before its national park days. Junk and old vehicles became his love – his very first physical shelter, in fact – and as he learned the salvage business his life became a used-equipment entrepreneur, and real success arrived when he moved his business to the Florida panhandle where large tracts of land were dirt cheap. With his growing skill at auctions he could have become rich but his penchant for collecting precluded that. Later in his life he had picked up Sophia off the road just (just as, later, she had taken Gus in) and although he was hard working, Gunther enjoyed his many days in Florida to the very last.

Whenever Gus would decide to build something, he would think about it for days. Sometimes weeks. He would sit by himself, in the late afternoon when the sky would paint its golden light over the aisles of rust and steel and grass. In these quiet and secluded canyons Gus would picture what he was going to build and Gunther's spirit would speak to him and nod approval when pleased, and they would decide together on the perfect placement for this new thing. Gus's building projects were all beautiful and peculiar – but they weren't strange to him and Gunther. Gus never thought that this collaboration was crazy. It was real. As real as the Big Bang theory or the Six Day Creation.

After he had moved into the Airstream, one of the first things Gus discovered nearby was the cement pump and mixer. It was hand-built, on a heavy but short trailer, and it was obvious that the old man had been working on it shortly before his death. His welder and tools were all about the machine. Even a carpet had been left under the contraption where Gunther had to lie on his back when plumbing in the valves and hoses for the cement gun. It was a powerful gun but it had never been used. Gus knew exactly what it was for and made it his own.

Gus did not tell Sophia about Rochelle at first. After he moved in, and knew he was where he wanted to be, Gus left without notice one day and went back to Connecticut to get her. He knew that he would be bringing her back to a place where there was little likelihood either one of them could be found – where they both would be safe. And after he did manage to bring her to Florida his luck held out, except for a few close calls where she had managed to escape but did not get very far. And soon Gus trusted Sophia enough to know that his secret was safe with her.

There was one problem: Rochelle could run faster than he. At the mental hospital where he kidnapped her (and where he used to work) the orderlies used to call her "Barbie" because of her long legs and other wonderful distributions. "Barbie, come here!" "Kiss it, Barbie!" "Bend over, Barbie!" But Gus never worked in that "criminally insane" wing of the building where Rochelle was housed, and she was not involved in his initial flight from the law. He had been caught in the geriatric wards, snuffing elderly patients – over a period of years, an in-house investigation later concluded – turning "total care" patients into "no cares" (his own term according to another E.M.T. who had worked with him). Gus had become an expert in silently and quickly rescuing terminally ill old folks from the slow torture of a lingering and painful death.

Kidnapping Rochelle was another matter. Getting her out of the special facilities for psychotic, criminal minors had been on his mind long before he was caught helping Alzheimer vegetables enter The Future. It was only after his flight south that he saw the real possibility of it. And he had never called her "Barbie". Not once. He loved her.

Now it looked as though she had gotten away again.

After checking out the Airstream (their bed near the door was made-up and cold) Gus picked up a flashlight and headed for the bath house. The building was about thirty feet from the trailer via a boardwalk, and the smooth, white, cement curves of the bath house walls glowed in the moonlight. The arched windows, especially the ones which had been formed into the dome at the top, glistened with sweat from her steamy bath. Gus was proud of this place and he stopped, but just for a second, to listen and to admire. It was the first of his ferro-cement buildings made with free-form wire mesh and the concrete gun. With Rochelle as his (frequently unwilling) helper he had done the plumbing inside first. The oldie but goodie extra large hospital tub in the center, the tiled floors with the drains under the dual shower heads – everything had been found in the salvage yard. He constructed the dome by first cutting and welding the wire-mesh fabric framework, cutting out places for the doors, and windows which were car-windshields stripped from the inexhaustible supply. The cement Sophia had to buy for him although she never came by to see how he was doing because Rochelle's presence bothered her at first. Gus had to gun the cement mortar over the mesh and then work with trowels before the goop would set up, polishing off the rough spots later with an air grinder. Rochelle would go on strike frequently, bitching about the hot and tedious work, not seeing the soon-to-be finished project in her mind's eye. During this period, he beat her for the first time, and came up with the electric dog collar system, modified to release a longer but controllable shock.

After the building was finished, Gus saw her smile for the first time. It was after a week of rain had finally given way to the sun. Gus was standing outside, sensing Gunther at his side, admiring the new structure with him. Rochelle ducked out the front door of the Airstream and walked part-way up to it and stopped. Gus took his eyes off of his new creation and looked at her. So tall and exotic! She had a towel draped over an arm and was wearing only her collar and her leather sandals. She was looking at the new bath house, and smiling.

"My father had a bath house built especially for me in Carthage. It was fed by a spring."

"Yeah? Well.... I'm glad you see it – that you like it. I think it's wonderful. It's great!"

"Go in and run the bath for me please."

There were times when Gus was unclear as to which one of them was the slave. Most of the time, he was sure, every human on Earth was a slave.

He never showed her where the controls were for the heating and ventilation system – for good reason. She was crazy as a bed bug.

Later, Gus peered inside. The lights were on, beaming from the high dome, water vapor still rising from the azure tiles under the gleaming shower heads. The bathtub had been drained and wiped dry. He had drawn the water for her before leaving for Sophia's, figuring he had plenty of time, knowing that Rochelle loved to soak in the only tub she had "ever been in for two thousand years".

Her towels were neatly folded over the white, porcelain sides. Gus figured she had rinsed off under one of the showers, and he hoped that she hadn't had time to go far.

Moving quickly now, Gus went back to the trailer and snatched her favorite of the non-electric collars. The purple one. On the way out he grabbed the matching leash from a hook near the door. "Purple is a royal color," she would say. "It is the color of my family. Of my people." It had been a hell of a time finding a purple one that was wide and thick enough. She never liked the red, nylon collar which he thought was pretty on her, or the sky-blue nylon which he found in the pet supply department of the Winn Dixie supermarket – the same place where he'd happily discovered the black one much later, not really looking, his cart already loaded to the gills with a two-week horde of groceries (he hated to leave the salvage yard for any reason) – when the wide, thick collar caught his eye. Black, shiny nylon with large, rhinestone studs and a chrome-plated ring for the leash. Heavy, shiny, quality-looking buckle. This one had pleased her but the purple, when he finally brought that one home, was her choice. Gus thought she looked best in the black – second best in the red. Her long, kinky-black Sinai hair down her back with the rhinestones setting off the wide, black band around her slender neck.... (The nylon was so thick he had to cut it to length with a razor, sealing the end over the gas-stove flame). He had given up on ankle chains from the start: her deliberate hobbling and tripping and his inability to punish or check her with a simple rein-in cancelled that experiment.

He left the flashlight turned off, in his right hand. In his left he carried the leash in a loop, and the purple collar. She had gone directly from the rear exit of the bath house, which had a small porch-deck there, and her bare footprints dimpled the bordered, white sandy path to the back gate of the compound. But once outside the gate, Gus had to get down on his hands and knees, shielding the electric light with his hands – and listening for sounds of her all the while – before he was sure she had headed west. Toward the cemetery. Good.

The last time she escaped she went east and nearly made it to the highway almost a mile away. Gus didn't want to think about what would happen to her there, especially at night. Suddenly appearing in the headlights of a passing motorist. A six-foot, raven-haired, live Barbie doll wearing solid gold rings and bracelets, and (for the most part) used to following orders. Any orders. A ballsy male would surely pull over and pick up something like that. A local cop for sure. Would she talk? Would the cop want to fuck her first? If he was an out of county cop, like an FHP, would they want to investigate the junkyard nearby?

Do old cars rust in the rain?

They'd lock him up for life. And Rochelle would end up back at the sanitarium. "Bend over, Barbie! Suck harder, Barbie!" He would have to shoot it out. Shoot her first. Maybe Sophia could bury them together, side-by-side, in the rose garden behind her place. Shit, there wouldn't be anything left of them to bury after the autopsies. Especially her. They'd be shipping chunks of both of them to their colleagues all over the country. Well, maybe they could preserve one of her tits in a jar and put it on the shelf next to Einstein's brain. His stuff would probably end up in Mason jars at the Miami Tropicaire flea-market. Famous serial-killer body parts. As seen on TV! Marked down to $25.00 a piece.

Or, nobody would ever see her again. Five minutes out on the highway, then gone. Gone! The passing motorist, married. Sent out of the house to get the old lady a pack of cigarettes. Sent out to get the step-daughter's cigarettes! Oh, and bring back some Reese's peanut-butter cups! The fat bitches glued to the living-room couch in pink, terry-cloth bathrobes watching "Cheers" re-runs. Dirty, pink slippers the family chihuahua was finished with. Hair in curlers.... And then, upon a midnight clear, through the twin wiper-arcs of the bug and mud splattered windshield, in the rosy glow of red-clay covered headlights, appears the Young Queen of Carthage. Alone! Nude! Live!

Is this sucker, this faithful husband and errand boy, going to pass by this windfall from Heaven? This morsel of pulsing, royal flesh? Is he going to be a boy scout and truck her to town so that the local authorities had something to play with?

Will the ugly bitch in the couch have to wait for her candy and butts? Forever, most likely....

Gus didn't head for the hole under the perimeter fence near the dynamite shack because he didn't know it was there. Instead he was double-timing to another place where Rochelle had once before cut an exit of her own. Cut it with the tool he had shown her how to use when they worked with ferro-cement mesh. She was crazy, but not without guile. Sure enough, he found the same place cut again – easy enough with the weaker repair to the fence he had made – she must have had the cutters hidden near the bath house because her tracks had bypassed the tool shed. In the moonlight, the cutters gleamed in the grass on the other side. The hole was large. She had made it large enough so she would not nick her precious skin.

## Chapter 23

## The Cemetery

Still cautious about switching on his flashlight, Gus crept along between the outside of the fence and the cemetery woods. He would stop frequently to hold his breath and listen. His first hunch was that she was worshipping at the spot where the two of them had buried the remains of their infant son. If she wasn't there, he had a problem. Big time.

Wishing it had rained a little to quiet the dried, dead leaves underfoot, Gus cut over to the path Jamie had mowed to the older part of the burial ground. Here the going was easier, and the mown swath though the bushes was lacy with moonlight. This was familiar territory. He had taken Rochelle here a few times himself, in daylight, and when most of the moss-covered headstones were readable. He came to the raised vault, the only one above ground, and stopped at the soapstone slab which covered it. To the west of this spot was the grove where he had buried their baby after she'd killed it. He squinted his eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of her through the trees and the humid, glowing mist.

She's probably lying down on top of the grave.

Tired, and feeling his middle-age, Gus knelt behind the vault and rested his chin on his arms above the smooth slab. Fixing his eyes on the grove, he decided to give it no more than five minutes. If she was here, he would have to jump her before she could run.

The presence of the tomb made itself known. Gus began to feel the power of it. Before the pictures opened up in his mind, he wondered who might be buried under that slab. Then he saw the movies. A middle-aged man, not unlike himself, dressed in one of those thick, wrinkly, Civil War era suits. Black shoes and string tie. A preacher? Standing on a high bluff, wind in his hair. Below, a sea coast. A shore. Dark, serene women, straight out of an illustrated Bible, slowly climbing the switch-back path up the slope. Each with a heavy urn on her shoulder, except for the two in the lead. A tall, richly draped woman and her daughter, from Simeon Solomon's painting "Moses in His Mother's Arms", the tall, older woman so handsome, carrying the struggling child in her arms. Her daughter, Moses' sister Miriam, walking beside her, with Rochelle's grace and Rochelle's face. Gus shivered, and closed his eyes. It was a Sunday morning. He was twelve years old. His foster parents were handing him a brand-new Bible, leather covered. illustrated, with a concordance in the back. His name in gold in the cover, just his first, as he had requested it, knowing the gift was inevitable.

Argos

Among the illustrations was a painting of Rochelle. By Solomon. But Rochelle couldn't be the sister of Moses any more than she could be Elissa, Queen of Carthage. But there she was. Rochelle. Before he had ever laid eyes on her. Barbie. The olive skin. The long, straight, Mediterranean nose, the thick eyebrows, the golden eyes of the Canaanites after they had mixed with the Greek Sea People.

Gus forced open his eyes.

What marvelous and beautiful genes.

She's here.

The images are coming from her, not this grave.

They're coming from your own head, dumb-ass!

No, it's our E.S.P..

The flesh of his arms prickled. He tried to focus on the grove ahead of him. A familiar shape was taking place in the shadows there, the urn which contained the body of their baby son. Did Rochelle dig it up and set it on the ground? He would wait one more minute. Yes, it was the urn! A terra cotta, wide-mouthed amphora just large enough to hold the infant's twisted body and a gift of Rochelle's jewelry for the Phoenician goddess Tanit. Rochelle's rejection of her deformed baby, killing it, returning the body to the goddess for a whole and healthy child in the manner of the ancient Carthaginians.

Gus had scored the urn from Sophia, approaching her with some trepidation because it was one of her prized possessions. "Our baby died. We would like to have the urn to bury it in." Sophia thinking the baby had died during its birth in the Airstream, knowing that the two of them didn't dare check into a hospital for the premature delivery. Gus could still hear Rochelle's low voice after he had lowered the stoppered urn into the grave he had dug, the urn upright, Rochelle kneeling at the edge of the pit, Gus waiting with his shovel for her prayers to end, her kneeling with her beautiful face looking up: "Take this child and give us a son whom the whole world will recognize and love." It was the longest sentence Gus had ever heard Rochelle utter, or ever would, probably. Silence or short bursts of words were the impenetrable and faithful defenses of her strange mind.

He heard a footstep, a soft crunch behind him, and another chill ripped across his back and down his arms. He stiffened, his chin still resting on his crossed wrists. Another footstep, close behind. The muscles in his gut bunched and Gus cursed himself for not bringing a weapon. He readied himself for a leap upward, with a twist. Another sound behind him and to the left, a sound he did not recognize, like a rustle and a pressing in the grass. Still ready to burst into action, he held his breath and slowly turned his head. It was Rochelle, almost directly behind him, kneeling now with her head bowed. Without looking up she raised a slender arm and pushed her hair away from the nape of her neck with a hand. Gus let out his breath and slowly got to his feet.

He approached her cautiously, and carefully buckled the purple collar around her neck. She continued to hold her hair out of the way until he could snap on the matching leash.

"I love you – Elissa." Gus did not know what else to say. He rarely did.

She arose, tall in the moonlight, and even her getting to her feet was a study in grace. Even with the front of her nude body smudged with dirt and snips of grass. She had been lying, as he had guessed, across the grave.

A few months ago, during the last warm days of Fall, she had run from him with the electric collar around her neck. Even at that desperate speed in the attempt to get out of range, her race to freedom was beautiful to see – fluid and effortless – her hair flying – her leap over a pallet of engine blocks like a young deer bounding over a low fence. With the control in his hand he had hesitated, watching her sprint down a long aisle. Then he dropped her to the dirt just as she was turning at the end.

Facing him in the moonlight now, her tough, breasts poked their points straight at him as he brushed a swatch of grass away with a hand, holding himself back from doing any more. No way would this woman be safe if she made it to the outside world. He led her over to the grove, to the grave. The ground was undisturbed. He must have merely imagined the urn in the shadows because all he could see now was the pressing in the earth where her body had lain prone upon it.

You're losing it, Gus.

No I'm not.

Is she any safer with you?

Hell yes!

After a silent time he let her lead the way back, but followed closely to keep the leash slack. He looked away for a moment when she got to her hands and knees to crawl through the hole she had cut in the fence.

A fantasy in the flesh.

On a leash!

Thank you, God.

Thank you for all of it – for all of this.

A tug on the leash. She was attempting to free a bracelet that had snagged on the cut wire. Where she had gotten all that African gold was a mystery but it had nearly cost them their escape from the asylum. She had resisted his every move until she realized that they would be bringing it all along.

Gus bent over to help her just as she got her arm free. "Rochelle, that pregnancy was an accident. It was an ectopic pregnancy or something. It wasn't your fault. That motherfucking doctor at the sanitarium botched the job when he had you fixed. It's not your fault."

"I never thought it was my fault."

She waited for him patiently at the end of the leash, which he had double-hooked to a fence post. He had retrieved the cutters and was attempting a temporary mend in the hole. She stood with the leash stretched tight so she could position herself in the patch of moonlight there, streaming down between the trees. Her hands were clasped behind her back and her long body was a block of warm, Mediterranean marble.

Just as Gus was about to give up on the fence mending, she spoke. "I am the last one, then. If I can't give birth."

Gus looked up at her, and even after all this time the sight of her took his breath away. Having her fixed was a terrible waste of genes. "Helen of Troy," he said aloud. He got to his feet with a grunt. His knees were stiff and they hurt.

"Helen is dead. I am alive."

"Yeah. Somehow!" Gus freed the leash at the fence post and once again, Rochelle led the way. To keep up with her and prevent jerking the leash, Gus had to step quickly behind Rochelle's long strides. It had been only hours since he made love with Sophia in her whirlpool bath. Now, following Rochelle's long legs and her bunchy little ass through the woods, his loins throbbed with lust. The occasional sideward glimpse of her dark nipples dancing in the moonlight actually hurt, and he could feel the old alligator taking over his brain again.

But at the compound, when she turned toward the trailer instead of the bath house, he had to get rough with her. She didn't want to wash off.

"You're not getting into bed like that!" He was trying to wrestle her toward the showers. "You want to wiggle around all over that grave, okay, but that means washing off!" Because of her youth, if he lost his grip on her she would out-run him, and for a moment he thought he was losing the struggle. Desperate, he swung a punch which landed on her cheek and almost decked her. Stunned, she let him pull her the rest of the way into the bath house, with her free hand clamped to the side of her face.

Gus secured the end of the leash into a snap-ring built into the wall between the shower heads. After adjusting the water on one of them while she stood there, he had to plant a boot on her butt and give her a shove forward before she would step under. Even then, she just stood, without moving, while he got his clothing all wet as he soaped her up with his hands.

"God, you are so beautiful," he kept on saying. "So beautiful, Baby."

"Baby? Not Barbie?" The question was out of character, and her voice burned with resentment.

"Huh? I never called you that. That was the other guys. That's why I had to get you out of there. Why didn't you complain about those assholes? Turn them in? Come on, rinse yourself off. This is making me horny.

"Horny? Our kings had thousands of slaves and hundreds of wives."

"Yeah, well, two at a time is enough for me." Shit! Did she catch that?

Rochelle did not answer. Gus put the soap down and turned her around and around under the water for the rinse. Would that make her jealous? Would it matter?

His hands roamed her delicious body as he rinsed her down. He should have taken his clothes off.

What a dumb-ass! Two at a time is enough?

Yeah, sure.... You're starting to lie to yourself, Gus boy.

You're a killer and a pervert.

That's what you are in fact!

He turned off the water. Rochelle did not hold her arms out for a towel as she usually did when he was there, and she stood motionless as he dried her off, only raising her arms so he could complete the job.

He had to drag her over to another snap-ring on the far wall so he could get out of his own clothes and shower. His boots left a muddy swirl as they clunked down to the wet tiles, and a formidable erection burst from his jeans when he pulled them off. He looked over to her and met her accusing eyes.

"It's because you are so beautiful and I love you so much, Shelley."

She looked down to her feet. Gus hesitated, then locked both doors of the bath house and unleashed her. He stepped back under a shower head and turned it on.

"Wash me off." It was easier to order her to do things than it was to get her to do things for herself. The why of that didn't matter just now. He watched her come close and kneel down in the gush of warm water.

A picture from his boyhood rolled onto his movie screen. The refectory at the orphanage. Passing that deck of forbidden playing cards under the dinner table in the dining hall. On the backs of the cards: color pictures of naked girls. Starlets! Fifty-two of them! Each one different! Each one, a priceless revelation! An impossible dream!

He glimpsed his new family, his foster parents. The strict rules at home. No PLAYBOY or PENTHOUSE magazines allowed. No pin-ups on the walls.

He saw the brass crucifix over his bed. Christ's head bowed, looking down at him. The crown of thorns, the little, brass drops of blood, the nails through His hands and feet. The infinite sadness of his face....

Look at me now, folks!

He could see the foster parents who gave him the illustrated Bible, looking at him through the water and steam. Rochelle was doing something to him that in all his young dreams he knew would never happen. Not ever! Gus shivered and pictured Rachel. Then Rochelle.

A slave girl.

In reality!

And Sophia is real! All of this is real!

He opened his eyes again. Rochelle cut her eyes up to him and he thought he saw the hint of a smile at the corners of her ardent mouth.

Rochelle was real and she was his.

But on the way back to the Airstream, he made sure she knew he had a firm grip on her leash.

## Chapter 24

## Rochelle & Sophia

Rochelle had always believed, as far as Gus could tell, that she was a reincarnation, a woman from another culture. An ancient culture. Even when she was first admitted to the asylum. He himself, when he was a youth, had often fancied himself as an ancient, Greek warrior. Later, an ancient Greek philosopher. He wondered about his real parents, why he had been abandoned, and the possibility that he might actually be Greek. In his mid-teens he came across Xenophon's "Anabasis", and he could not put the book down. It continued to be one of the most exciting and interesting books (and one of the oldest) he would ever read. From then on, Gus identified himself with Xenophon, the general, four-hundred years before Christ, leading his ten-thousand mercenaries back to Greece after an ill fated campaign in Persia. Through hostile territory. Through the hot desert and through freezing mountains. One adventure after another through uncharted, unknown worlds. No radios, no aerial photos, no way to know what madness lay beyond the next ridge, what perils lurked beyond the next river crossing. The "March of the Ten Thousand" and Gus as Xenophon himself, an officer and a chronicler.

Sometimes, in his school books, instead of writing his own name under the front cover, Gus would write: XENOPHON

A dream which faded with age. But when he found his new home at the salvage yard, he experienced an epiphany. Hungry, tired, on the run, and with his first, real refuge in a long time, with the first sight of the compound hidden away from the rest of the world he knew he was in a magical place. After toying with naming it "Central Park", he knew it was Xenophon's Camp, in the middle of ancient, hostile Anatolia. And early on he made a small sign and fastened it near the picket fence gate. A small, white board with the black letters still visible even though he had used the wrong paint:

XENOPHON'S CAMP

He would entertain visions of the junkyard as an armed enclave. His imagination peopled it with all the trappings of the ancient world he had studied so avidly as a youth: captured slaves, ox-carts laden with grain and booty guarded by the remnants of his loyal, half-naked troops. At the center of the ring of carts, where they would be most safe from the daily attacks of the pursuing Persians and Turks, were the tents of Xenophon's officers, and beautiful captives from the harems of Darius. The command post was Gunther's Airstream – Xenophon's tent. How could Argos refuse himself the dangerous campaign to head north once again and rescue the imprisoned Queen of Carthage? This wonderfully bizarre beauty who could only have been created just for him!

On the way to Rochelle's ward, which had more security than the rest of the complex, cold-cocking the orderly who tried to stop him was easy. Plunging a knife up under his sternum and through his heart after the man regained consciousness took more thought. But just for a second. There would be no more evil from this guy. No more "Sit on it, Barbie! Bend over, Barbie! Suck harder, Barbie!" Xenophon's sword had struck home.

A long time later, after Gus had told Sophia almost everything, he asked her if she thought he was crazy. Her response was quick. "Crazy is my pimp taking baling wire and twisting it around each thigh and leaving me in the trunk of my boyfriend's car for my legs to rot off from the lack of blood circulation! Crazy is not shooting the motherfucker when I had the chance! No, killing that asshole so you could get your slave-fantasy out of that place was probably a perfectly normal, male act. As normal and human as what the government does sometimes. Surprised? Don't ever think that I'm stupid just because I used to fuck for money when I was a quadruped."

"Quadruped!"

They both had laughed. "So, Gus, do you think she would try to hurt me if we ever ran into each other?"

"No." I don't think so. "Definitely not."

"I want to see her. Just once. Okay? I want to know what I'm dealing with on my own property."

This was the first time Sophia had made such a blunt point of reminding Gus that it was, after all, her property.

The next day, Gus attempted to explain to Rochelle why they were going to meet Miss Sophia, "...this lady who rules this place."

"Let her come to me."

"Fuck it, you'll do as you're told!" After he threatened a beating, he stomped out and went to Sophia's for lunch. They had a shot of whiskey together and Gus fried up a mess of bacon and blueberry pancakes. Then they enjoyed a little more of Jack Daniel's. This was before Gus had started running his own, sour-mash whiskey.

"I want to see that critter, Gus. I insist. If she doesn't want to come, you can drag her ass over here. You both are fugitives from the law and you're putting me at risk. She needs to know her place! You better get a collar on that bitch!"

"I do."

"Gus...."

"I do! In reality! A collar!"

"Oh. Ha ha! That does it! This I've got to see. This afternoon! I'll put on my Leona Helmsly tiara. And before you get her, put my maroon pillow on my chair on the porch. The big one with the gold tassels.

"Okay, but I have one request. If she says a lot of dumb stuff like, you know, about being the ex-queen of Carthage and shit like that, let it go, all right? She can't help it. She thinks she was captured by pirates and sold at a slave market. A couple thousand years ago."

"You already told me. I think you put that shit in her head yourself, Gus, if you want to know."

"No, I didn't."

"Well, whatever. Just so she behaves."

He had to bring her wrapped in a blanket. It was either that or wrestle her to the ground and try to pull her jeans on – and Gus doubted he had the stamina for that. The blanket was Rochelle's idea. "It's how I looked when you kidnapped me out of that place."

She followed him up the rows of the junkyard from the compound, in her leather platform-clogs while holding the blanket together with her fingers. Fingers loaded with rings. Gus, the leash in a firm grip, had to smile. Sophia would love this! He hoped. At least the yard was quiet and the sky was clear. One solitary cloud. Briefly the hum of bees.

Rochelle kept the hem of the lavender blanket from touching the ground by draping it over her left arm, which was loaded with the usual ton of bracelets. Her raven hair was braided into a single rope laced with a gold cord, and her face was made up with the ample supply of cosmetics handed down from Sophia's collection.

As they moved along, at a slower pace than usual, Gus looked back often to check Rochelle's mood. The Italian leather clogs amplified her unusual height from which she looked with downcast eyes, playing the slave to the hilt.

So different from the run from the asylum when he'd liberated her. The small bag of clothes he'd brought with him for her had gotten soaked with the orderly's blood and he had to wrap her in a blanket that time, also. The plan had been to simply exit through the front lobby. Fortunately, the alarm had been turned off at the emergency door down at the end of the hall from Rochelle's ward, and they ran out that way making a wild circle through the grounds behind the building, the blood sticky and wet on Gus's white hospital garb, the gore really standing out when they reached the parking lot and the bright lights. And both of them nearly out of breath, Rochelle saying over and over: "The alarm didn't go off!"

It was things like that which made Gus wonder just how much of her condition was play acting. The bitch seemed to be aware of everything!

In the geriatric wards, where Gus used to work, the staff would get the charge nurse to deactivate the alarm so they could use the hallway exits for smoking.

Rochelle's voice jerked Gus back to the present. "This is a strange land."

She had stopped, causing the leash to nearly pull out of his hand, and was looking at a rusting Buda forklift, jacked up and stripped of its wheels. He gave her leash a tentative jerk. Some sparrows were flying in and out of the partially open engine compartment, building a nest. Rochelle moved on. "Does the lady own many ships? My father will pay a generous ransom."

"Knock it off, Rochelle. All you need to negotiate is how peaceful you are and how you could never be a threat to her. Like maybe not talking at all."

Rochelle stopped again, this time grabbing at the leash to protect her neck. A fold of the blanket dropped to the ground. "Allis Chalmers," she read out loud. She looked at two more forklifts with their hydraulics partially cannibalized. "Cargo loaders. Copper and glass to Athens. Tin to Memphis and Tyre." Her pronunciation of the names of the cities was almost unrecognizable. The way they were pronounced in ancient times? "Gold and pottery from Ashkelon to..."

"Rochelle!" Gus gave the leash another jerk. A good one.

"...to Delphi and Rhegium."

Gus sighed.

So beautiful but so fucked up!

Elissa, Queen of Carthage....

If Shelly weren't fucked up, she sure wouldn't be here with you!

"Come on, Elissa."

They moved on, eventually circling the rose garden to the front, where Sophia had enthroned herself on the porch. She was sprouting directly out of the square-cornered, maroon pillow with the gold tassels. Sitting erect, the rhinestone tiara glittering above her head, a heavy garnet hanging from each, pixie ear from a golden hoop. The brazen, black leather bra spiked with chromium studs. The black leather short-shorts with studded, black Naugahyde stump covers.

Nothing shy about Sophia! "Welcome!" she proclaimed.

Rochelle, at ground level before the small porch, clutching her lavender blanket together, met Sophia's eyes easily. Sophia fought back a smile. So far, it was better than anything she'd seen on TV for a long time. But there was more. Rochelle suddenly cast her eyes down and opened the folds of her makeshift robe for Sophia to see her new servant.

Gus froze.

"Oh, honey, don't!" Sophia said. "That's totally unnecessary. Look at me. Please! Cover yourself and look at me."

Rochelle re-draped her long body and looked up.

_What to say..._ "Does Gus treat you well? This is your chance to tell someone. Is he good to you?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to be free?"

"Yes."

Sophia glanced at Gus, who looked so pale suddenly. So – aged and somehow diminished. "What would you like to do if you were free? Do you have a place to go?"

"I don't know. Yes. My uncle is king of all the northern reaches of Libya."

Gus tried to catch Sophia's eye, but the lady seemed to have her agenda worked out.

"Do you know why they locked you up where you were staying?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

silence....

"She killed her parents," Gus said. He watched Sophia's face for her reaction, then Rochelle's, and detected none.

"Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Come closer. Come! May I call you Shelly?" Sophia was leaning so far forward now that Gus poised himself to rush up and catch her.

"Real diamonds? That's real gold, too, isn't it?"

"My dowry."

"They let her wear her stuff on Sundays so they could steal half of it." Gus kept watching Sophia's face to see if she would recognize any of the items. Not even a glimmer. Some of Rochelle's jewelry Gus had found in a little lock box in the Airstream.

Gifts your husband Gunther saved to give to hookers?

"There's no justice," Sophia said. She gave Rochelle a little backward flip of the hand, like: Okay, the interview's over! "I want you to come to my next party," she said as Rochelle turned away. "You're beautiful. You'll be a hit!"

Gus hurried Rochelle back to their compound. Halfway there, the memory of Joachim, the half-breed Indonesian orderly, popped up. He had looked so surprised, the little asshole, when he came to with Gus kneeling over him. The man's mouth opening without a sound as Gus's switchblade entered his heart. Sure but not sure, Gus had given the blade an extra twist from side-to-side. It wasn't until he pulled the blade out that the shit hit the fan, Joachim's hot, arterial blood squirting all over him in pulsing bursts, even getting into Gus's eyes.

Does he have AIDS?!

"No more Come here, Barbie you cumwad!"

But Joachim, after all, never did anything the other guys weren't doing when they thought they could get away with it.

When Gus finally returned, Sophia said: "Is that what she wears all the time?"

"Naw. She wears jeans and stuff. When she feels like it. Or she makes up stuff from what she has – she can sew. Sew by hand."

"What did you do with her?"

"Chained her to the headboard. She's been getting into some of my old archaeology magazines."

"That where she gets it?"

"No.... I got them out because she already had so much knowledge of, you know.... I'll cook what I did last time, okay? The Greek stuff." Gus laughed. He picked Sophia up and plunked down on the chaise lounge, setting her on top of his outstretched legs. "Your royal pillow isn't plumping back out." He was looking at the maroon pillow with the tassels. "You killed it." He put his arms around her, under the black, studded, leather bra. "I love you, Sophia. And I thank you."

"Yeah."

"I do."

"Do you love her? I know you do. I can see it in your eyes. You looked so proud."

"Yeah, I love her. She's crazy but I love her. I love you, too."

"Uh-huh."

"Tell you what. I'll make mutton cubes fried in olive oil and garlic and green peppers and onions. Poured over steaming rice. Mmmmmmmm!"

"Okay. Doesn't she get scared over there by herself?"

"Never seems to. I don't leave her long."

"She's going to get us in trouble one day."

"No. You might, but not her." Gus gave her a squeeze. He wanted to make love with her. He wanted to tell her that but he couldn't. And then he could.

"I love you, Sophia. I love you. I love you so much!"

Sophia smiled from one side of her mouth. "If you do, it's because I'm – bizarre. I know what I saw today. You were a wanted man before you went back to get her. You risked your ass! No way would you ever feel enough for me to go all the way back to Connecticut and risk everything. I know what I look like and I know what she looks like, besides the fact that she's a good ten years younger. Period!"

Gus tried to think of something to say.

"You just now hesitated a second too long, Gus."

"She's over two-thousand years old!"

"It's okay, Gus. Believe it or not, I've been to The Land of Oz myself."

"I've been thinking about all the coincidences lately. It's like the gods are pushing us all together. Seeing to it we find each other."

"Oh, get real! If there are gods, one of them would've sent my boyfriend around to check on his car, open the trunk before my legs started to rot."

"Or he would've stopped the pimp who twisted the wire around your legs. But still, look at all the coincidences happening lately. Like my background, for instance, and the possibility my ancestors might be Greek, with Rochelle thinking she's a throwback to ancient Carthage. See what I mean?"

"Oh, Gus, you are so du...you're so romantic! How many females did they have housed in that snake pit you worked in? Do you know how many?"

Gus shrugged. "A couple hundred?"

"See? Out of all those inmates, you picked out one! That was no coincidence. You picked out your fantasy. Admit it!"

"Yeah, but..."

"But what? There are no angels up there playing with our lives. That's all bullshit!" Sophia laughed and squirmed her butt deeper into Gus's lap.

Gus stuttered a bit, getting horny. "I could have found work somewhere else. Midas Muffler maybe. Okay, how about the coincidence that we both, you and me, aren't Christians? And Jamie. He's even a preacher's kid and he's the same way."

"Gus, Jamie's the only kid I've ever seen you talk to. You picked him out of the crowd. You test people with stuff and make your choices. Nothing supernatural about it. You picked Jamie out because you were a preacher's kid yourself. Temporary foster parents, anyway. And I picked you out from all the drifters who stop by here. You think you were the only one to stop by my door for a handout pretending they wanted work?"

"I did want work."

"I used to call the road out there Drifter Alley. They'd knock on the door after trying the gate and I'd say: 'Are you a Christian?' And they'd invariably say: 'Yes Ma'am!' And then I'd tell them to get moving because the Lord will provide. Sometimes I'd tell them to stop at the next preacher's door and tell him you're a Christian but don't say the Lord will provide. The preacher might not think of that one himself. You remember my asking you if you were a Christian?"

Gus had been nodding, and he laughed.

"Gus, I'll never forget it. I wasn't expecting it. You said: 'No, not personally, but a voice in my head talks to me sometimes, and He calls himself The Voice of God, and He's the one Who told me to stop here."

"Maybe He did."

"Yeah. We ended up together because we're compatible. No mystery to it. The only coincidence along that line around here is the black woman who lives in the cabin near the church. MayBelle. Her step-father was supposed to be an outright atheist. A real trouble maker. Started some shit at a revival meeting once that the colored people still talk about. And that's unusual because I would've thought that most of them are churchy."

"John Simmons is.... Oh, you mean her father."

"Yes. Now you won't ever see that MayBelle near a church, but John's other wife, Peaches, she's a pillar."

"And the two girls are both his."

"Yup."

"And how do you know so much?"

"The county nurse. Every week I get an update. Those little girls are switched, you know, at the nursery. Everybody knows it but them, poor things."

"They're not so little anymore."

"So you've noticed."

"Well.... They ride by the front gate on their bikes and stuff."

"God Gus, you're disgusting!"

"What did I say?"

"It's what you're thinking."

"Christ, what am I thinking?"

"I'm sitting on it."

"What?"

"Your lie detector."

Gus felt his penis shrink toward home. "No, no, Sophia, they just ride by here sometimes and..."

"Don't even think about it, Gus. As it is, if you ever get caught on the wrong side of the law around here I'm going to have a hard time convincing anybody I didn't know you were a fugitive. And I'm going to have to deny ever seeing that Hebrew slave you keep chained up, too!"

"Sophie, you wanted to see her."

"Take me back in, Gus. Please. It's getting chilly out here now in this outfit. And keep your shit together from now on. We have a nice life here that nobody knows about. Just keep your shit in one tree! Comprende?"

Gus reluctantly carried her back inside and put her on her bed with a kiss. It was rare he ever heard a harsh word from her.

Especially now, after finally making love with Sophia, in her pool, everything was even more beautiful than before. All the shit he had gone through in his life was over. Over, that is, if he could keep all that shit in one tree!

Except for Joachim.

Not once when he occasionally snuffed an elderly Alzheimer resident at the sanatorium, did Gus feel guilty. They either wanted to die or needed to want to. But Joachim, asshole though he was – just half his age – came half-way around the world to America to make a living and send a little money back home, but died here instead. He had seen a picture of the man's family once. A small color picture wrinkled from Joachim's wallet. Brown, oily faces, eyes red from the camera flash, most of them kids, a gaunt looking woman, all smiling, all squatting around a cook pot over some little pit fire somewhere near Jakarta.

Joachim's quiet and desperate eyes during their struggle would live in Gus's brain forever.

## Chapter 25

## Junior

1Although breakfast didn't make it to the table until ten-thirty, Sandy surprised everyone with a big, country breakfast: sausage and bacon, eggs over easy, grits, and buttered toast with grape jelly. She surprised everyone except Julie, who, much earlier, had to stomp off down the driveway for her rendezvous with the school bus. No breakfast for her, but then the five dollar bill she had pilfered from Sandy's purse would take care of that at lunch-time.

After clearing the table, which was his regular chore, Junior headed back to the barn and his upstairs apartment. It was already warm so he decided to change out of his fatigues and into his camouflage cargo shorts. He would wear long socks, like the Scottish commandos wore, with his green and black combat boots. He would also take a canteen along, and some dried fruit because the mission might take a long time. He would leave soon, giving him plenty of time to reconnoiter the area and find a neat place to hide before the twins came home from school. A hiding place closer to where the girls had come out of the woods last time.

But somewhere between the house and the barn these plans winked out as Junior's chaotic brain switched channels. He needed to run one of his X-rated videos. All because of Sandy – at breakfast – her tits bouncing around in that thin T-shirt while she was serving up the food. She noticed him looking, too. "Junior! Look, Jeremy! Junior, that wandering left eye of yours. Do you realize that it gets all straightened out and lined up with the other eye when you're really looking at something? Neat-O! I noticed it yesterday, too, that when you laugh it straightens out! Jeremy, did you know that? Of course you know – you're his father. Now that he's looking away, well, that eye is back to wandering again. Hmmmm! Like up and out, away from the one that always looks right at you. See?" Sandy arched her back.

Jeremy sighed. "Sandy...."

Junior had been sitting at the table, waiting for breakfast, when she'd stripped down to the T-shirt, pulling the sweater she was wearing up over her head, claiming she was hot. For just a second, Junior had thought she wasn't wearing anything under that sweater and he was remembering now the thrill of that thought. It had loaded his balls.

In his bedroom now, he scrounged through the cardboard box that held his videos. His father had told him to take everything out of the packing boxes after they moved, but Junior hadn't found time for everything yet. As he read through the titles, Sandy's bouncing breasts were replaced by his internal movie of the twins. He could still hear Sandy's effervescent voice but it was the two colored girls who were dancing on his mental movie screen now.

At the bottom of the box he found the video he was looking for, and the twins were instantly replaced with his memory of a black girl in a French maid outfit. He squatted by the box, cradling the cassette lovingly in his hands. The pretty, black maid on the cover turned and looked at him, and smiled affectionately.

Junior had only viewed this particular video twice before but now he needed to watch it again. Study it. It was a tape of some white men and these black ladies. The men had hired the ladies to come to a party they were having for their friends. The first time Junior watched this movie he hadn't paid all that much attention. He'd already seen two other tapes that day and was sort of played out by that time. This was back when the family lived in Tampa, when he'd been arrested for masturbating in public. Jeremy got him the VCR and the tapes so Junior could do it at home, in private. "Real girls are too much hassle, anyway," his father told him. "Always wanting you to go with them places you don't want to go to, always wanting you to meet their own friends, wanting you to buy things for them, making special rules just for them, getting pissy for no reason." And true to Jeremy's hopes, after the first session with the tapes Junior seemed to have lost interest in pursuing a real date. And the strategy was preferable to Julie's suggestion that they take him to the vet and get him fixed.

After removing his boots and fatigue pants, Junior shoved in the tape and grabbed for the remote. This video was important. Maybe colored girls were different. If so, he needed to know. He would use _Still_ and _Slow_ and _Reverse_ so he could study them. The twins he had seen were so cute. They were perfect. He could figure out later how to catch them.

He drew the draperies to darken his bedroom, and plugged in the headphones so he could turn up the volume and nobody outside would know what he was doing. The TV was at the foot end of the bed and he lay down, and the wandering eye focused and lined up with the right.

The video did not waste much time getting into the action. It started with these men, drinks in hand, all standing around this large, sumptuously furnished living-room. The men were wondering where the girls were, so the rich old dude who owned the place went into the kitchen.. He had this black maid working for him. She was wearing a short, black dress with a white apron, and her hose had dark seams down the back and she was wearing these spike-heel shoes. The maid said that the girls would be arriving soon and not to worry. Then she got down on her knees and unzipped the rich old dude and began to brush her lips along his shaft. Junior shuddered. The maid was so pretty and she was wearing this cute little white cap on the back of her tightly drawn hair. She had pretty eyes, too, and had this foxy way of cutting her eyes up to the man standing over her. Junior wished he could kiss those lips. He loved the way she talked, too, her voice so sweet and wanting to please. She was saying things like: "Oh, it's so big and beautiful!" When she had licked him all shiny she said: "Oh, I can't wait to swallow you all up!" and "Oh, please, come in my mouth!" The camera went up to the old dude's face and there were tears in his eyes. Junior hadn't noticed the tears the first time he'd watched this tape, but he knew in his heart that the black maid was making that man feel better than he'd ever felt in his whole life. She was switching between swallowing and licking, and between gulps she would say: "Oh, yes, please, come in me now, mmmmmm, so good! Oh, I love it!"

With the headset over his ears, Junior didn't hear the gentle knock on his door. And as the video moved on to the arrival of the maid's sexy girlfriends, Junior didn't notice Sandy's tip-toeing into his rustic little apartment or her face peering in at the partially open bedroom door. Nor did he notice the huge, black revolver in her hand.

Sandy could not hear or see the video from the doorway but she could see Junior's giant erection and she watched him for a moment, his arms at his sides, the hands balled into fists, the fingernails straining to punch through the skin of his palms, the muscles of his arms twisted into ropes. She could not know that he was intentionally holding himself off. Or that he had plans. That he would try not to give in to his hand just now. He was saving up. Saving up for a re-run of the entire video. He had learned that the more you saved up – until you couldn't stand it any longer – the better the orgasm would feel.

He was going to save up for the maid in the kitchen. He wished he knew her name – she was so sweet and pretty. As soon as the video was over and he would rewind to the first scene and jerk off.

Sandy backed away and slipped down the stairs to the outside, her .41 magnum Ruger New-Model Blackhawk revolver heavy in her right hand. Junior was crazy. Dangerous. She walked over to her VW beetle and reached into the glove compartment for her little two-shot derringer. From now on she would remember to keep the small pistol on her, just in case. No need to tell Jeremy about it – but the gun would definitely be on her person from now on.

The redhead's thoughts ran wild.

Junior's old enough to breed!

_They should've tossed his fetus in the dumpster the minute it showed its face_.

Jeremy had already told her the story of how he and J.R.'s mother were dopers when they conceived the critter. Sandy had lashed back: "If I ever see one of those high-dollar crack babies gasping for air in a dumpster I'm going to throw my garbage bag right on top of it! I'm a taxpayer and I'm pissed off! We don't need to be hospitalizing idiots who should've died when they were swallowing Drano and sticking their fingers into light sockets! All these rules! All this child-proof shit! You tell a kid not to touch certain stuff and if the brat doesn't have the marbles to be left alone for a few minutes and keep his hands off restricted stuff, he dies! It's Nature's way! Survival of the fittest! You made it without all that child-proof shit, Jeremy, didn't you? As a kid? Mandatory child-proof stuff arrived after your time, didn't it?

All Jeremy had said was: "When did you ever pay taxes?"

Sandy tucked the derringer into the waistband of her jeans, under the watch pocket. There was no way to conceal the huge .41 mag revolver, though, which was the better weapon by far. With that she could knock a man off his feet. Kill him with one shot. Blow a hole out his back you couldn't stuff with the Sunday newspaper. With her derringer, a .22 mag, you had to be close and hit a vital area.

On the way back to the house a reflection caught Sandy's eye. A glimmer in the bushes at the end of the lawn. It was one of Jeremy's empty Coors Lights. A dead "Silver Bullet". Jeremy wouldn't litter, though, would he? Sandy hated litterbugs. Maybe it was a beer that Junior snuck, no, Jeremy allowed him to drink. Well, empty beer cans would not be tolerated outside the garbage can from now on! Sandy raised the.41 with her right hand and steadied the weight of it with her left.

**BOOOM!** The report rang a fuzzy stillness into her suddenly impacted ears as the beer can winged high above the bushes and bounced back to earth a shredded tangle of bright aluminum. Sandy looked toward the house and then back toward the barn. As her hearing softly snapped back she saw a drapery being pulled back at one of Junior's windows. He was outside in a flash, barefoot, buttoning up his pants. Shaking his head.

"Don't!" he yelled as he trotted up to her. "Daddy's working! We can't make any noise while Daddy's working!" He wiped the drool away from his lips and held out a hand for Sandy's revolver. She backed away a step.

"I just want to look at it."

"No. Nobody touches my guns but me."

"Please? I won't shoot it."

"You better believe you're not going to shoot it!" She backed away another step and then decided to hold her ground. Her green eyes glowered at his steel grays, or, to be more precise, the eye on his right side which was staring back at her. Junior moved a step closer, smiling, and Sandy blasted a shot into the ground between his feet. Her arm twisted and rose with the powerful recoil, and her ears were buzzing again. Junior backed away, still smiling.

"When I say no, I mean no! Do you want us to stay friends or not?"

"Okay, okay."

Sandy noticed that his focus had lowered to her T-shirt. "And I'm you **father's** girlfriend, understand? Don' get any ideas!"

The smile vanished. "Okay!" He began to nod. "We can still be friends?"

"Do you understand the rules?"

"Yes. I want to be your friend. I think you are pretty."

"Thank you." _And stop that goofy nodding_!

"And breakfast was nice."

"Thank you again." Sandy watched his gaze move down to the pistol in her hand before returning to her chest.

"But Daddy's going to be mad because you didn't wash the dishes."

Sandy laughed. "Fat chance! You wash 'em! Or get a maid."

"Can we have a maid? Please?"

Sandy looked over to the house, where Jeremy was galloping around the corner.

"What's going on?"

"Just some target practice."

"I'm trying to work."

"I told her!"

"Oh, Jeremy, I know.... I forgot."

"I have to get a brochure out. Soon! Do you have any idea what..."

Sandy leaned against him and planted a kiss on his mouth while it was still moving. She made sure he could feel her breast against his arm.

Jeremy pecked her back. "Junior, find something useful to do. Like washing the breakfast dishes."

"Me? But that's Julie's job. And the mother's job."

Sandy smiled. "Junior? Would you do it for me?"

"Okay. For you." He headed off toward the house.

"I sold my guns years ago," Jeremy said. "When I realized that it wasn't cool to have them around, you know, with Junior. And with Julie turning out to be such a brat sometimes, well...."

"Jeremy! Children should do what they're told! They can do what they want when they're old enough to support themselves. After they move out! Daddy always had guns around the house when we were growing up. Loaded, too! They're no good against an intruder empty, you know. And we kids never touched them. Not once! And when we were old enough, Daddy taught us how to shoot and he bought us our own guns. Oh, Jeremy, that's one of the neatest things about this place, way out here in the boonies – I can practice anywhere I want to! So great! I Love it!"

"Well, that's nice, but I want you to lock up whatever guns you brought. Unloaded. Except when you're target shooting, of course, and you're right there with them."

"No, Jeremy."

"No? With what you know about Junior and Julie? No?"

"No. It's stupid. If they can't follow rules, kick them out. Let them find out what it's like out there in the real world. If they can't cut it, why should they live long enough to breed? Can you answer me that?"

Jeremy shuffled his Hush Puppies around in the lawn grass. "Oh. Baby, I can't believe I'm hearing this."

"Should Junior breed?"

Jeremy stopped shuffling and looked down at his feet.

"Listen. I'm a lady and guns are how I feel secure. Anywhere. They're how I protect myself. And I have a legal, Florida carry permit. I wouldn't live in a state that doesn't give you the right. No fucking tard or junkie is going to endanger my life because I can't protect myself. Take it or leave it." Sandy moved back a few steps, turned, raised the .41, sighted quickly, and squeezed off a shot at the riddled Silver Bullet. With a deafening roar, the tortured can flew up into the air again, the center of it missing and the two halves flipping around each other by a shred of mangled metal.

"Love me, love my guns."

Jeremy dug into an ear with a pinky.

"Jeremy, you want a hot lady? You got one."

"You are a hot lady, Sandy."

"Do you love me?"

"You know I do."

"Case closed."

"Do you love me?"

"I don't know yet. Is that okay?"

Jeremy shrugged. "I guess it has to be."

"Then tell them. Tell those kids to keep their hands off my fucking stuff. And keep their hands off of me! There's five dollars missing from my purse, too!"

"Oh, Sandy...." Jeremy reached out to give her a hug but she backed away. "Sandy? Are you sure? It's easy to spend five bucks and forget about it."

"I'm sure. And tell Junior to put a shirt on when I'm around. Those pimples on his chest are gross. Those whiteheads look like half of them are about ready to explode. Makes my skin crawl! And get him fixed. Nobody with his size body and his size brain needs to have balls. You should've left him with your ex."

"She would have him committed, with me paying the bill."

"Well?"

"I just couldn't do it."

"Then get him neutered."

"Sandy.... He's a good kid – he just has a few mental challenges."

"You mean, he's dumb."

"No, just slow. He thinks things out. I know he does. And he listens to you. You tell him something and he does it. You just don't know him well enough yet. You wait. You'll see that he's nice to have around."

"Oh, yeah."

"And he's good protection. I honestly believe he'd die before he'd allow anyone to hurt a member of this family. You included."

"Well, what about other people? People he doesn't know."

"What would they be doing here? He's good to have around, Sandy."

"My protection is right here in my right hand, Jeremy." Sandy had already decided to keep the derringer a secret from all of them. The tiny bulge under her waistband was a warm comfort. Gas in the tank. Firewood stacked high for winter.

"He used to be such a cute little boy, Sandy."

"Jeremy? There's no way I can picture Junior cute."

"Well, he was. I can still see him in his little leather shorts and his little, plastic army helmet, pushing the shopping cart through the store."

"Did he run over anybody?"

## Chapter 26

## Jeremy & Sandy

Jeremy reached for Sandy again and this time he caught her. He hugged her while her arms hung limp at her sides, the .41 still in her right hand and pointing down.

"I'm horny for you, Sandy."

"Let me go."

Jeremy sighed and turned her loose. He started toward the house and then turned back. "Junior's doing your dishes. He'll do anything you ask him."

"Jeremy, he's doing your dishes! I made breakfast, remember? I know what – I'll ask Junior to cook tonight."

Jeremy slumped visibly, and walked back to the office in his house. As soon as he was out of sight Sandy wheeled and fired another shot at the dead beer can, and missed. An additional ear-splitting shot separated the two halves from the shred holding them together, tearing out a clod of earth behind them. Sandy grinned and brushed off part of the bench at the old picnic table and sat down. After replacing the empty cartridges with new rounds from a back pocket, she looked around to see if she was being observed. Sliding the revolver under a serving tray which had been left on the table, she got up and headed for the barn. With J.R. safely in the kitchen, this was a good time to check out his lair. She did stop for a moment, though, to look back at the lawn near the table and the shiny, brass cases gleaming in the grass. They looked good there. The brass was not litter – it was beautiful, and gleaming! Sandy was as proud of her spent brass as a bobcat is of the turds it leaves in the woods, sprouting hairs from the small animals it has killed and eaten.

The video was still playing when she entered Junior's bedroom. Faint sounds of music and dialog came from the headset lying on the neatly made-up bed. Sandy plunked down at the foot of the bed and looked at the TV, her mouth open, her hand reaching behind her for the headphones and not finding them. A giant black man with a shaved head was about to enter a busty, young, blonde while his white friends were holding her down on a dining-room table. Sandy leaned forward, her heart racing. The black man was taking his time and the camera zoomed in for a nice, slippery close-up. Sandy could hear footsteps on the loft stairs but she watched for a few more seconds before jumping up and nailing the Power-Off switch on the TV.

It was Jeremy.

"Jeremy!" Sandy was slightly out of breath. "Look at this!" The VCR was still running and she switched the TV back on.

Jeremy stood beside her and watched for a few minutes until he could feel an erection growing. Suddenly he grabbed the remote and switched the VCR off. Snatching at the tape before it could fully eject, he almost pulled the machine off the shelf. Sandy punched at the switch on the TV and blanked out the snowstorm on the tube.

"I never gave him any interracial stuff!" Jeremy sounded angry. He turned the cassette around in his hands. There was no title.

Sandy was grinning. "Wife Number Two? Maybe she had a side you didn't know about." Sandy put her arm around him and tried to work her fingers in between the buttons of his shirt. "Still horny for me?"

"Yes, but...."

Sandy was kissing and licking his neck. His neck had a tangy spot and her tongue puckered back. Deodorant overspray. "But what, Jeremy?"

"Not in here."

"Oh, come on! It would be exciting in here!"

"Please. Not in Junior's apartment."

Sandy gave his Adam's apple a lingering lick and tried to shove him backward onto Junior's bed. But Jeremy was able to keep his balance so she backed away and lifted the front of her T-shirt.

Jeremy's eyes tried to lock into hers but there was another, more powerful force at work. "Come on, Sandy, let's go back to the house."

"Junior's there, doing your dishes." Sandy sidled around him and lay back on the bed, pulling her shirt up over her face. She unbuttoned the top button of her 501's. The hell if he saw the derringer. Another button, and another. "Pull my jeans off. Now."

Jeremy groaned. He turned to lock the bedroom door.

"And put the tape back in."

Later, the two of them still alone, just looking at Sandy lying there beside him Jeremy knew that he would never get enough. He would always need more and more of her. A terrible dread was growing in the back of his mind. Sandy would be his ruin.

He raised up a little and laid his head against her warm, freckled breasts. Sandy slid an arm around his neck and cuddled up and kissed the top of his head. Jeremy squirmed into a softer position, a nipple brushing his open lips. The quiet, whirring sound of the rewinding tape stopped with a clunk and the machine clicked off.

Back at his former home in Tampa, with Wife Number Two when Julie and J.R. were still children, they had all watched a movie on television together one evening – a rare occurrence. The movie was about a couple with two children, a boy and a girl. A white family that had just lost their home to a fire. All their clothes, their cooking utensils, their furniture. His wallet and her purse. Their shoes. They had allowed their insurance to run out and suddenly they had nothing. The clothes the neighbors gave them didn't fit. The husband lost his job and the four of them were on the street with no place to go. And neither of them had parents who could help. No matter how hard they tried, they could not get up enough money for the first and last month's rent plus security for an apartment.

The movie had touched Jeremy. He had no parents to fall back on. And the wife in the movie reminded him of his own wife, the children his own children. A dread filled him that night – not specific – but a dread which persisted in popping up now and then, a voice which warned him to keep all bases covered. It was a harsh, slippery world. Reality can lash out at any time with infinite and final cruelty. It was a voice which was faintly but unmistakably calling to him now.

Sandy and Jeremy bolted upright at the sound of Junior's struggles with the locked door to his bedroom.

Jeremy called out. "Wait a second. It's us. I must've locked the door by accident."

"Don't lie to him," Sandy whispered. She was cramming her body back into the 501's. "I'm half your age and I know how to be a parent better than you. Don't you ever read about parenting and stuff like that?"

"The expert." Jeremy finished dressing and checked Sandy to be sure she was decent before opening the door. The best defense is offense. He waved the video tape in Junior's face. "Where did you get this?"

"Mama."

"He means his step-mother," Jeremy said, for Sandy's benefit. "Junior? I don't believe in interracial sex. I'm confiscating this video."

"Jeremy! Since when? What's wrong with interracial sex?" Sandy snatched the cassette out of his hand, thought about it, and made no move to give it back to Junior.

"Please. My maid is in there."

Sandy looked at the large, VHS cassette and turned it around in her hands. "She's in here?"

"Your maid?" Jeremy said.

"Yes, Dad. She's real nice. And she's real pretty. I love her!"

Sandy looked past Junior – past the angry crop of pimples on his bare chest, past the wandering left eye. She couldn't remember seeing any maid – that must've been in the first part of the video which she hadn't seen. She would hang onto it.

"Don' give it back to him," Jeremy said. "I'll explain later."

"Okay...."

"Any more like this, J.R.?"

"No.... Just white people doing stuff."

Sandy felt guilty about holding onto the tape. Junior kept on looking at it. "Junior? Are there any girls that you love in the other tapes?"

Junior's eyes lit up. Both of them. Focused. "There's this blond girl. Dana. She's sweet. She does anything you tell her!" Junior wiped away the drool with the back of his hand. The left eye wandered off and the right moved down, across Sandy's T-shirt, to the cassette in her hand.

"Well, that's nice, Junior. We'll take this one with us and your father and I'll discuss it. Maybe you can have it back."

"Never," Jeremy said. "Forget it, Junior."

As soon as they were downstairs and back outside, Sandy shook the tape in Jeremy's face. "Okay! Now what's this crap about interracial sex? Didn't you get off on it? I sure did!"

"I just meant it's not for him. Besides, what I wanted to tell you up there, I think he lets Julie watch this stuff sometimes."

"Oh! So it's okay for other people but it would contaminate your Julie? I see!"

"Yes! No! Well.... It's not natural!"

Sandy grabbed Jeremy's arm. Her bright green eyes were inches from his face. "I'm still horny. Are you?"

"Uhhhh...."

"You will be when we lug this into the VCR in our bedroom! Wait for me there – I have to get something." But instead of moving away, she grabbed his left hand and ran it up under her shirt.

"Ahhh, white meat," he said.

"Female meat. In heat. Jeremy – some girls think that fucking old guys is as bad as interracial sex."

"Oh, Sandy. Don't go spoiling it for me."

"Just plug that tape in. You'll be as good as new. Start it at the beginning. Wait for me, though!"

He watched her swing over to the old picnic table and retrieve her pistol. What a nice, chunky, firm ass. That flaming hair. Those meaty tits.... He watched her raise the weapon with two hands and point it at something at the side of the yard. Her green eyes. Those bright, gleaming teeth....

Her arms bucked and twisted up a split second before the report impacted his ears. She was everything he had ever dreamed of.

## Chapter 27

## Junior aka J.R.

The mid-day temperature had risen to the high seventies but Junior was ready for it. A headband, which he had fashioned from a folded, camo handkerchief, would keep the sweat from running into his eyes. Two canteens of cold well water hung from an army surplus pistol belt alongside his huge Bowie knife. The pockets of his camouflage cargo shorts bulged with extra hankies and Ziploc bags of dried fruit. The cashew nuts he poured directly into the pockets from the tin. From belt-loops hung two, small coils of nylon rope. In his right boot a backup Swiss Army knife in a sewn-in holster, and on the left a compact pair of pruning shears for cutting through dense foliage – quieter than a machete. Expensive, waterproof 7 X 50 binoculars hung from his neck on a Nikon camera strap, a segment of which crossed behind his back to keep the binoculars from bouncing when he was running. The cotton, camo T-shirt was of heavy enough material to soak up most of the pus from pimple bursts caused by the heavy binoculars, he hoped, but the extra hankies would take care of emergencies. He was ready, ready, ready!

J.R. was out of the habit of saying goodbye whenever he left for any reason, but Sandy was living with his father now and he wanted to wave bye-bye to her at least. But after stopping in the main house he found that both of them were in the big bedroom upstairs, his confiscated video tape articulating the dialog of on-camera lust fulfilled: "Oh, Baby! Oh, YES! Yes, yes, yes, yes! Oh, Yessss!"

He stopped outside their door and listened just long enough to realize that they had already passed the part where his maid loved on her master – on her knees in the kitchen of the mansion.

Outside, Junior stopped at the picnic table where Sandy had temporarily hidden her pistol earlier, under the serving tray. He had seen her put it there and he reverently lifted the tray to his nose, sniffing for the scent of her. The underside of the tray smelled like damp earth and he set it back down. Next time he had a chance he would take the pistol. Just keep it for a while. When she asked for it maybe she would trade his pretty, colored maid back. Maybe Sandy would be nicer to him after that. Sandy was so beautiful. He remembered seeing his father on top of her on the front lawn that day she arrived, the top of her blouse pulled down and his father's mouth all over her. He wondered what those tits would feel like in his hands. It had been so long since Julie had let him touch her. Besides, her breasts had grown a lot since then and he wished he knew what they felt like now. One day, if his father was in a good mood, and they were alone, maybe he could ask him how he got girls like Sandy. How come they let him touch them and feel of them....

The sun was still high enough to light the path with a happy brilliance, and Junior forgot about Sandy. He walked slowly, looking at everything along the way. He loved the fresh smells of the country air, too (not like their house in Tampa) even the dankness of the leaves, damp on the underside, as he kicked along the trail. He even forgot about the twins for a while. The only movie popping into his head now were of his maid in the video. She was so sweet and her voice so feminine and friendly that his love grew beyond lust. He was seeing himself simply hugging her now, holding her, protecting her, holding her to himself forever. He could see her in his own little kitchen, in his apartment in the barn, turning to smile at him when he walked in, or smiling when she came back from the clothesline with a stack of his neatly folded clothing.

The movie in Junior's head stopped for frequent intermissions. Curious looking burrows under tree roots. Squirrels bounding from branch to branch overhead, specks of loose bark and leaves raining down, the little animals stopping to look at him, hanging there and cocking their heads, their tails twitching in the bright sun. They would squall and chirp and complain whenever he stopped to look up. It was their world he was intruding and they let him know. But Junior loved to stop and watch them – they were so cute. Once, back in Tampa, one of his classmates had borrowed Junior's slingshot (which he used on girls) and dropped a squirrel out of a tree at the edge of the playground. The tiny animal had merely been stunned but two other boys had snatched it up and they got out their pocket knives and began to torture it. When they did not heed Junior's warning and sliced open its belly, Junior beat one of the boys unmercifully, then put the squirrel out of its misery with a rock. After that, he had to transfer to another school, and for a long time his father was worried about a lawsuit and "losing everything".

At the top of the hill in the middle of the woods, Junior stopped at a small, natural clearing and sat down to rest and drink. He picked out a sapling to lean against, but before sitting he checked out the ground around it for bugs and ants. Picturing bugs crawling up into his shorts, his body momentarily convulsed.

About twenty feet away was another sapling with a fire-ant mound about a foot high. Fire-ants were the worst. They had been everywhere in their neighborhood in Tampa. Poke a stick into their mound and they'd come swarming out. Get on you and they'd bite immediately, all of them, and the bites would burn like fire. Later, for hours, the bites would itch so badly it was hard to keep from clawing the bumps out of your own skin with your fingernails. Sometimes Junior would scratch himself bloody. Tiny, reddish-brown machines from Hell. One time, at one of his schools, a teacher Junior didn't like came out at lunchtime to check the oil or something in her car. There was a fire-ant mound just under the front bumper at the edge of the pavement. Junior saw it but didn't say anything. The teacher stood right on it when she raised the hood and by the time she realized why Junior was grinning the ants were already over her shoes and working on her legs.

There were rumors that the ants killed small babies, and newborn calves out in the fields, carrying the meat away back to their mounds.

Junior leaned back against the sapling and pulled out a bag of dried apricots – his favorite. After munching on a few, he sacrificed one by tossing it onto the ant mound over at the other tree. The swarm was instantaneous and the sandy-colored mound changed into an undulating shimmer of red. Suddenly, Junior's concentration was broken by something out of place. Was that a rabbit hiding at the far side of the clearing beyond the mound? The rabbit was sideways to him, watching J.R. with one eye, the animal just barely visible through the sparse but tall grass. Junior held his breath, not realizing that the rabbit must have been hiding there from the time he arrived. He strained his eyes to get a better focus and his vision began to ghost, seeing doubles. He tried to relax. Definitely a rabbit!

Junior slowly rose to his feet in a crouch and began to creep over to the other side of the clearing. The rabbit was clearly visible now, motionless to avoid detection. Junior stopped about half-way there. He had been told that rabbits can only be seen in the early morning or evening, or on full-moon nights. People were always lying to him about stuff like that. Or maybe it was because nobody lived around here and the rabbits weren't afraid to come out in the middle of the day.

Junior leaned forward. "Don't be afraid, little bunny-rabbit."

The animal exploded away in a flash of brown fur and cotton-tail white. Junior dug his heels and set out after it, quickly realizing the hopelessness of the pursuit. Back at the tree, he gathered up his stuff and headed down the other side of the hill. Near the bottom he looked back. The path was clear and bright and easy to see. No chance of getting lost.

"You didn't have to run away, little rabbit. I wouldn't hurt you." He remembered the poor little squirrel at his old school. After killing it with the rock, he had snuck the body home. As it turned out, the boy he beat up had been bitten by the squirrel during the knife stabbing frenzy and later the parents of the boy pleaded with Jeremy for Junior to help them locate the body of the animal. Junior remembered them standing there at the front door, a neatly dressed man and a hippie-looking woman with a bare midriff and big earrings and lots of rings on her fingers and a wampum headband. They were saying that if they couldn't locate the dead squirrel their son would have to have a series of painful rabies shots. Could Junior go back to the schoolyard with them? Junior was watching this episode from the hallway. He felt sorry for the lady so he walked up finally and told them he had the body. He had placed it in a shoebox so he could bury it in the backyard. The man looked angry but the woman was nice, and she smiled and thanked Junior "for protecting the little creatures of our planet". She looked so friendly that Junior wanted to get closer to her and get a hug but Jeremy held him back with a firm grip on the back of his belt. Junior also had to stand there while his father made the people promise to sign a statement that they would not sue "if J.R. can produce the remains". The lady was nice about that, too, and Junior would always remember her.

The pines of the hill gave way to huge live-oaks and hickories as the path narrowed out and darkened. The ground beneath his boots was spongy now, and Junior stopped frequently to examine the bright-green moss growing in patches along rotting, fallen limbs. The air here was thick and loaded with damp scents, and Junior loved it all. Spanish moss hung in untidy strands from the trees above him, some of it low enough to brush his face as he continued down the path. Once, he had grabbed at a strand and the whole plant came down and fell at his feet. Sorry for what he had done, Junior picked the whole mess up and carefully draped the tangled air-plant over a tree limb he could reach. After that he avoided the stuff, and would work his way around it. He did not remember there being so much of it when he was here with Julie, and he wondered why Julie was so hostile toward him lately. Maybe he wasn't being nice enough to her – saying nice enough things. He missed those nights, years ago, when she would let him get into her bed after they had seen a scary movie or whatever, and Junior remembered that Julie was nice to him all the time back then.

He stopped at the sound of a rapping, like someone hammering on a board, high and to the right. **...rap rap rap...** A woodpecker! It was a big one, too, like Woody Woodpecker in cartoons – not like the little ones they would see sometimes in Tampa. Junior held his breath and watched. The black, red-crested bird cocked its head at him for a moment, gave the dead tree he was working on another poke, and flew off down the path. Junior looked at his big, fancy diving watch. It would be hours yet before school was out – plenty of time left. He remembered the twins now, or tried to. Their image was slipping his memory. He could still see the snow-white Reeboks, the jeans, the sweaters, the short, China-doll hairdos.... But not their faces. The face of the maid, on her knees, cutting her eyes up so sweet and pretty, appeared instead. Her voice was nice, too. And she was wearing her pretty, white cap, like a nurse's cap.

Up ahead, Junior heard the woodpecker's rapping again. It's eerie cry and the loud, flapping of its wings when it took off as Junior got closer. Other birds could fly without making noise but not this one! The **...rap rap rap...** again. Junior quickened his pace. Farther on, parts of the powerline became visible through the trees – the steel towers. Just to his right, the rapping resumed so close to him that it made Junior jump. He stopped and looked up, hoping his eyes would not start the double vision again. That's when he saw the tree-house.

It was just a platform, really, but a big one. High. And the oak tree it was in was huge and had short pieces of 2X4's nailed to the trunk for a ladder. The steps led to a square hole in the platform. The woodpecker was instantly forgotten and Junior climbed up and squeezed his bulky body and gear through the opening. Steadying himself with a hand on an upper limb, he got to his feet and proudly looked around. It was hard to see the path from here but the powerline was in clear view, except for a few branches in the way. And way on the other side of the right-of-way, the roof and skylight of the dynamite shack gleamed like mirrors in the sun.

Junior was ecstatic. And Julie had said that everything on this land belonged to them now, so....

But Daddy never said anything about a tree-house....

He doesn't know it's here! Julie doesn't know, either! Nobody does!

It's mine! All mine!

After tiring of the conquest – the vantage point and the view – Junior picked out a spot on the platform, opened a canteen, and dug into a pocket for a fistful of cashews. He had already tried sitting on the old, weathered nightstand someone had hauled up here, but it seemed much neater to sit directly on the platform. Like a panther on a limb. And the lower he hunkered down on the boards, the less a view he had of the outside – just the green canopy and the sky – and anyone walking below would never know he was even there!

After a happy and proud meal, J.R. moved to the edge and hunted through the binoculars for the spot on the far side of the right-of-way where he had seen the twins come out of the woods. There was a dusty-looking worn place in the grass there and as he studied it, suddenly he could remember their faces. Picture them. So cute! And they had these big, bright eyes, like Bambi. Finally, the glasses moved away and down the fence and found the hole underneath it near the shack. It looked too small for him but maybe he could make it if he dug out underneath it a little deeper, or brought wire cutters along next time. He thought of clearing his view a little up here with the pruning shears but if he did that then someone over there would be able to see the tree-house. Better leave it the way it is, at least for now, or just clip a tiny hole through the leaves.

He moved back toward the middle of the platform on his hands and knees, and sat with his knees drawn up and locked with his hands. Even from this position he could see parts of the fence and the spot where he'd seen the girls. He thought about them and wished he hadn't seen them arguing. They were so cute.

## Chapter 28

## Jamie & Sophia Meet Sandy

In Sophia's bedroom, Jamie was surfing through the TV channels with the remote while she dressed.

"I used to get so frustrated," she said. "They wouldn't bring cable this far out in the boonies and I could only get three channels, even with the antenna on a tower. Now I get them all. Gus installed the dish and stuff – everything – he's good with electronics, too."

"He is?" Jamie flipped past Geraldo in mid-sentence: a probing question he was asking a panel of expert homosexuals. A weather channel screen began scrolling through temperatures in Detroit, Mogadishu, Washington DC....

What is a professional homosexual?

Gus is good with electronics?

Yeah! And radio-controlled collars.

"The satellite catcher gets more than one, and the dish can move and even knows which one to point to. It was expensive. We sold one of the antique cars to pay for it. I can even get a local news show where the anchorman doesn't where a rug! Have you seen him today?"

"Him? Oh, Gus? Yeah. I'm glad I skipped school. He showed me your road-warrior chair."

"He won't let me look at it until it's finished. It's for my birthday. Did you let on that I told you he has a girlfriend?"

"I told you, he already mentioned her to me himself. But he didn't say what she's like or anything. What's she like?" Jamie turned and saw Sophia looking at him via the large mirror on the wall at the far side of the bed. She was done with everything except the lipstick, apparently, which she was troweling on heavy.

"How do I look?" Sophia squirmed her butt around and faced him.

"Great! Perfect! You are so hot!" Jamie cut the TV and crawled across the bed to her side on his stomach. He tried to pull open her cut-off denim muscle shirt with his teeth.

Sophia freed a button and pushed a nipple into his mouth. "My baby!"

The air was unseasonably warm when he carried her outside. When he had her half-way to his pickup, he remembered that the lap belt on her side had never been used – not since he owned the vehicle, anyway. It was probably lying under the seat and dirty as hell.

"Set me down while you dig for it." Sophia said. "On the hood!"

"Huh? Oh, great!" The hood was probably dirty, too, but before he could speak she flipped down the towel she had tucked under her free arm. Jamie set her down gently in the middle of the blue square of folded bath-towel, right on the hood above the radiator. He kissed her bare midriff and stood back to survey this new scene.

"You love me because I'm outrageous," she said.

"I love you for everything, Miss Sophia! Miss Sophia Loren! She was my first love. Mom has some old movies of hers."

"First love? We're lovers now?"

"Yup. We made love twice now. That means that the other day wasn't a one-night stand. We're lovers now. You are my mate. Me Tarzan, you Jane."

"You fucked me three times, Jamie. The seat-belt?."

"Oh. Yeah." Jamie took one more look at her, so pretty and so bizarre, sprouting right out of the hood of his pickup. "Can't I just leave you there? Drive to town that way? Shock hell out of everybody?"

"Yes. Come on. I want to get to the store before it's swamped by everybody getting off work. Give me another kiss and then get that seat-belt out." Sophia unbuttoned her short shirt. "Right here!"

Jamie did as he was told. So neat, right there outdoors parked next to the highway. If only a car would come by now! "I love you, love you, love you! Because you fucked **me!"**

"I puppy-love you, too. Seat-belt."

Jamie bent into the cab and fished the belt out, both ends, and began to wipe the grime off with a rag he had stashed under the heater. The rag was damp from a slow, coolant leak at the heater core. Oh, well.... He was thinking about the scene they would be creating at the grocery store. The decision to leave Sophia's wheelchair at home had already been made. So neat! So great! So cool!

Sophia yelled at him through the windshield. "We can still take my Mercedes!"

"No, no." Jamie looked up. Sophia had turned herself on the hood and was looking at him through the glass, leaning toward him propped on her arms. Jamie planted a kiss on the windshield.

"Yuk!" He wiped at his mouth.

"What?"

"Glass is nasty! I should've washed the windows before coming over."

"You should've washed the whole truck!"

"I'm not geared for dating yet. Just a boy. That's me. No sense." This time, Jamie planted a kiss on the outside, on her lipsticky mouth. "Your mouth makes me feel – carnal."

"Good. Now let me get this lipstick off." Sophia picked up a corner of the towel she was perched on and Jamie leaned into her while she rubbed.

"I love you, Sophia."

"Well, I love you, too, Jamie. For as long as you want me to."

"Good! Settled! Forever, then!" Jamie slid her off the hood, then put her back. "We need to practice." He turned his back to her and bent his knees. "Sit on my shoulders." He reached back for her arms and she slid herself up against his neck. When she was secure, Jamie did a little dance and hopped all the way around the pickup. A car whizzed by and honked, the horn changing pitch as the vehicle rolled on down the road. Sophia jerked an arm loose and waved.

"Who was that?"

"I don't know, but I'm thinking maybe we should take my chair, anyway. How can we get groceries and stuff if both of us have our hands locked? I think I'm chickening out. We'll look ridiculous."

"We'll look outrageous. Come on, it'll be fun! I can't wait! I'll just lean forward a little and you take one hand and pick out whatever it is and toss it in the cart."

"Yeah, well...."

"Yeah, great!"

"My head will bump into lights and stuff."

"Duck! The lights are too high, anyway."

"Oh, Jamie.... Look, I haven't been anywhere to speak of in years. I hate the wheelchair but I don't want to spoil this. Put me down and get the chair. Please?"

"How did you do it with Gunther, when you went to town with him?"

"I didn't. I didn't want to embarrass him in public or for him to feel sorry for me. You know how people look right past you, like you did the first time you saw me sitting in the wheelchair on the porch? You looked right past me."

"I did?"

"Yes. Not your fault. You're a sweet, hard-body boy, Jamie. The chair."

Jamie went inside and brought out the chair, never having hefted such a folding contraption before. He hoped it would not slide around too much in the back of his pickup and get all scratched up. But he was proud of her when he backed out of the drive – just the opposite of embarrassed – Sophia belted in and sitting on her towel. She was sitting much higher than he had expected. As high as a normal person. How dumb to have thought she'd be way down there – her height would be normal from the seat up! How dumb....

The blacktop roads to Highway 83 were narrow and twisty, but whenever they would hit a straight stretch, Jamie would hold the wheel with one hand and reach into Sophia's shirt with his right.

"No power steering?"

"Only in my right hand." Jamie squeezed and petted and hefted until he could barely stand it. Finally, when they passed the "Entering Walton County" sign, he pulled off onto the shoulder. He buried his face in her chest.

"I need to fuck you again."

"Silly boy. Okay, but not here."

"So where?"

"Back home. After we go shopping."

"I can't wait that long."

"I am so lucky!" Seventeen and bursting with seed! "Jamie? I'm your first, aren't I?"

"Yeah. You're my first. I'm glad I waited."

"I'm glad you did, too, Jamie. But one day you will get enough."

"I'll never get enough. I waited too long."

Sophia leaned over and tried to unzip him. He had to help.

"Jamie, do you have a map?"

"Florida. In the glove box."

Sophia got it out. "Open this up over the wheel so that if anybody drives by they won't stop to see if we're broke down."

Jamie unfolded the map half-way and laid it over the wheel as Sophia ducked underneath. A shiver of pleasure shook the length of his body. From over the hill far ahead he could see two vehicles approaching. A pickup followed by a small, red car. The chrome of the little car flashed on and off as it passed through beams of light streaming down through the trees on the other side. The pickup got closer and the driver waved as he roared by. Jamie feebly raised a hand, and the young lady in the red car waved back. As she went by, the German Shepherd on her passenger seat continued to look straight ahead, through the windshield.

Jamie shivered. Oh, Sophia, that feels so good! I love you. I'll always love you. Sophie, I'm going to come. Quick! What should I do?"

"Jamie, just relax and come. Come in my mouth, Baby." Sophia worked on him until he came with a shudder, and more shudders. She worked on him just a little more, and swallowed. When she finally looked up at him, there were tears in his eyes.

"Oh, Sophie.... Sophie, I love you, Thank you. I love you. Thank you, thank you!"

"Oh, Jamie, you are so sweet."

"I'm sweet? You are!"

"One day you'll get tired of me."

"Never."

"Trust me."

When Jamie was able to zip up, they drove the rest of the way to DeFuniak Springs with Sophia out of her lap-belt and sitting close up beside him. She would shift gears with two hands on the huge floor-shift lever while he kept his right arm around her. The gear pattern was printed on the knob and Sophia got the hang of the long throw quickly. "I feel like a kid!" she said.

"Good! I'm one! No, wait, I'm a man now. I forgot."

When the light turned green at the intersection of Highways 83 and 90, Jamie killed the engine when he let out the clutch. "We're in third, not first." They were in town now but the vehicles behind them did not honk, and she changed gears while he restarted the engine. They burned rubber around the corner, Sophia hanging onto the gear lever with one hand while propping her other against the dashboard. She laughed and let out a yell. The left turn onto 331 came up quickly but the two of them were a team now, making the turn and the gear changes faultlessly. A few minutes later they negotiated the right turn into the huge Winn Dixie parking lot, passing a slower vehicle, a station wagon packed with kids.

Jamie rolled the pickup into a handicapped slot near the front of the building. "I've always wanted to drip oil on that blue wheelchair they paint on these places. Now I'm doing it. I'm doing it! Yaaaaay - hoooooo!"

Sophia laughed. "Sometimes when I'm in the Mercedes people don't notice the hand controls and they think I'm some rich bitch taking advantage of the handicap space and they give me shitty looks."

"You drive alone much?"

"Only if I have to. Gus doesn't like to cross the state line and my dentist is in Geneva. Alabama."

"So what do you do when you get there?"

Sophia was watching the entrance to the store. "Oh, look at that big kid going in, still in diapers! I sit in my car and wait for some nice guy to come along. They don't miss the gull-wing Mercedes. I smile and motion for them to come over and I put them to work. Get them to carry me in." They'd say stuff like: "A 300-SL gull wing coupe with handicap controls. Unbelievable!"

Jamie was just reaching into the cab on her side to pull her out and he stopped. "I don't want any man putting his hands under your ass."

"Oh, Jamie, that's sweet."

"Or your arm around his neck."

"Jamie, I'm a cripple. Nobody gets horny over a cripple."

"Ha! I do!"

"You're an angel."

"You're an angel!" Jamie reached in and lifted her out. She was heavier than she looked and he gave her a bounce to position his arm under her better.

"You forgot. You have to set up the chair first." Sophia laughed and pointed to it in the back of the truck. It looked even more wretched lying on its side.

With his free arm, Jamie leaned over and gave the wheel a spin. But it stopped quickly, even though it wasn't touching anything.

"Needs oiling."

"Yeah? You can do that for me. Back home." Sophia looked around. A white couple both in camouflage outfits, followed by plump, putty-faced children, had just emerged from the old Oldsmobile Cutlass Sierra parked across from them. Rotty, vinyl hardtop. The whole gang quickly turned away from Sophia's gaze except the youngest child, who was grinning with yellow, niblet teeth and red, Kool-Aid lips. Everyone else coming and going through the automatic doors of the supermarket either seemed to be paying Jamie and Sophia no mind or quickly looked away after spotting them.

"Fuck it," Sophia said. "Fuck the chair! Reach in and get my towel and set me down on the hood. Let's wake these living dead up!"

Jamie reached through the open window for her towel and purse, and tried to fold the towel in half with one hand. Sophia grabbed it and he held her with both hands while she leaned over the hood and arranged her stuff in the middle so she wouldn't slide off. Then he set her down and stepped back.

"A foxy Buddha!" Where her cut-off shorts ended were covers sewn in to cover the stumps, he noticed some faded, laundry-marker letters – large, capital letters – one at the end of each leg:

FUCK YOU!

She saw him reading it. "If they're looking that close they need it." Sophia laughed. "Oh, Jamie, now everyone is gawking!"

He looked back to the store, his hand in Sophia's, in her lap. He was so proud of her.

"Jamie, believe me, I couldn't do this if you weren't right here beside me. I love you, Boy!" Just as she said this an ancient woman was clattering past them pushing a meager cart-full of groceries to a waiting van. Brown paper bags, the kind you have to ask for, with green stuff poking out of the top. She turned and looked Sophia dead on, her dark eyes glinting from the folds and wrinkles of her happy face. Sophia smiled back. A real person!

Looking back to the automatic portals of Winn Dixie, a ravishing redhead emerged pushing a shopping cart top-heavy with groceries and sacks of bird seed. The young lady was barefoot and fairly busting out of a fancy, appliquéd peasant dress. She caught Jamie's eye and smiled, and gave a little wave. Jamie smiled and waved back, his heart nudging up a little rush. Behind her trudged a disgruntled looking teenage girl in a studded, leather jacket – a little too much clothing for such a pleasant day – leather boots, studded, and a leather cap. The teenager's face remained blank, smacking gum, but the redhead tossed her hair and cranked up her smile. The two of them were waiting for a car to pass.

"Jamie, I saw that. Who is she?"

"Beats me. She waved first. At both of us, it looked like."

"The chair, Jamie."

Jamie was about to turn to get it but changed his mind. "Fuck the chair. Also, I'm innocent. That lady waved first."

The redhead and friend were still waiting on the other side as two more cars passed by. They were attractive, especially the older one.

...foxy.. foxy.. foxy....

"You were innocent. Well, I guess I've released the alligator!"

"Come on, let me carry you around in the store. Or put you on top of the kiddy seat in the cart."

Sophia looked him in the eye and let him kiss her. This time she did not tell him that she had smudged lipstick on the corner of his mouth again. "Tell you what. The cushion on my chair unties. We could see if it fits in the kiddy seat folded up. That old lady left her cart. Try it in there and if it fills up the seat I can sit on top. Just don't tip us over."

"Way to go!" Jamie went back to the fetch the wheelchair and opened it up far enough to work the cushion out. "We're going to have fun, Sophie!" Suddenly the redhead and her cart were stopped right next to them. The teenager stood there, expressionless, smacking her gum, but the redhead, her mouth puckered into a perfect "O", was looking straight at Sophia on the hood of the pickup. "Fuck you?" She laughed. "Does that mean me, too?"

Jamie looked up from what he was doing. She was a looker! Smart-ass, too. His heart speeded up. That low-cut dress, those freckly tits....

"No," Sophia said. "I have another pair of stump covers with you in mind. They say: 'WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?' In sequins."

"Oh! That's so cute! I'm Sandy. Who the fuck are you?"

Jamie rushed to Sophia's side, but she was smiling. "I'm Sophia, and this is my young lover, Jamie!"

"Oh! Great, Sophia! Hi, Jamie!" Sandy looked over to the gum-smacking blonde. "And this is Julie. Definitely not my fucking fault!"

Julie suddenly looked at Jamie and Sophia and smiled, a smile just long enough to sustain between gum-smacks.

Sophia laughed. "My chair, James!"

"Oh, Sophie...."

"I'd let him carry me around if he were mine!" Sandy said. "I'll bet he wants to, too! Do you, James?"

"Yup." Jamie hesitated, getting a whiff of Sandy's perfume, then decided it was okay to say it. "Sophia has a nice ass. I like the feel of it in the crook of my arm."

Sophia pretended a swat at him and the teenager rolled her eyes up at the sky. Sandy laughed. "Oh, Julie! You have your ears turned on!"

Julie's eyes glazed over again.

...smack...smack...smack...smack... **pop**...smack...

"I'd have him put me on his shoulders! Oh! That would be so cute! Piss everybody off in the store! Wouldn't that be neat? Huh? Plus he'd never want to wash the back of his neck again!""

"Took the words right out of my mouth!" Jamie laughed and reached over to pick up Sophia, who was laughing, also. He bounced her up into the crook of his arm and she put an arm around his neck. She leaned over and grabbed for her little purse.

Sandy put her hands on her hips. "You two are so beautiful! You guys belong on a magazine cover!"

"Who are you?" Sophia said. "I haven't run into an honest reaction since my legs were amputated. Sideways glances. Outright evasion.... Where do you live? Are you from around here?"

"Oh, heavens no! I'm from Tampa. My old, cranky boyfriend moved up here. I think I know who you are, though. Are you the lady owns the scrap-yard behind us? Oh, you got lipstick all over James's face. Here, let me wipe that off!"

Before Sophia could say anything, Sandy had her purse open and was dabbing away at Jamie with a Kleenex. "There! That's much better! Well, it did look kinda cute, though. Yeah, I should've left it on. Sophia? You should kiss him again!"

"He's mine!"

"Oh! Not to worry!" Sandy looked at Julie. "Jeremy, this thing's father, stays horny. All the time!" Sandy laughed and Julie rolled her eyes up to Heaven again.

...smack...smack...smack...smack...

"Shut up, Julie!"

"I didn't say anything!"

"You should see her brother! Sandy frowned. "God! You better believe I never forget to take my pill!" Sandy threw in a fake shiver. "It's supposed to get chilly tonight. We better get going!"

"Wait," Sophia said. "You're staying at the old Norris farm?"

"Well, I don't know the name, but it used to be a farm during the Civil War, before they let trees grow all over it. Right behind the woods is this big powerline. Then the scrap-yard."

"That's it."

"Oh, great! May I stop by someday and visit? I don't know anybody here and these people..." Sandy waved an arm in a wide arc over the parking lot.

"Yeah! If you call first."

"Oh, for sure! I'm the same way! What's your number?" Sandy fished out a notebook and copied down Sophia's number while Jamie tried to imagine what Sandy looked like under that dress. Unbelievable! Then he tried to imagine what Julie looked like under that leather jacket and those tight jeans.

After the two women left, Jamie tried to fill up the kiddy seat of the shopping cart with the wheelchair cushion. No matter which way he folded it, Sophia's butt would have to ride on the basket rim. Suddenly Sandy came running back with a big pillow. It was pink, with lavender butterflies flitting all over it. "Here! I keep this in my beetle! Now we have an excuse to visit! Have fun!"

Sophia looked surprised. "Thank you!" She watched Jamie watch Sandy trot back to her Volkswagen.

Jamie shoved the cart toward the store with his precious cargo propped up high in front of him, her back ramrod straight. He leaned forward and tried to land a kiss on the nape of her neck as they clattered along. Just as they neared the electric doors, a knot of locals came trudging out. A bored-looking pot-bellied man wearing a one-size-fits-all pro-cap with the bill turned around backwards. A mother in curlers, a print dress, and L.A. Gear sport shoes with chartreuse trim – no socks. A clot of dirty, antsy, barefoot kids swarmed around them, between them, and underfoot. The two loaded carts the couple was pushing were topped with multiple loaves of super-soft Colonial white bread and boxes of Little Debbie snack cakes.

"Your tax dollars at work," Jamie said. He landed the kiss while they waited for the menagerie to surge past.

"Yup." Sophia turned her head and landed a kiss on his cheek, replacing the lipstick Sandy had wiped off. "For as long as it lasts. Onward, James!"

An elderly black woman on her way out with her cart, alone, thin, wearing a wool stocking cap, smiled and stopped for them. "Well God bless you," she said. Sophia smiled proudly and gave her a little wave.

Inside, the Winn Dixie grocery store never looked so good.

## Chapter 29

## Hybrid Vigor

MayBelle was sitting on the front porch in her rocker when she heard the air-brakes of the school bus hiss down at the road. She had been knitting but stopped simply to savor the air, the time of day, her beautiful yard.... The Japanese magnolia was blooming already, despite the recent freeze, and MayBelle could smell the Florida spring coming. Summer would be hot but the weather was wonderful now and that's all that counted. She began to rock, waiting for the girls to appear on the driveway. It was nice having both of them with her for a change, even if it was only temporary. Brenda, MayBelle was almost certain now, was her real child even though she loved Leesa just as much. She was sure she did.

She stopped rocking when she saw Leesa walking up from the road alone. The girl was dragging her feet, not even looking up to see MayBelle sitting there on the porch. MayBelle waited for her to reach the steps.

"Boo!"

Leesa straightened up with a jerk. "Mama! You scared me!"

"Well, you look alive now!"

Leesa plodded up the wooden steps and dug an envelope out of her books. It had **MAYBELLE** written on it in John Simmons' large, bold hand. MayBelle snicked the envelope open with the nail of her right index finger, the only nail which wasn't broken off.

Leesa clapped a hand to her mouth. "A hundred dollar bill!"

"Now how does he think I'm going to get to the store? Where's Brenda? He take her home with him?"

"No, Mama, an' he lef' this note, I mean, money, at the office an' he didn' come see us or nothin'. So Brenda, she say she takin' her bus an' goin' home to see what's goin' on an' get her other clothes an' stuff."

"Oh, dear."

"Well, wouldn' you if you was her?"

"Why no! I'd be thinkin' what if Peaches ain't there anymore or something like that. I'd think: what if my daddy doesn't want me here for some good reason! And I'd worry about how I'd get back here to Leesa and my real mama if they didn't want me there, know what I'm saying? Oh, Brenda!" MayBelle said her name as if she were actually there. "Brenda, you should've come here!" MayBelle hefted herself out of the rocking chair and put her shiny, plump arms around Leesa.

"Mama, I'm going to drop my books!"

MayBelle backed away.

"Mama. You know somethin' I don't?"

"No, no Leesa, but Brenda should've minded her daddy. How does she know what she's walking into? Leesa, honey, there's nothing down there at your shoes. Look at me."

"Oh, Mama...." Leesa looked MayBelle in the eye.

"I love you, Leesa."

"Good." Leesa fished out another envelope from her books, then set the stack down on the porch deck. "Mama, I love you, too." She put her slender arms around MayBelle as far as they would reach, then stepped back and dabbed a tear from her face. She watched MayBelle open the unsealed envelope. It was typewritten, on Homer County School Board stationary.

"It's not my fault, Mama."

MayBelle read the note quickly, then looked back at the envelope. It was addressed simply:

Mrs. John Simmons

"They did that on purpose, Mama. They know we have two mothers. See? The letter tell about bofe us. It say: Brenda an' Leesa. Them blond office bitches type it up, I know, 'cause Miss Armstrong, our science teacher, she tol' us she was gonna dictate us a note. She say dictate nasty, like some kinda big, bad dictator. I think she got a pimple on her ass. Um, I mean, bottom."

MayBelle patted the rocking chair next to her and plunked down into her own. She began to rock, looking out over the yard down the long, twisting, dirt driveway to the road. She deliberately kept her eyes away from Leesa and waited for the girl to sit. "So what about this conference she wants. It doesn't say when."

"Mama, she know we ain' got a phone. An' she say if we bofe behave from now on you don' have to come. An' she say she want the note back wif' our mother's signature on it. Well, which one?"

"So what did you do? You've never been in trouble before. What about this misuse of county property?"

"Mama, we didn' do nothin' wrong."

"Mmmm-hmmmm. Is that why Brenda went back to her house? Because she was afraid I'd ask questions?"

"No, Mama!"

"So explain this note. The truth."

"Okay. This is what happen'. Miss Armstrong is a dumb, jealous, honky bitch. She say she tired of us twins gangin' up on her. Us, plus Kara, she said, an' Kara ain' even a tight fren'! She that high-yellow girl I tol' you about wif' the boyfrien' wif' the car. The Camaro. Mama? How come we can't have a telephone? None of this would've happen if we had a phone. They even got phones in grass huts in Africa – I seen it on TV!"

"Leesa, your mind's run slap off the track! Anyway, you ask your daddy about the telephone. Now what did you girls do that was so bad?"

"It's not our fault. Kara, she have permission to use the Xerox machine to make copies of Science News. It come out every week but the school don' let us take it home. But Kara, she think she somebody an' she make copies of all this scientific stuff so she can be a big, honky brain one day an' drive a BMW an' all that – she so dumb she tell everybody that – well, all the other kids make fun of her 'cause she have this wide nose but she almos' white? She have our lips, too. Marty's dumb, too, her boyfrien'? He drop back so many grades he mus' be twen'y by now. He's sort of cute, though, but he darker than her an' he..."

"Leesa! What did you and Brenda do?"

"Mama, I'm gettin' to that! I gotta lay the backgroun' or you'll think it's our fault!"

"What's your fault?"

"Mama! Let me finish! So anyway, lately they be callin' Kara Heinz, like in Heinz 57 varieties? An' she make it worse by slappin' on all this lipstick you can' miss it. She say Marty like it. But all it do is make her lips stan' out more but she say that all the light-skin girls in New York City an' New Orleans get all the bes' mens that way. But all it do at school is make the kids fun at her more 'cause otherwise she could pass for white. So she be collectin' all this scientific stuff to prove that havin' another baby from another race is normal. "Cause she want to be normal. Is it normal, Mama? Miss Armstrong, she say it agin' the law."

MayBelle sighed and looked at Leesa. The girl was staring straight ahead out over the railing, her chair rocking back-and-forth so hard that Leesa suddenly had to raise up a little and jerk the chair forward so the back wouldn't hit the wall.

"Anyway, two week ago she Xerox this article out of an archaeology magazine an' it said that the Egyptians are more than half black-African an' there's this theory that they were so advanced for their time back then 'cause they had this interracial genetic vigor. That's what the article said, I memorize' it. No, it say: hybrid vigor! So Brenda, when the teacher was crawlin' Kara's ass in front of the whole class about how the principal only gave her permission to Xerox out of Science News and not out of the archaeology magazines, Brenda say, but not real loud, she say: 'Well, that 'splain how I got my vigorous brain!' An' I say – but I said it quiet, Mama – I say: 'Me too!' An' after class, Miss Armstrong call us up front an' make us bofe late for Phys-Ed. She was crawlin' us for talkin' in class, but Mama, she was really mad 'cause we was backin' Kara up on this hybrid vigor stuff' 'cause Miss Armstrong don' wanna hear about no hybrid sex. You know what I'm sayin'? See, 'cause you an' Peaches bofe, you ain' really darky black, an' no secret where that come from! Right? Am I right?"

"Is that what this note's about?"

"No, Mama, that was two weeks ago. You ain' listenin'. Mama! Did you know that Moses in the Bible, his wife was a black woman an' not one of them Israelites? Kara foun' that out, too. Anyway, Kara's been pourin' through the old Science News magazines which all of a sudden seem to be disappearin' from the library by the way, an' she foun' one that came durin' Chris'mas vacation that she missed? An' guess what, there was an article that said that modern man was havin' sex with Neanderthals thousan's of years ago an' their chirren was the survivors of what made the white man, well, that's what Kara wrote in her assignment book that we have to turn in every Friday, well, when she when' back to the library to Xerox the article for proof, it was clip out. So whoever did it must've done it real recent so Brenda an' me we wen' through the wastebasket nex' to the librarian's des' when she was puttin' up books an' stuff, an' we found it! The clippin'! So we smooth it out an' gave it to Kara an' she Xeroxed it – she Xerox a mess of 'em – an' she give us each one an' tha's when we got caught. Oh! An' guess what else we foun'!? The whole magazine for the firs' week of January! In the wastebasket! At firs' we couldn' see what was wrong wif' it an' then we foun' this article in there how scientists they discover that these lab mice, if a female have the choice between two males to mate wif' an' one be 'xactly like her an' the other one ain't, well, she mate wif' the differen' one every time! An' if they put her in wif' jus' one male an' he 'xactly look like her an' she go to bed wif' him an' get pregnant, an' right after she get pregnant they put her in wif' a male tha's a little bit differen', she have an automatic abortion so she can have a kid from the strange male! Ain' that somethin'?!"

"You sure?"

"We Xerox a bunch on that one, too, an' we passed 'em out. I brought one home, you can read it. Anyway, that bitch librarian an' Miss Armstrong are tight, an' tha's why she threw the magazine away before the kids in school could see the truth. About that hybrid vigor stuff. An' tha's how we got our ass in the anthill."

"That's it?"

Leesa pulled her rocking chair up and placed her Reebok-festooned feet on the porch rail, one above the other. She was calm now. The confession was over. "Yup. That's it."

"Well...."

"Brenda, she say: 'Fuck Miss Armstrong!' But she didn' say it to her face, don' worry."

"You told me the whole truth. And I can read that stuff you copied?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Well, fuck Miss Armstrong then!"

"Thank you, Mama. See, we was only doin' it 'cause we know that light skin don' come from all us niggers wearin' big hats to keep the sun off."

"I understand, honey." MayBelle chuckled. She would have to remember that one. She would have to remember all of it. "Well, you learn something every day. Even if you have to dig it out of a wastebasket."

"Can I go for a walk, Mama? Before my chores? Before it get too dark?"

"May I."

"May I?"

"What about homework?" MayBelle looked at Leesa's pretty face. So innocent looking and already finding out about all the injustice in the world. With plenty more to come.

"I can do it after supper. You know, Mama, maybe Kara's not so bad. She get a lot of shit over her color. I'm glad I'm not that light. Well, maybe I could be a little lighter, like you. But not like that."

"Color doesn't make the difference, honey."

"Oh yeah it do!"

"Well we don't have a choice, anyway. You don't have any chores today, either, how's that? But don't go far. And don't go out on the road by yourself. And don't go far into the woods."

"Mama.... I could go crawlin' aroun' under the house!"

"You know what I mean. And be back before dark. We're having black beans and rice, but without the hamburger meat. I'll figure out how to get to the store tomorrow."

"Can I go wif' you? To the store?"

"May I go with you. Leesa, your daddy and I are both tired of that swamp-coon talk. Hear me? Now if you're going to git – git! Remember, it's going to be dark soon!"

Leesa got up and picked up her books and placed them in the rocking chair. She would bring them into the house later when she came back, with Rachel's diary stuck in between.

"Bye, Mama. I love you."

"Be careful, baby, I love you to!"

MayBelle watched Leesa head down the path toward the old cemetery. When she was a girl herself, she had to have times alone, too. But her secret place was the damp, dark crawl space under their apartment building where all the pipes came in from underground. And it was quiet if there were no arguments going on in the flooring above, or if nobody was flushing a toilet. But sometimes she could hear every word. MayBelle was younger than Leesa then and she learned a lot under that floor all alone in her private place.

Leesa cut over to the wider path Jamie had mowed between the new cemetery and the old, but as soon as the cabin was out of sight she began to have second thoughts. She wished her sister was with her. She wouldn't be as afraid with Brenda along, even though Brenda was the scaredy-cat. Leesa knew from TV that the world was a dangerous place for young people, especially for girls. But the diaries had made it all real. There weren't simply bad people out there – there was a bad one right around here! He was after white ladies, sure, but....

Leesa stopped in the middle of the path for a moment to listen, and to screw up her courage. She smiled when she recalled how unafraid she had been that first time when she snuck under the fence and found the padlock open on the dynamite shack door. And found the diary. Then Marylyn's – the short one – short because Marylyn never got a chance to finish it.

Because Marylyn surely was killed. Murdered.

Leesa forced a decision. She would take the chance and get Rachel's diary, but she would sneak up this time. Get close to the edge of the woods and stop there and listen – for at least ten minutes – and then when she was absolutely sure nobody was around she'd scoot under the fence, stay in the shack just long enough to snatch the diary, and haul boogey.

First she needed to head back a minute and get a good swallow of MayBelle's jug. The tool shed where her father and MayBelle kept their moonshine whiskey was visible from the cabin but if you walked up to it from the old path in the woods you might could sneak in there without being seen.

When Leesa got up to the shed she peeked around and saw MayBelle still on the front porch, still in her rocker, knitting. Well, if she didn't make any noise.... The rickety door dragged on the ground as Leesa eased it open. As soon as she squeezed through she lifted up the loose floorboard where the whiskey was hidden, in a dug-out pit. Leesa had to squint her eyes for the gallon jug among the others that had been already opened. She found it, with the cork raised up part-way, and she hefted the clear, glass jug to her mouth. After a moderate swallow she pursed her lips and let out all her breath, waiting for the slow burn in her throat to stop. Thinking of the task which lay ahead, Leesa topped off the swallow with a smaller one and then set the jug down and clapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes bulged as she held her breath to stifle a cough. When the pain of that subsided, she felt along the filthy floorboards for the cork and then slowly lowered the jug down into the hollow. Just as she was satisfied that she'd placed the bottle exactly where she had found it a mouse ran out, raced across her wrist, and ran straight under her. Leesa let out a scream.

MayBelle stopped her gentle rocking and turned to the side. The scream seemed to come from the backyard and sounded like someone accidentally stepping on a cat – or maybe it was a stray dog trying to catch a cat – or maybe it was Leesa. She heaved herself up and hurried to get the shotgun John left with her, an ancient Stevens single-shot 12 gauge. She plopped a shell into the worn chamber and stuck two more into the pocket of her apron. After heading out the back door in a fast amble toward the tool shed she could see that the ground had been scraped recently by somebody opening the sagging door. There was no one inside. So Leesa had made that awful scream! MayBelle headed for the path that ran behind the shed toward the woods and the cemeteries. When she'd gone about half-way between the old and the new burial grounds, MayBelle stopped and Listened. She thought about calling out for Leesa but if the girl was in trouble the shout would give her own presence away. What to do? The shotgun was getting heavy and MayBelle switched it from her right hand to her left, and continued on. Where the path turned and followed alongside the grown-over salvage yard fence the trees overhead thinned out some, and MayBelle could see in the afternoon light that Leesa had come this way. She had already seen several Reebok prints in sandy patches along the trail, and now here was a snatch of pink wool on a blackberry bramble – pink from Leesa's thin sweater. Well, at least it looked like Leesa was traveling alone, and MayBelle was thankful for that. She didn't trust that man who lived alone in the junkyard.

Another path suddenly crossed the one MayBelle was following. It had been so long since she'd come this way this far that MayBelle couldn't remember if this new trail had been there before. Now she had to decide which way Leesa went. She wished she'd stopped when she was at the shed and tapped a hit before starting out.... MayBelle's eyes lit up. Leesa had been sneaking whiskey! Leesa? MayBelle tried to think. Brenda and Leesa had both been taking off back here lately after school. And it was a lot more difficult to detect shine on a person's breath than store-bought whiskey. So that's what they've been up to! They hadn't been acting drunk but they sure have been looking guilty lately!

MayBelle switched hands on the shotgun again and used it as a crutch as she hunkered down to study the ground. There was no sign that she could see so she headed first to the left, to the salvage yard fence. Sure enough! There was a place in the fence that had been cut. But the place had been mended and patched with wire, so Leesa couldn't have gotten through here – not today, anyway. MayBelle backtracked and stopped at the intersection again, and decided to try the direction toward the powerline right-of-way first. It was a good choice. A little farther down there was another hint of pink on a tall, blackberry bush, caught in the tiny thorns. MayBelle speeded up and by the time she reached the powerline clearing at the corner of the cemetery woods she was huffing for wind. She stopped there to catch her breath and to open the shotgun breech to make sure she had put a shell in there. Snapping the gun shut again, she looked to her right and left down the right-of-way. The clearing was as open and as quiet as could be.

The cemetery.

MayBelle hated to have to look around in there. It was such an old place, and all grown over – an eerie place – like in a horror movie. Spanish moss hanging down from the dark oaks, mold covering the old, cement headstones, some of which had toppled over from the upward pressure roots growing underneath them.... She moved slowly now, the shotgun raised. Suddenly MayBelle realized that she wasn't being very smart about all of this. She would go back to the right-of-way and simply holler out Leesa's name. She turned and went back to the path quickly, the shotgun still at the ready, and when she got back to where the path opened out into the clearing Leesa came running around the corner of the salvage yard fence and nearly smashed right into her. Leesa screamed and Rachel's diary fluttered to the ground.

"Mama!" Leesa stood there with her hands clasped over her heart. She swallowed and gulped some air. "Oh, Mama, it's you!"

MayBelle tried to appear stern but she couldn't resist a smile. "Who did you think it was?"

"Oh, Mama, Mama!" Leesa sidestepped the shotgun and put her arms around MayBelle and pressed her forehead against the lady's formidable shoulder. But just for a second. MayBelle's skin was clammy cold and damp with sweat. "Mama, you scared me half to death!"

Leesa remembered the diary and quickly stooped to gather it up. "It's my diary, Mama." She slapped the book shut and brushed the leaves and dirt off the outside of it.

"That didn't look like your handwriting, child. May I see it?"

"No! No, Mama! I disguise my writing in case somebody find it. It's personal! You would never peek in my diary, would you, Mama?"

"You've been pilfering whiskey out of the shed."

Leesa lowered her head, clutching the book tightly to her chest. "Yes, mama, but jus' this one time."

"The truth!"

"An' jus' one other time."

"Mmmm-hmmmm. What about Brenda? She drink, too?"

"No, Mama. Never. She don' even know where it is."

"Mmmm-hmmmm."

"I won' do it again, Mama. I promise. It make me all swimmy. You know I don' want to come addicted. It's the truth, Mama. I'm sorry."

"Then what you doing back here?"

"Our tree-house, Mama. Remember? I like to write in my diary up there." Leesa hoped that MayBelle would not remember that her father had forbidden them to go back to the tree-house anymore. He had only mentioned it once.

"Mmmm-hmmmm. Well, there's something fishy about this. I just know."

Leesa remained silent. She put on her best, pleading, innocent look, with the verge of bursting into tears thrown in.

"For one thing, I heard a scream."

"Oh, Mama, a rat ran right over my hand in the shed."

MayBelle chuckled. "That's what that was?"

"Well, it scared me. An' you can get rabies if it bite. Or that Black Death. You get all these boils and then your skin peel off an' you choke to death on your own spit. Real slow."

"Did it bite you?"

"Oh, no, Mama. I'm okay. It jus' scare me half to death."

"Well, that drinking is against the rules and you know it. You're going to bed right after supper. I ought to put you to bed without supper but I won't."

"Thank you, Mama. I'm sorry."

MayBelle made a face and turned back toward the cabin. Leesa followed right behind her on the narrow path.

"And no TV tonight. You're restricted to your room."

"Yes, Mama. For how long?"

"Don' be pushing your luck, child."

"Jus' for tonight? I promise I won' drink no more whiskey. Ever! I promise!"

"You promise me for sure?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Well, you're restricted to your room just for tonight and tomorrow night then."

"Thank you, Mama."

Leesa followed closely behind MayBelle all the way to the cabin. There was no way she wanted to get in front of that shotgun. Once she had seen a rabbit that her father had shot when the rabbit was munching collards in their garden. Leesa had watched him aim and shoot and the blast rolled the rabbit over and over. When she ran up to it the little animal was torn to shreds and there were bloody bits of it splattered all over the collard leaves. Her father had simply walked up to it and said: "Not enough left to eat." Leesa wanted to bury the poor thing but it was too gory to handle and the eye that was left seemed to be looking right at her.

The next morning most of the rabbit had disappeared. Apparently there was enough left to eat for somebody – something – some night animal, some critter that probably stalked around out there every night looking for food. In their garden. In their yard. A creature they would probably never see.

## Chapter 30

## Things Not Right

Junior headed back home after sighting one of the twins. Now he could be sure that the shack over there was a regular hangout for the two girls. All he had to do was figure out how to deal with that shotgun-toting, fat woman who showed up. Their mother?

He had been up in the tree-house when he first spotted Leesa waiting and listening at the edge of the woods, and he studied her through the binoculars. She was standing in a good place and he had a clear view through the branches on that side of the platform. It looked like she was waiting for somebody, no, she was waiting to see if anybody else was around! Looking from side-to-side, shit, was she going to stay there forever?

At first, Junior simply focused the binoculars as sharp as he could. They were good ones, Bausch & Lomb 7 X 50's, and he could view her in perfect detail. He could even see the Reebok logo on the side of one of her shoes. Then he discovered he could make her look more alive and real by slowly swinging the binoculars up and down. She appeared to move as the lenses crawled over her body, and Junior's desire for her grew as he watched. The pink fuzz of her sweater – it was too warm outside for a sweater.... But not if she wasn't wearing anything underneath! Junior held his breath and concentrated on her breasts. In his mind's eye he could see them. Warm and velvety as milk chocolate. He could feel his hand sliding up under the soft, pink fuzz of the sweater and his palm graze along on her skin. His thumb and index finger began to squeeze. All he wanted to do was feel of her. Why should she care? It wouldn't hurt her.

But Junior knew she wouldn't want to let him, and pain began to grow in his stomach, swelling and burning. He laid the binoculars down and slowly crept toward the hole in the platform to the ladder, easing himself down to the ground without a sound. He had to have her.

By the time he had crawled to the edge of the powerline clearing, the girl was gone and the fat lady with the shotgun was there. Junior crouched and waited, hoping that he had not emerged from cover so far that he could be seen. Then he saw the whole thing: the girl closing the door of the shack and crawling back out underneath the fence, and running around the corner of the fence smack into her mother. And he heard almost everything they said. Even about the whiskey in the shed where they lived. And the tree-house. They used the tree-house!

Junior pictured the twins together up there on the platform. They were smiling, and undressing for him. They were so sweet and pretty, and he loved them.

LATER: After Leesa finished the supper dishes and her shower, she dutifully retired to her room. "I'll turn off my lights as soon as I finish my homework, Mama."

She skipped the usual after-shower inspection of herself: the turning sideways before the mirror and puckering her lips to see how pronounced they were, picking at her hair and wishing it weren't so stiff, checking her hips to reassure herself that they weren't spreading.... She could hear Kara's words so clearly: "White men don't like no big, Afro, heifer ass. You and Brenda got bumpy little butts – that's good. But don't never get pregnant or you can kiss them cute little asses goodbye!"

Before crawling under the covers, Leesa slipped into her favorite flannel nightshirt, the one with Garfield on it, sitting behind a heaping plate of people-food. She spread her homework books all around herself, plus a couple of notebooks and pens on top of the bedcover just in case MayBelle should come in to check. Sneaking the whiskey had broken the trust they shared, and it would take a long time to earn that back.

Still not completely satisfied, Leesa fluffed up the pillows just so and settled back. This would be good. The fuzziness and the slight headache from the alcohol she had felt before supper seemed to be completely gone, too. Now, without Brenda here, it would be just herself and Rachel. Brenda could always read the diary later. Maybe she could bring the book to school for her, no, that would be too risky. Brenda would be back any day anyway, Leesa hoped. She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer for Brenda – not to any god in particular, such as her upbringing with MayBelle was – but to whoever was in charge. Then she opened the diary and hunted for the place where the two of them had left off the last time.

Today was wonderful! I am writing this in a hurry because it is almost dark already. My flashlight is propped up on a pillow and it has new batteries (but I don't want to wear them out). He liked my answers to my first Bible quiz but he also said I have a lot to learn.

Leesa stopped and tried to remember what Rachel's answers were, assuming that the woman believed in the Bible and was being forced to lie about it. To pretend. In school the teachers told stories of Christians being thrown to the lions by the Romans because they would not quit believing. Proof that the Bible was true, the teachers said.

So he came back with a clean mattress, clean sheets, and everything! And food! A small dish of heated up chili and he told me to take my time so I wouldn't get sick. And before I cleaned house he took me out for another bath. This time I didn't try to escape. I even got to shampoo my hair and use the conditioner he keeps at the shower area. Thank you! The water was cold but it was warm out and the water felt wonderful! And he gave me a brand new bar of soap (Irish Spring) and he even gave me a brand new toothbrush and some Colgate (regular). He watched me bathe, though, but I sort of got used to it. I had this feeling it was making him horny and for a while I thought he might rape me during the shower. He kept on asking me to turn around so he could see my long hair fall all the way down to the crack of my "ass". But he didn't rape me afterwards. THANK YOU.

He said today's Bible lesson would be easy and he is going to come back tonight to check my answers. If I get any wrong he is not going to electrocute me. He is going to rape me. He said he would do it so hard I would lose my baby. I will try to do the Bible lesson right (I already peeked at it) and I will remember the rule to copy out the questions into the diary first. I want to keep my beautiful baby. Please! If you let me keep my baby, I know that Jesus will forgive you and everything you have done. And I forgive you.

EPHESIANS 6: 5-9

1.FROM WHAT YOU BELIEVE AND NOT FROM WHAT YOU JUST READ, WHO TOLD PAUL WHAT TO WRITE DOWN IN HIS LETTERS TO THE EPHESIANS? God.

2.FROM WHAT YOU JUST READ, WHAT DOES GOD DESIRE FOR SLAVES? They should be obedient to their masters and they should do so as servants of Christ.

3.DOES GOD SAY: "FREE THE SLAVES?" No.

4.DO YOU STILL BELIEVE THE BIBLE IS GOD'S WORD? Yes.

I am worried about my answer to the last question, but I was instructed to tell the truth, so "yes" is the correct answer.

NEXT MORNING

_He came back last night like he promised. After finishing Ephesians, Chapter Six, I turned out the flashlight and tried to go to sleep. My clean body and the clean sheets felt so good! And everything smelled so clean! My hair felt wonderful, too. But I was thinking about his promise to come back and I lay awake for a long time. He came back just as I finally dropped off, and it scared me. The door was open when I woke up but I couldn't see him. I could just feel the chilly, night air and I was going to pull my clean blanket up farther but it wouldn't budge because he was sitting on the end of it. That made me jump! Then he turned on his flashlight (he has a big, long, black one like the police use) and he read over my answers to the quiz. He was smiling until he got to the last question. Then he got out this electric cord and dangled it in front of my face. "How good do you know your Bible?" I didn't know what to say but the truth was beginning to come to me that I don't know it very well so I said: "Not very well, I guess." "Write that down later!" he said. (Which I am doing now). Then he said: "If God wrote it, wouldn't He at least tell these people that the Earth is round?" I really didn't know what he meant by that at first and before I could answer he said: "They believe it's flat in your book! They believe the stars are a painting on God's ceiling! Write that down!" Then he spread out the electric cord and shined his flashlight on it and explained it to me. It had a plug on one end for the wall, and the other end was split with clamps on the ends, like a jumper cable but the clips were much smaller. He said he wanted to see what would happen if he clamped the ends on my nipples and plugged the other end in. I begged him not to and I said: "It will kill my baby!" (I was worried about myself, too, and how horrible it would hurt and burn). I said that my answer to the last question was the truth, per his instructions. He looked disappointed when he heard that but he laid the cord down on the floor. "Okay but you are a dumb-ass!" Then he took off his boots and undressed. I knew what was coming and I laid back and waited for him. But he couldn't get in me and he got mad at me. Then he turned the flashlight off and he did things to me to make me wet. It's not my fault. Then he got in my bed and made me get on top of him and sit on him and I leaned forward to dangle my_ breasts _tits in his face which is what I guessed he would like and he was nice to me then and made these contented noises but then all of a sudden he ordered me to sit up straight so he could feel my baby's head pressing on the tip of his_ thing _penis and then he came. When he got up and left he returned with an old-timey pitcher of warm water. And he brought two more clean, real fluffy towels. I thought he was going to be nice from then on but he started threatening me again, about how if I didn't write down every tiny detail of what happened he would be back in the morning and take that electric cord and jump me off with 110 volts. I was sitting on the side of my bed by now and I started crying. I was still naked but I didn't care if he saw me naked anymore. Before he left for the night, he kissed me on the top of my head. He said: "I'll take better care of you than Jesus ever can." Then he bent over and picked up the cable he left on the floor and he dangled the wires over my bare tits and let the clamps brush against my nipples. Then he said I better continue to do a perfect job on my Bible lessons because he's been dreaming about electrocuting a chick's tits for a long time. "Picture it," he said. "Are you listening?" He sounded angry again. "I clamp on these clips real good so they don't fly off when your breasts are twitching and writhing (he said breasts). Think about it! I have these fantasies and it's hard for me to deny myself!" I kept on nodding my head. I was so scared he might suddenly try it out right then. "So work on your diary and your lessons!" he yells. "If I electrocute your tits it might spoil the milk for your baby! If you live through it!" He was partly out the door now and before he closed it he said: "I meant, it might spoil_ _my_ _milk!" I could hear him laughing after he shut the door behind him. I lay down and cried for the longest time, and I went to sleep with Benny in my arms, my beautiful fluffy raccoon._

This morning when I woke up there was a small cooler just inside the door. A red and white Playmate cooler. It looked clean and new. Inside was some more cranberry juice and a vitamin pill (I think) and some chocolate covered donuts. I love those! THANK YOU! I am feeling much better and my baby is feeling better, too. He seems to be moving more and getting stronger. I wonder where I will have him, though. I mean, where will I give birth? I feel it will be soon and I hope I am not alone in here when it happens. I am worried about that. The walls are thick and even if I screamed for him to come he won't hear me I don't think. Also, I don't know how far he lives from here. Maybe if I try harder to be good to him, like St. Paul says a good slave should, he will find a way for me to have a safe birthing. It is my very first child.

Please think about this, ___. (He told me his name but I am not allowed to write that down).

This finishes the diary up till today and I am going to keep on and do today's lesson so it's finished before lunchtime. There is plenty of light now and he might have something else for me to do this afternoon. ___, I will do anything you want. Thank you for the breakfast and for taking good care of me.

MATTHEW 5: 17-19

1.WHAT IS MEANT BY "THE LAW" (FROM WHAT YOU READ AND WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN TAUGHT) "The Law" is all the rules God tells Moses to give to the people in the Bible. (Not in Matthew). There are pages of the law in the Old Testament besides the Ten Commandments.

2.WHAT IS JESUS SAYING ABOUT "THE LAW"? (USE YOUR OWN WORDS TO SHOW YOU UNDERSTAND). Jesus says that He is not on Earth to change "The Law", not one word of it.

3.SO DOES THAT MEAN THAT GOD'S ATTITUDE TOWARD SLAVERY STILL STANDS, EVEN AFTER THE ARRIVAL OF JESUS? Yes.

4.WHAT ABOUT OTHER THINGS IN THE LAW OF MOSES, LIKE HUSBANDS OWNING THEIR WIVES? IS THAT CHANGED WITH JESUS? No. Not one word is to be changed,

5.DOES THE CHURCH YOU GO TO TEACH YOU EVERYTHING IN THE BIBLE? No.

6.DO YOU KNOW MORE ABOUT THE BIBLE NOW THAN YOU DID BEFORE? Yes.

7.IS WHAT A PREACHER SAYS MORE IMPORTANT THAN WHAT ANOTHER PERSON MIGHT SAY, IF THEY BOTH STUDIED THE SAME SUBJECT? No.

_8.DO YOU THINK I AM TRYING TO BRAINWASH YOU?_ Yes. _No._

9.EXPLAIN YOUR ANSWER TO #8. Brainwashing is when you get somebody to believe something that isn't true.

NEXT MORNING

It is almost too hard to see without wearing out my batteries so this will be brief. I am not trying to leave stuff out just to be lazy.

This afternoon he brought me a Thermos of chicken soup and a BLT sandwich. So good! The bacon was still warm. He let me eat while he read my lesson. I should've been too scared to eat but I was sure I answered all the questions correctly. He said he was tired and that he worked hard all morning. I wonder all the time what he does! I would help him if he'd let me out! Anyway, when I was through brushing my teeth he changed the water in my pitcher and basin. Then he said he needed a nap and he got into my bed (after undressing). I took the hint and got into bed with him and we lay together side-by-side. When I felt him getting hard I went down on him. When we were finished, I fell asleep in his arms. I don't know when he left as I did not wake up. (That's why I am late writing this). I am hungry again and I am hoping he will bring me some supper. I am hungry all the time! (Of course, I missed a couple days!) I also pray all the time now. I pray directly to Jesus. I hope He can see me where I am. I feel that He does. I am afraid to write this part down but if I didn't, it wouldn't be the truth. I am also afraid to capitalize pronouns of God like "He".

NEXT MORNING

It rained hard about an hour ago and ___ didn't bring my breakfast yet. He came back last night after dark with a nice supper. Beef stew and green snap-beans he said he grew himself and frozen. But he didn't say whether he cooked it himself. He was in a good mood and he sat with me and talked the whole time I ate supper. He said he had a lady who would help me birth my baby and that he was going to rig up a buzzer with a button I could push if I needed him. Then he said if that doesn't work out he would move me closer to his place. I asked him why he hated preachers and he said he didn't hate them. Then he started going on and on about Christians and especially preachers. Bad stuff. He said that when the Turks were defending their cities against the Christians, the Crusaders would catch Turkish women and children outside the walls and cut their heads off and hurl the heads over the walls to terrify the defenders. He said the Crusaders learned to be cruel by reading their Old testament. He was very upset about all of this and he kept on saying: "Now be sure and write all this down later!" He also said that all the Jewish people killed by the Germans during World War Two would still be alive if the Christians "gave a shit back then!" Then he said that the Iranians and the Syrians and all the other Muslims learned all their dirty tricks from the same Old Testament the Christians used and that the Old Testament is part of Islam, too. He said it is to the Jew's credit that most of them don't believe in the Old Testament word-for-word anymore like the Christians and Moslems still do, and that maybe the Jews really are God's chosen people because they are too smart to believe dumb stuff like the Creator of the Universe has made everything and then if something didn't turn out exactly right He has "temper tantrums". (I was afraid that I would forget some of this stuff because he was talking so fast, but I think I remember it all but I might not be writing down the exact words or in the right order – I'm sorry).

He said that the whole time Moses was leading the people around in the desert on a wild goose chase for forty years that Moses had trouble getting the Jews to believe it even then. Then ___ asked me if I ever heard any of this stuff before and I said: "No." He said: Did they ever teach you ANYTHING in church and Sunday school that was the truth?" and I paused while I was trying to think about it he said real quick: "No, don't answer that. Wait until you've learned more." Then he slid his hand under my robe and felt of my tits and he lifted the weight of them and said I should be giving milk soon. I said that I didn't think the milk was supposed to come until after the baby is actually born. He wasn't happy to hear about that so I let him nuzzle on me a little and I wasn't scared about that this time. Then he left. Thank you for bringing me such a nice supper and being nice to me.

NEXT MORNING

_Last night it got kind of cold and I have to remember to ask him for an extra blanket. And about a little heater for when winter gets here. I know from my planting guide that we usually don't have a freeze until after November 10th here in the Florida panhandle. Sometimes it doesn't freeze all winter, but that is rare. I know there are outlets in the wall but they look old and I am hoping they are good enough for an electric heater,_ but then, oh never mind, no eraser for the pen ,okay, that cord with the nipple clamps he keeps so he can electrocute my tits needs to plug in, too. _Please don't do that. Please! I am also afraid of fire, especially since I am locked in here. I also need to show him my ankle. On the first day here I thought my ankle might be broken but it didn't hurt after that. It still doesn't but it has this little purple spot. Also, my left elbow is still kind of stiff. If the police had found me after my wreck they would have taken me straight to the hospital for observation. But I was lucky and I didn't break any bones or get all cut up and need stitches. Thank You Lord! The only other pain I have from rolling my car in the ditch is in my jaw. It hurts sometimes when I chew on the right side. When ___ first pulled me out of the car and ripped my blouse open and stuff I don't remember feeling any of these things but they bother me some now. I just realized that the place on my ankle might be from the chain where he chained my foot to the wall at first. He doesn't do that anymore. Thank you! I hear him at the latch out side. To be continued._

_He is gone. As soon as he walked in he read over my shoulder and he got mad. He said: "Haven't you figured out anything yet?" I didn't know what I wrote that could be wrong and my heart was pounding because when he yelled at me he turned around to see if that electric cord with the clamps was still hanging on the wall where he left it. Then he said: "You write you were lucky? You thank The Lord because you didn't break any bones? If God was on the ball your car wouldn't have rolled in the ditch in the first place! If your God is real he surely wouldn't send_ _me_ _to pull you out!" So I reminded ___ that it was him who bumped my car to send it out of control and he said: "So? I followed you for a half hour from your stupid pro-life meeting. Was God out to lunch? You think He'd allow a pervert like me to get the upper hand?" I guess I must have looked at him funny when he said that because he got even more mad and he said: "You don't think I'm a fucking pervert? You'll be finding out soon enough!" And then he stomped back out and before he locked the door he hollered: "Write that down!"_

Now I know I am in bad trouble, but ___ can be nice sometimes and I want him to be my friend.

Leesa sat there in silence for a few minutes. There was something not right. What Rachel was writing and how she was writing it. Leesa thought about it all. The diary didn't look right. But what if it was me. How different would it look if I had to do it?

## Chapter 31

## Another Victim on the Way

Leesa looked up from the diary and glanced about her room. She had forgotten to wind her alarm clock that morning and now, with the hands of her Westclox BIG BEN pointing at 4:30 and the windows dark, Leesa had no idea how long she had been reading since her bedtime shower. She checked the homework materials strewn about her on the bedcover, rearranged the pillows behind her back, and reopened Rachel's diary. If MayBelle walked in unannounced she could have the book snicked under a leg in a heartbeat. She practiced the maneuver one time and turned to the next page.

AFTER BREAKFAST

When he brought me my breakfast (later than usual because the sun has been up for some time) he looked at what I wrote about being in trouble now and he said: "You think you're in trouble? I'm doing you a fucking favor! You were living your whole life with your head up your ass until now!" Then he walked out instead of sitting with me while I ate.

There is not much to do in here except writing and my Bible lessons, so I have plenty of time to think about my life before I was kidnapped. Sometimes that life doesn't seem real anymore. I also worry now about how long he is going to put up with bringing me food, doing my dishes (where I don't know), emptying and cleaning out my commode chair, bringing me water and stuff. It is a lot of work. I would gladly do it for him. I mean, for myself. But he doesn't let me out except for showers. I also wonder who he had in here last. Is she dead now?

Please ___, let me be your servant. Don't kill me after you are tired of me. I did some extra reading in the Bible (not part of the lessons) about God's law regarding the children of slaves. It means that my baby, if it is born alive, will be your slave also. One day, ___, you will be old. Too old to take care of yourself. Your servants can take care of you. Please don't kill us!

I am thinking about my husband and wondering what he is doing without me. I wonder if he calls the police every day to see how they are doing on my missing-person investigation. I wonder what he would do if he found me here. He is a very practical sort of person and thinks about his work a lot. It is hard for me to picture him fighting you, ___, even though my husband is much younger and fairly strong. Would he be willing to fight for me? I can't picture it, but maybe. I think if the police found me, would you shoot it out to the death like in "Bonnie and Clyde"?. I wonder if my husband will get another wife if I die here or am never found. It is hard for me to picture him dating. He is not a lover type. I had to practically twist his arm to get him to notice me when we met. We met at church. I guess I had this idea in my head to be a wife and mother and all, but that is hard to picture now. I had to practically push sex on him the first time, too. I knew I was attractive enough but he seemed so shy. After that, he wanted to do it all the time. For a while, anyway, he was like that. But now it all seems like just a movie (my old life) even though I haven't been here very long. I am surprised at this.

___ came in and is standing right over me. He is telling me what to write so that people who read this later will know. He says that one day the police will find the diary and it will be in all the newspapers. I am supposed to write, in capital letters:

THIS IS A CLUE!

He says he likes it when I write about my past life but I should do it only when I have time. He says I am still leaving out details of my "captivity". Like I only write what is happening when he is here but don't tell about what I do when he is gone. I said: "I don't do anything when you're gone. There's nothing to do in here!" And he said: "Then write down all your thoughts! Don't forget the punishment!"

Thought Number One: I will never forget what my punishment will be if I don't do as told. Just thinking about it is terrifying.

He is standing at the aquarium (the biggest one I have ever seen) and putting in a capful of bleach in the water so it doesn't get "scummy". Now he is working on something under the tank, the pump, I think, because more bubbles are coming out of the sand now and the Barbie dolls are swaying a little because the water is moving. He is standing there and staring at them. I hope he is not going crazy because I have decided to be a good slave and will take good care of him.

Now he is pulling out this drawer from under the tank. He turns around and looks at me. "Are you writing this down? Have you been in this drawer?" I tell him no. I didn't even know it had a drawer underneath. He pulls it all the way out and shows it to me. There is a black Barbie doll in there along with a bunch of other, regular Barbies. He is taking her out, carefully, like she is alive. (When I stopped to watch this he said: "You're not writing!") I nod my head and I am writing with my head turned sideways so I can watch at the same time. He is standing in front of me now and smoothing out the black Barbie's hair. She is wearing a white cocktail dress with white, high-heeled shoes. The dress has bare shoulders and there is a white choker around her neck that snaps in the back (I think). He kisses her and lays her back in the drawer. (I see that the choker is part of the dress in front). The dolls in the drawer look to be in better condition than even the brand-new ones I've seen in the store, and they don't look like they've been tortured or ever gotten wet like the ones he has hanging in the aquarium.

There is one other Barbie in there that is black and he is getting that one out. He brings her over to me. This Barbie is wearing a white wedding dress with a white sort of shawl. The white looks pretty on her. The gown is a strap type and it has a tiny, red belt. She is wearing long earrings and a necklace. ___ is sitting down on the bed now, next to me. He waited until I finished the last sentence before plunking down so my writing wouldn't squiggle. He is reading to see if I described the doll right. OK. He says: "Guess what her name is?" I shrug my shoulders and try to think of a colored name. "It starts with an L." I say: "Lena?" He says: "No, no!" "Leticia?" He looks mad for a second but smiles when he looks at the Barbie. He is arranging her arms and legs, different ways. Now he is sliding her panties off. He is spreading her legs. (He leaves the shoes on). He says: "Could you kiss a black person?" I put my pen down for this and he says: "No, no, I don't think she would like that. You're a female." Then he lifts her dress and kisses her there and looks over at me to see if I am writing this down. Then he laughs. He hands her to me and says: "Give her a bath and a rub-down." Now he is saying: "Later. Not now."

He is gone. It seems quieter in here even though I now have the sound of the aquarium pump in the room. It is a gentle, soothing sound, like a kind of low humming. Also, I can hear the bubbles when they come to the top of the tank and break the surface. That is a nice sound, too. Before he walked out, he said: "As soon as you get caught up with what you're writing, fix up my girls" He means the Barbie dolls. "And don't put them back in the drawer. Set them around the room, like they're doing things in real life. You can use the tops of the footlockers, too. Put some next to the candles. Don't put them all in one place. Fix up their hair a little. They're starting to look ratty." He stopped for a second and caught my eye. "And pick one out and put her in the position you would prefer to have sex in. When I come back I'll do you that way." After he shut the door, my heart was pounding.

AFTER LUNCH

He brought me a hamburger. It was still warm. And a thermos of coffee and another vitamin pill. He did not stay long nor look much at how I was doing the Barbie dolls but he asked how long before I was finished. I said in another hour or so.

ABOUT AN HOUR LATER

_I have them pretty much arranged the way I want them now. They seem like real people sometimes and I keep catching myself talking to whichever one I'm handling at the time. (But talking to them as a group seems artificial). I am betting that he wishes the Barbies had nipples and stuff like that. At first I thought I'd better take one of the black Barbies (There are eleven white dolls in the collection) and fix her position how I want him to have me, but then I thought, no, he loves those two black ones. So now I am ready for him. I have the white stewardess Barbie with her clothes neatly folded next to her on the floor with her American Airlines overnight bag. But I left her black, open-toed shoes on and her little cap. I put her on a folded towel on the floor lying on her side with her knees and legs pulled up as far as I could bend them. Then I thought: He'll think I want him to do me on the floor. So I picked her up and laid her on her side on the nightstand next to the bed the same way as before, on the towel, but with her_ butt _ass sort of sticking out over the side of the table a little, with her facing the wall, and I laid her folded stewardess (I should say: "flight attendant") clothes close to her. I am waiting for him to return now._

EVENING (Just before dark)

He still hasn't returned. I feel something has gone wrong because he seemed to be so certain about coming back and I felt it would be soon.

One time our preacher, Brother Beck, told us after a prayer meeting that feminists refer to God as "Her" now, and that some ancient people used to worship false gods who were female. He also said that the words "chairman" and "spokesman" didn't mean it had to be a male any more than the word "human" means it has to be a male. I guess that means "steward" and "stewardess" is okay, too, except it does tell what sex they are. (Reverend Beck did mention that). So I am wondering, since our preacher is not stupid, why didn't he tell us about these other things in the Bible. I know there are two people in our church at least, (our neighbors) who say they've read the Bible all the way through a couple of times, and the preachers are always saying to the people we should read our Bible. So something here doesn't make sense. Do they assume nobody will actually read all of it? If there were a chaplain here (joke) I would ask him about all of this. Maybe people just sort of read past all the uncomfortable things, like it wasn't there even though you're actually reading it. ___, I am not writing this just to get on your good side. I am actually thinking these thoughts. If I wasn't really thinking them, I wouldn't have them to write down. Right? I am trying hard to do my best!

EVENING (Just a faint light left in the skylight but I can see one star)

He just came back, left me some batteries after he looked around for a second. He nodded his head in approval at the Barbie doll arrangements but it was obvious he was in a hurry and he looked extremely agitated. He also told me to tell the stewardess (his word) to get dressed. Then he said he was going to come for me later and move me. He was going to need this place for a new girl. Then he asked me if I was prejudiced. I said I didn't think I was prejudiced. Then I said: "Don't hurt her." And he said: "Who?" And I said: "The new girl. Is she black?" He looked startled at that and then he said: "I'll ask the questions. Pack up all your stuff. Use a pillow case. If you have to wait for me long do the next Bible lesson. Don't go to sleep. I asked him if he wanted the Barbie dolls packed up, too, and he said just to put them back in their drawer but so that they would be comfortable, and to slide the drawer back in under the aquarium so "the girls don't get dusty." He was so agitated that I became afraid. I thought: this new girl wasn't planned. He must have just run into her by accident, not followed her like he did with me. And I also knew that I had already done the last Bible lesson and there weren't anymore written down – but I was almost too afraid to mention that, he seemed to be such in a hurry. I was also afraid that he might take me out and kill me just to get rid of the extra problem.

When I took a chance and mentioned that I already did the last lesson he surprised me and grabbed the lesson book and wrote out a new quiz. He didn't have to look at the Bibles in my room to do it, either, so I am thinking that he knows the Bible by heart. Is that possible? He prints fast, too, all capital letters, and he did a couple pages in the little lesson book, the longest lesson so far, looked like it anyway! Then he handed it to me and smiled. He said: "This is how your God prescribes medicine. Definitely a legal case for negligence here!"

After he was gone I said a little prayer for the new victim, and one for myself. To tell the truth, I was more than a little worried. Jealous, too. If he doesn't kill me, will he have time for me?

Dear ___, I will do anything you want me to. Anything. I want to make you happy.

AFTER PACKING AND CLEANING

I don't know how much time I have and the quiz looks long. (I am supposed to look up each passage in all three Bible translations). I am sitting on the bare mattress with the flashlight propped up to do this quiz. My stomach is burning with fear (and no food). A new girl and already he forgot my supper.

LEVITICUS 21: 18 -24

NUMBERS 5: 1-4

_1.WHAT IS GOD'S CURE FOR HIS PEOPLE IF THEY COME DOWN WITH LEPROSY? The healthy people should force the sick ones to leave the_ city _camp._

2.WHAT IS GOD'S MEDICAL ADVICE FOR HIS CHOSEN PEOPLE FOR A MALE OR FEMALE ORGAN DISCHARGE? The sick ones should be banned.

3.DOES LEVIETICUS 21: 19 DESCRIBE YOU? IF YES, IN WHAT WAY? Yes. Anyone with a hurt foot or hand (my ankle and my elbow).

4.WHAT ARE SUCH PEOPLE NOT ALLOWED TO DO? They must stay out of the temple.

5.WHAT IS GOD'S REASON FOR THIS? People with blemishes would profane His sanctuary.

6.IS THE BIBLE VALID FOR TODAY? I don't know.

7.IF THE BIBLE IS VALID, WHAT DO THESE RULES MEAN FOR YOU RIGHT NOW? I should not go inside my church because my ankle has a black and blue spot on it.

8.FROM YESTERDAY'S LESSON: DOES THE COMING OF JESUS CHANGE ANY OF THESE LAWS? IF SO, BY HOW MUCH. Not one word of God's laws are to be changed. Jesus said so.

9.WHERE DOES IT SAY THAT? Matthew 5: 17-19

10.DID YOU HAVE TO LOOK BACK IN YOUR DIARY TO FIND THAT ANSWER? Yes.

11.DO YOU KNOW YOUR BIBLE YET? No.

ANSWER THE FOLLOWING FROM WHAT LITTLE BIT YOU DO KNOW ABOUT YOUR BOOK: 12:DID THE MT. SINAI GOD GIVE A CURE FOR LEPROSY? No.

13. DID JESUS TELL THE PEOPLE HOW HE CURED THE BLIND MAN? No.

14.DID JESUS COMPASSIONATELY CURE ALL THE BLIND PEOPLE IN THE WORLD OR JUST THE FEW THAT GOT IN THE WAY OR WERE IN HIS PATH? Just those.

15.DO YOU GIVE THE BIBLE OR GOD HIGH MARKS FOR MEDICAL KNOWLEDGE AND COMPASSION? No.

16.THINK HARD BEFORE ANSWERING: IF MODERN MEDICINE IS A "MIRACLE", CAN YOU TELL ME WHY? (THE WRONG ANSWER WILL BE PUNISHED IN A GOD PLEASING WAY: SEVERLY AND VIOLENTLY). Modern medicine is a miracle because scientists and doctors did it without God's help.

I looked at the last answer over and over. I am sure I have it right. I am surprised by it.

So here I sit, waiting and worrying. What is he doing to her? I imagine she is not pregnant like I am. Younger, too, I'll bet. Maybe ___ will let me help him with her. I would like that. I could do the chores and things like that. Anything.

## Chapter 32

## Crucified

Leesa turned back a few pages. She touched her throat as she reread the part where Rachel told about the man and his black Barbie dolls. One of them with a name starting with an "L". Leesa.... It was the junkyard man, Gus. Had to be! And those spaces in the diary where Rachel withheld his name, all of them just the right size to spell out a three letter word. Gus.

The silent Big Ben on her dresser stared at her. 4:30. If she got out of bed to wind it up and ask her mother what time it was, MayBelle would surely remind her that she was on restriction and it was time to turn out lights and go to sleep. Leesa wiggled herself more comfortable and pulled her blanket up to her neck. It was getting just a little bit chilly in the room but the only way to get heat in from the rest of the cabin was to open the door. Leesa carefully turned back to the page where she'd left off, avoiding flipping ahead to see if the man's new victim was a black girl, as Rachel was guessing.

The page started with a different shade of blue pen.

ABOUT ONE WEEK LATER (lost track)

After finishing the above quiz I was still good and hungry, of course, but I was so nervous I forgot about food for a while. When he finally did come back I guessed it to be around midnight, and I was thankful that he was alone. I thought he would still be in a hurry but he wasn't. He was anxious to read over the quiz before doing anything else and when he was finished he smiled and kissed me on top of the head. He said I was learning. Then he said because I was moving I would not be required to do my diary for a few days, so he took the little quiz book and my diary and I did not get them back until today. So I have a lot of catching up on my diary but he said I only have to do one Bible quiz per day (he wrote more) starting today and I don't have to make up any of those.

When he went off with my books that last night in the old place, it looked pitch dark out through the doorway and you could hear a light rain starting up on the roof. So I asked him if we were still going to move me because of the rain and he said yes, he needed this building right away. He returned immediately with a couple big garbage bags. New ones. My bedding was fresh so I had folded it for moving and we put that and my pillows in one bag. The clothes he had given me, all washed and dried, we put in the other bag, plus my flashlight and my pens, etc. I gave my precious Little Benny a kiss before tucking him away in there, too. ___ said my new place had a little bathroom so we wouldn't be needing my potty chair. But he stopped to rinse the pitcher somewhere right outside and brought that back all full, and he went out to rinse the potty bucket and he dried that off when he came back in so now I know for sure he has a new victim. But I remembered that he made me go in my bed at first, for days, and I mentioned it and he said: "Are you jealous?" Then he told me to take off my nightie and put it in with my clothes in the bag so it wouldn't get wet. He seemed to be in a hurry again. He told me that there was a spigot on the back wall of the building and he made me go out there naked (and barefoot) and rinse out my water glass. The rain was cold and miserable on my bare skin. I tried to look around in the dark, wondering where the new victim was and what she looked like and he saw me and got mad. He said: "I'll tell you what to look at! And when I do, it won't be pretty!" I had the feeling he meant that what he was doing to her wasn't pretty, not that she wasn't pretty herself. He held the flashlight on me while I made sure I rinsed out the new girl's drinking glass real good. It was muddy back there and the mud was up over my ankles at this point. ___ seemed to be angry again and I didn't want him to hurt me anymore. I had been looking forward to moving because when he first told me about it I had a good feeling, like he meant my new place was an improvement for me. So I tried to sound cheerful and I said: "Will my new place have windows?" To my surprise, he said: "Yes, and it won't be boring, either!" The "won't be boring" part scared me a little.

When we were ready to go he remembered my new slippers which I didn't even know he had put under the bed for me, so he knelt down and pulled them out and showed them to me – me standing outside in the rain so I wouldn't get the rug muddy. I thought: well, if this new girl is so important he would have left those new slippers for her! So at that point I felt a little better, if you know what I mean.

I took a good look back inside just once, before he closed the door, and I got this strange feeling, so strong and so sudden, like a lump in the throat, like I was leaving home for a strange land I knew nothing about. (Hard to explain). My baby suddenly churned around inside of me, too, at the same time.

He shouldered the heavier of the two bags, the one with the bedding, and we started our dark walk down the middle of this huge junkyard, my feet squooshing in the mud. He didn't seem to care about getting his own clothes wet (or care about the cold rain on my naked, super-pregnant body). He made me walk in front of him while he shined his flashlight ahead of me, so I kept my head pointed straight ahead. (My eyes sure moved around but I couldn't make out much in that darkness). Way ahead there was this glimmer of a light and eventually we stopped when we got to it, just a light-bulb on a stick, really, in the middle of one of the rows, and he told me to stand right there. So I did and I heard his boots suck off to the right of me. I thought he wasn't watching me now so I turned a little to see what was happening. He was going between this row of old cars. Big ones, like old Cadillacs. I had to squint my eyes because the bulb was sort of blinding me. Off in the distance there seemed to be this big Ferris wheel. It looked so eerie against the black sky. But closer I couldn't see much but then I heard his voice and I thought I could hear a girl crying. Then this sharp slap. Then nothing. I turned my head away when I heard his boots sucking back toward me. He started me walking again, ahead of him, in the direction of the Ferris wheel. I had to keep on changing shoulders with my bag as it was getting heavier and heavier because I didn't want to set it down in the mud when we stopped.

We came right up to the Ferris wheel, which wasn't. It had buckets on it, but with steel teeth, like a giant ditch digger. It was hard to see anything without a moon or stars and just that miserable, rainy drizzle. Behind the digger was a tiny yard, smaller than my yard back at home, with a little camper-trailer in the middle of it. There were lights on inside. Way past, on the other side of the digger was a huge clearing with a picket fence around it. There was a round building back in there with a dome, and one of those expensive Airstream trailers. It had a light on, too, kind of dim from the distance and the rain, but it made my heart jump. Other people! It had been so long, it seemed.

Anyway, on the near side of the digger was this little camper which he said was my new home if I behaved. Or I could die a horrible death here. My choice. Standing there outside of it, it looked so good with the light shining out the tiny windows! He told me to place my bag inside the door of my little camper but he made me stay outside in the weather. But he went inside himself with the other bag. I began to shiver and my baby was moving and kicking. I suddenly started worrying about going into labor. It was possible, I thought. What would I do? I was almost due and still there seemed to be no real plans. When he came back outside he had the two garbage bags with him – empty. I asked to go inside to get dry and warm but he said if I tried any "shit" or tried to escape again he would run a sword through my belly and kill us both (me and my baby). To make sure I understood, he said, he was going to show me something before I got too comfortable and "spoiled".

He made me walk in front again, this time backtracking the way we came. At least I didn't have that heavy bag to carry. I was still shivering when we came to the place where we stopped before, next to the light-bulb taped to a stick. There was an extension cord running to it in the mud and steam was sizzling out of the socket and also off the bulb because of the rain. He told me to turn left, the way he had gone himself the last time. I had to make my way between two cars and there were sharp things in the mud that hurt my feet. I hollered once. He said to put my feet down carefully because there were car parts all over the ground. I picked my way slowly with his flashlight beam at my feet, and I looked hard for pieces of metal and glass and stuff. Then I saw a small pair of shorts, like basketball shorts, down there in the muck, and then a little blouse, and right in my path a tennis shoe. I was looking down so hard that when the girl whimpered I was almost right up on her and I jumped about a mile! ___ laughed behind me and shined his light on her. I choked back a scream.

_She was tied to a cross, arms stretched straight out at each side but her ankles together, just like they did to Our Lord. At least he didn't nail her to the beams! She wasn't very big but the cross looked heavy, too big for her, and it wasn't set in the ground but a couple feet off the ground and there was this log loader behind her, holding the cross up. I could see that the cross was bolted to those pinchers that snap the tree trunks off and load the logs into trucks. (They do a lot of logging around here). ___ told me to move to the side a little because I was in the light. I wanted to step back and get away but he was right behind me and I was afraid he was going to shove me right into her, like one of his little jokes, but he didn't. I knew better than to look away. Her left hand was right above me and I tried to concentrate on that, seeing that the rope around her wrist tying her to the cross-beam wasn't too tight, and sure enough, ___ gives me a little push forward. Her little muff was right in my face now so I looked up. Her head was hanging down sort of and her eyes were right on mine. Pleading eyes. She was a tiny thing, maybe Junior High? (My first guess). A black girl he kidnapped somewhere, but just as naked and helpless as I was. He had a rag tied through her mouth and ___ told me to remove it. He kicked over an empty Coke crate for me to stand on but I still couldn't reach the rag without my body touching hers (my wet, pregnant to bursting, white body). I was terrified of touching my body against hers when I tried to reach up. (Can't explain). Suddenly he pushes me off my perch and gets up there himself. He whips out a knife and jabs it at her, scaring us both crazy because it looked like he was going to stick it right into her neck, but he stops just in time, laughs, and then very gently slides the knife under the rag and cuts it off. The girl was crying and so terribly frightened. He still had the knife in his hand and was flicking it around. Her eyes were off me now and watching the blade. He says: "She tried to escape. Tell her about the jumper cables." I tried to explain as delicately as I could about the cable with the plug at one end and the two little clamps at the other and where they went. But it wasn't enough and ___ kept on flicking the knife around in his right hand, shining the flashlight on the blade, then playing the beam across her nipples and telling her the clamps would hang onto those just fine. She didn't have much more than nipples, she was so young. I felt so sorry for her and finally I blurted out that he should let her down. And I said to her: "Just do what he tells you and don't try to run away and he won't hurt you." Her eyes were back on me and she was nodding her head. I couldn't tell for the drizzling rain but it looked like tears were streaming down her face. Then her whole body shivered and I remembered how cold it was for me, too. I'd forgotten in the excitement. I turned to ___ and I said the wrong thing, I said: "For God's sake let her down and get her into a warm bed!" He got mad. "I thought you were learning about God! Tell you what. I'll let God decide if she lives or dies for trying to escape!" He hands me the flashlight and stomps off behind the cross and climbs up on the log loader. "Rachel, if you move one foot I'll slit her open!" The motor on the loader started right up. I couldn't see his face in the dark but I could see the knuckles on his hands from the light-bulb behind us and I watched in horror as he moved the levers. The pinchers holding the cross began to rotate and the girl started screaming. I caught her eye and put a finger to my lips and to my surprise she stopped. As the cross slowly turned sideways her poor body sagged down, hanging by her ankles and most of the weight suspended from her left wrist. The cross continued its slow rotation until she was up-side-down and her body was sliding toward her head. The whole time her body was turning, her eyes stayed fixed on mine but now she was arching her back so she could look downward toward me. To my relief, soon as ___ had her up-side-down he began to lower her toward the ground. The relief was short lived. Anyway, he lowered the top of the cross down to where it just touched the ground and her head was about two feet above the ground, maybe a little less. The noisy motor cut off. Her body was hanging forward in the middle and it was hurting her and I yelled: "Tilt it back a little!" Just like that. The motor started up again and the cross began to tilt back so that her back contacted the wood. "More!" I yelled, waving my arms and the flashlight. The cross tilted back a tad more and stopped. He cut the motor again. The silence was amazing. I whispered to her: "I'm not in on this. I'll try to help. Just do what he says." His boots came sucking through the mud. I wanted to kneel down beside her face and hug her or something but I couldn't. I've never touched a black person before and we didn't have any clothes on. Besides, any comfort given to her would only aggravate ___. He was standing beside me now. This time he had a smaller, pocket knife in his hand, with the little blade open. He said to her: "Are you going to try to escape again?" We have to look down at her face now, in her new position. She could barely get out the word "no". He said: "Rachel's God will now decide your punishment." He squatted down in front of her and poked the tip of the little blade against her right_ breast _tit next to the nipple until it dimpled. It looked like it was going to sink right in but it didn't. The girl was tensing up but she didn't let out a peep and she didn't struggle. Then he suddenly turned the blade and placed the tip on the underside of her tit where it joins the body and quickly made a little slit. The girl screamed. ___ yelled at me to put my hand over her mouth. I guess I didn't move fast enough (I was trying to kneel down in the mud first) and he threatened to cut my tits off right there and let me bleed to death in the rain. He yelled that when the sun came out the next day it would warm my belly and the baby might give one last kick or two but that would be it. So I dropped to my knees and clamped my hand over that poor girl's mouth. I clamped down harder when he made a second cut under her left breast (above from where I was looking at her up-side-down). I remember her lips feeling so very warm. I was worried about her biting my hand, too, but she didn't, and when I felt her relax a little I could feel her mouth trembling against my palm. Blood was running down both cuts now and dripping off her nipples. It felt hot on my wrist, but I could see that they were actually tiny cuts. (I am supposed to write the truth). Her eyes were pleading and I cautiously withdrew my hand. Standing behind me, over me, he says: "There's a wild dog lives here in the salvage yard. I see him all the time but he hasn't been fed for a while." He places a muddy boot between my legs and nudges it up in there. "Get up!" I gave that poor girl a last look and struggle to my feet. "Go on, move it!" he yells at me. I switch the flashlight to my right hand but he snatches it away from me and shines it down the path between the junk Cadillacs. He's right behind me, leaving the poor girl like that. When we get to the light-bulb on the stick he even unplugs that, leaving her totally in the dark. "Wait," he says to me. Then he turns in the direction of the girl and yells: "If that wild dog comes by here while I'm gone he'll smell your blood and chew your tits off. You don't have much tit so he'll probably chew your face off, too, once he gets started! But then again maybe he's sleeping under something right now, to stay dry, until the rain stops at least. Hard to tell. It's all up to Merciful God. But that dog doesn't mind getting wet. I've seen him stand out in the rain when he has plenty of shelter!" Then he plants his cold, wet, gritty boot on my butt ass and gives me a shove. I slip and almost fall._

I kept my mouth shut on the way back to my new camper. He told me she was probably a Christian, too. "Brought up to be one, anyway. Isn't that what good parents do? Man, don't you know that little girl has a lot to learn!" All I could do was nod my head. I prayed to Jesus that the dog was asleep somewhere and wouldn't go out in the rain. ___ sees how quiet I am and he says: "Praying? Your God needs you to tell him what's going on?"

I bet the girl was praying the same prayer I was.

When we got to my tiny little yard he stopped me just outside the camper door. He explained, just like nothing had happened, that the bathroom and shower were very small but that was the best he could do for me right now. He said there was food in the refrigerator. The refrigerator! He asked me once more if I would try to escape and I said "no". He said: "Well, that's nice, but I'm not taking any chances, anyway." He had two systems worked out. First, if I ran away, he was going to fuck that girl and then slit her throat. I should keep that in mind. Then, I should also be careful about fire because he was going to lock me in the camper and the windows were too small for me to crawl through, especially as pregnant as I was. "You might be able to make it through if you cut out the baby first – there's a knife in the kitchen drawer." This he's telling me while I'm standing there naked in the cold drizzle. Then he went on about how after Jesus died, the cross wasn't good enough for Christians. It was a Roman invention. Years later the Christians invented the torture wheel. Like a Ferris wheel, he said, but with screams instead of music. They chained people to it naked and watched the dogs eat them alive. As the victims went around the wheel, as soon as one got close enough to the ground the dogs would jump up and tear off a hunk. And then on the way back up the victim's blood would drip down on the ones below and work the dogs into a frenzy. He said that religious people were always trying to make people suffer who were trying to find out ways to figure out God in a different way than Christians were trying to figure out God. (He made me repeat this out loud to show that I understood). Then he got out his smaller knife again. He told me to stand still and then he poked the knife under my left tit, raising it a little. It hurt and I thought I felt it go in. Then he said for me to go inside and enjoy my new home. He locked the door behind me. He called through the door and told me to try the knob. It wouldn't move.

I looked around for a second and went straight to the bathroom and looked for the knife cut under my tit. Nothing, thank God!

The shower was tiny but it was cute, and the shower curtain had these pink swans all over it. The curtain was new and had that fresh, chemical plastic smell. Hot water! There was a new bar of soap, too. Irish Spring. Dry towels. And a heater in the wall. In fact it was so nice and warm I had to turn down the heater right away. THANK YOU!

He had my sheets and stuff stacked at the end of the bed, which takes up the whole, small bedroom. After my shower I quickly made up the bed (I had a hard time getting around it) and crawled in, leaving the light in the bathroom on. I couldn't sleep at first even though I was exhausted. Even though I was so comfortable! All I could see was that poor little black girl up-side-down on that cross in the dark and in the rain.

Leesa dog-eared the page with trembling fingers and jammed the diary under the covers. Sliding up higher in the bed against her pillows, she grabbed at her math notebook. No pen! She riffled her hands through the covers for the missing pen and had it poised over her math assignment just as MayBelle knocked through the door and came in.

"Mama, you knock but you jus' barge right in!" Leesa took a quick breath. "What you think I be doin' in here?"

MayBelle stopped at the foot of the bed, her hands on her hips. Her smile fell when she saw how pale her daughter looked. "Well, I never make you jump out of bed and stand in the corner while I pilfer through your dresser drawers like my daddy used to do with me! Or make you whup the covers back to see what else you're doing besides homework! Now do I?"

"No, Mama." Leesa held her breath.

"See? I'm not so bad. I've got a surprise for you, too. Oh! And I never go around that squeaky board in the hall when I'm coming, so you always have at least a little time!"

"I'm not complainin', Mama. What's the surprise?"

"Is your homework finished? You took enough time!"

"Yes, Mama, I was jus' now checkin' it."

"Mmmm-hmmmm. Well, your sister still has hers to do, then lights out. Okay? You help her."

"Brenda? She's here?" Leesa sat up taller and reached around to gather up her books. "Where is she?"

"Right here," Brenda said. She walked in, and was still wearing the clothes she'd worn at school.

"Brenda! You look – tired." Leesa wanted to get up to give her a hug but the diary was still next to her under the covers. "Brenda, you look – fucked!" Leesa laughed.

Brenda smirked, and shook her head. MayBelle stomped her foot and said: "Brenda! You weren't, were you?"

## Chapter 33

## The Bus Ride

As soon as they could shoo MayBelle out of the room, Brenda plunked down at the side of Leesa's bed and they hugged.

"Oh, Brenda, you're cold!"

"It's late, I'm cold, I ain' done my homework, I ain' had my baff, an' I ain' been fucked! Not yet!" Brenda could feel a book under her and she pulled it out from under the covers. "You got it back. Great! You wen' back there alone?"

"Oh, Brenda, it's bad. Real bad. It scare me half to death!"

"You finish it?"

"Noooo."

"Rachel dead yet?"

"No, but...."

"Well?"

Leesa snatched the diary out of Brenda's hand. "Soon as you tell me what happen to you!"

"Not fair."

"You know you got to tell me!"

Brenda took Leesa's hands in hers. "Oh, Leesa, you jus' don' know!"

"I know I don' know! Your han's is cold, Sister!"

"I didn' know I ever get back here alive!"

"Wait! Stop! You..."

I got on my bus instead of yourn by acciden'. I didn' have no jacket, neither. An' MayBelle grill me out on the porch before she let me in, whoo boy!"

"You tol' her an' you can' tell me? I'm gonna pee on your side the bed if you don' start your story."

"Well, I got off the bus an' the firs' thing I notice is Mama's Caddy is gone, an' you know she don' go nowhere in that thing 'less Daddy's aroun' somewhere to jump it off an' then it only get her as far as the store, you know what I'm sayin'?"

"Brenda!"

"So I figure he sent' her off somewhere. So I'm thinkin': Is he got some new girlfrien' at the house? But the front door is unlock an' I go on in an' I put my books down an' the house smell different but I forget about that an' I go to my room, no, firs' I look in the kitchen to see if there's a note on the table for me but then I 'member that Daddy wasn't 'spectin' me so I go to my room an' I'm fixin' to get a shower an' change into somethin' foxy an' maybe hang in the hood a little till Daddy get home from the job, you know, Peaches an' me don' live in the jungle like MayBelle here – there's shit to do an' people to see – real people – not jus' coons an' possums."

"Brenda!"

So I'm prancin' down the hall in jus' my towel 'cause there ain' nobody home an' I hear a snore comin' from Mama's room, you know? I shit a duck! Then I think: Mama's home! Wrong! Dumb! The door's open a crack so I ease it open jus' a little more an' peer in an' you wouldn' b'lieve what's layin' in the middle of your mama's bed, Leesa!" Brenda's eyes widened and she pressed a hand to her breast as if she were seeing it all over again, which she was. "Well, the bed's all made up nice an' you know Peaches she don' never make her bed, an' layin on his back wif' his eyes half open an' his jaws flutterin' an' snorin' is this big honky wif' his boots on an' he's wearin' the 'lectric company uniform with the Freddy Kilobulb on the pocket."

"Reddy Kilowatt."

"Whatever, Peachlet."

"So what did you do? Was he a hunk?"

"I didn' 'xamine that close. I don' sucker after them rednecks like you do. He weren' no movie star, I can tell you that."

"You're the one suck up the necks at school, Lil Belle."

"Yeah? Well I don' dream I'm fuckin' Bubba all night long."

"So then what?"

"Sheeeit. No shower for me wif that whitey in the house, no way! I snatch up my clothes an' my books an' boogied! I could'a changed clothes, I guess, but I wasn't thinkin', I was haulin'. Then I'm thinkin': I can't call Daddy 'cause they don' have phones out in the woods where he loggin', an' I can't call MayBelle 'cause Daddy don' allow us niggers to have a telephone in the house – I'm fucked, that's what I was thinkin'." Brenda leaned over and began to unlace her Reeboks.

"Is this intermission? 'Cause if it is, I need to pee!" Leesa started to scoot over to the side of the bed Brenda usually slept on when she stayed over.

"So I'm thinkin' what Daddy's gonna do when he fin's out I took my bus home instead of yours an' then I 'member my bus always double back down Main Street after all the kids is drop off, you know, on the way back to the bus barn? So I haul ass 'roun' the corner an' got there jus' in time an' that old fart Albert pract'ly run me down when I was out there wavin' an' hollerin'. I b'lieve the honky's blind! So he stop an' he said he'd take me to the bus barn an' then he'd decide what to do about me there. So I get in an' I start walkin' down to my reg'lar seat an' he hollers at me to sit up front wif' him! Leesa? I swear it mus' be spring already 'cause every male body in town seem to be bloomin' hormones, you know what I'm sayin'? So I'm sittin' nex' to the door cross from him an' he keep on lookin' over at me an' he pract'ly run down this old lady crossin' in front of the drugstore. So I tol' him to keep his fuckin' eyes on the road!"

"You said fuckin' eyes?"

"No, but I tol' 'im! Then, lissen to this, I got to the bus barn an' all the other busses was back there already – Albert, he say he the las' one – an' all the black drivers already headed to the house an' all the whiteys was standin' aroun' and jawin' an' lookin' at me when I step out. Now don' that tell you somethin' about white folks? I mean, all these shif'less niggers already on their way home to their families while whitey's hangin' aroun' wif' the boys while their old ladies wonderin' where they are? So they all lookin' at me, I mean to tell you, they stopped talkin' when I step out. They all grinnin' an' noddin' their heads. Shit, don' you know I made a mistake takin' that bus back there? Good thing I didn't have a chance to change into my street-sweepin' outfit when I was home! So finally this one neck, he say as soon as his son drive up to carry him home, they'll jus' take the long way an' drop me off here. That was after I tol' 'em where MayBelle's house is. At firs' I couldn' 'member the highway number, yes, yes, Leesa, I know what it is but I couldn't 'member it then wif' them all lookin' me up an' down an' shit. But when I mention it nex' to Grace Lutheran Church all them horny, Baptis' wife cheaters knew 'xactly where."

"Oh, Brenda, you sure had some fun! You sure they was horny an' not jus' funnin' wif' some dumb nigger chick?"

"Honey, I can tell when they horny. I can smell it. An' in case they forget, they get reminded ever' time they rerun that 'Roots' on these dumb, country TV stations. That white man that goes into that colored girl all the time while his wife back at the house darnin' his socks. What'is name? Up-Chuck Conners?"

"Rifleman." Leesa looked at her Big Ben, still not ticking. Still on 4:30. "It's so late! What took you so long?"

"It gets worse. Here I am waitin' for this man's son to show up wif' the ride an' I'm prayin' he comes soon, right? I was feelin' like a little heifer in a pen full of bulls! They ain' all as old an' played out as ole Albert."

"Our driver is kind of cute, I think."

"Cute? Leesa, if I ever get married it's going to be a black man. I'm gonna be comf'table in my own home."

MayBelle banged on the door and they both tensed up. "Brenda! Get your shower!"

"Yes Ma'am." Brenda lowered her voice. "Maybe I should get my shower right away an' then tell you the res'. Right now MayBelle ain' mad yet."

"She don' get hot real quick like Peaches do. Tell me how you got home firs' an' then when you get to bed we can read in the diary."

"Oh, yeah! Okay, well, while I was lookin' for a place to crawl into an' die, all of a sudden my books all slid apart an' landed on the groun' an' when I bent over to pick 'em up I hear this low whistle an' them all startin' to laugh an' I could feel I was blushin'. Bad. Oh, Leesa, I wanted to die! But then your driver comes trottin' up an' says he reconize me. So he's helpin' me pick up my books an' he say real low so them others couldn' hear, he say: 'Don' lissen to them, they ain' got no sense.' So when I was back up I sort of followed him back there under the shop roof an' made sure I stood nex' to him. The rest didn' say shit after that. That was the right move. That the dead pecker club, there!"

"His name's Robert. Bob. Mister Pridgon. He the one fin'lly drive you here?"

"Oh, no, he say he live clear the other way an' he need to be home soon. But he said I'd be okay an' if they pulled any shit wif' me I should tell him the nex' day. He said that kinda loud, too."

"He did? I never thought he even noticed us."

"Ha! Sister, I b'lieve you got two cherries!"

"I think he look a lot like Tom Cruise. He got that smile."

"Oh? What happen to Bubba on Heat o' the Night?"

"Well...."

"You sick, Peachlet."

"At leas' no white man's gonna smudge the pillow."

"If you don' make him shower before he jump your bones. They all got ring-aroun'-the-collar."

"Kara say she right in the shower wif' Marty. She say she don' know what we missin'."

"You b'lieve the black smudge off?"

"Brenda, I smudge my own pillow!"

"Tha's 'cause we afraid to get our hair wet an' so it don' get wash as often."

"An' Kara say Marty smudge her pillow."

"I bet that Vietnamese boy, Charlie, don' smudge. He always look so clean. An' his hair so sof'. He like the white girls, I seen it in his eye. He too small, anyhow."

"Charlie ain' his real name. He tol' me."

"Yeah? The teachers call him Charlie."

"They all necks, 'member? Well, Charlie can smudge my pillow anytime. I ain' prejudice'"

There was another loud thump on the door. "I'm going to smudge some ass in a minute!" MayBelle hollered.

Brenda lowered her voice. "Your Mama lissen in on you all the time?"

"Oh, so she's my mama now? So tell me about your ride!"

"Well, here I was in the paradise bus barn standin' nex' to Mister Pridgon an' waitin' for this W-M's imagin'ry son to show up – the man's name is Gator, can you b'lieve it? Here we are pract'ly in the Twenty-firs' century an' they still namin' rebel babies after the critters they use to hide in the swamp wif'. He don' have no teeth, neither. When I was at his house an' he was sittin' at the table gummin' his supper, I wanted to say so bad: 'You ain' no gator, neither! But his son now, he mus' have a differn' bi'log'cal father. Sister? You the one needed to be there! Bad! He's on leave from the marines an' let me tell you, this boy's beautiful! For a whitey. He got this look. Clean an' sharp. An' the bluest eyes in Heaven! An' when he sit there at the table, I mean, his back as straight as a ruler! An' he say shit to me like: Yes, Miss, an' he say Ma'am to his mama an' shit like that, real polite. His name is Kenny but they call him Kinny."

"You were at their house for supper?"

"Yeah, buddy! Like jus' when gator was about to give up on Kenny showin' up to get us, and Bob Cruise was sayin' like maybe he could take me home but he'd have to call the wife firs', here come my ride. Oh, Leesa, it was a pretty pickup. It was sky-blue wif' chrome wheels an' you could hear the stereo jammin' half-way up the road when he come. So I'm waitin' at the passenger door wif' my armload of books waitin' for gator to get in an' he say: 'Chicks sit in the middle!' Jus' like that! So I look in there an' there's no seat in the middle an' I figure, you know, fucked again! But Kenny, he pull this pillow out from behin' the seats an' he tell me, real polite, like: 'You can set your books down behind the seat, Miss.' Let me tell you, no whitey ever call this nigger Miss before! So I put my books down back there an' get in an' adjus' my chocolate ass in the middle on that pillow. It was okay. I mean, Kenny was polite an' all but I could see that there wasn't gonna be no violation of that chicks-sit-in-the-middle rule!"

"Oh, Brenda, that's everywhere."

"Show me where it say that in the Bible. Chicks got equal rights now. I mean, ladies. It only 'roun' here in the chitlin circuit that women is still fucked.

"You wish! It's everywhere. You ain' never gonna get the window seat 'cep' in a airplane. Never."

"Sure, 'cause of attitudes like yours!"

"Well? Where did you end up sittin'?"

"Wif' that mirr' in my face, chile."

"Kara say that Marty say she can fix her face in the mirr' when he give one of his buddies a ride."

"Right. So anyway, when we're on the road, gator's tellin' Kenny how to get to MayBelle's an' Kenny says, no, he ain' missin' the news on TV an' I can have supper wif' them an' then he can drive me home. An' I'm sittin' there thinkin': Dear God, all I did was take the wrong bus. Then gator starts hemmin' and hawin' 'bout me stayin' for supper an' I know right away what's comin'. He was freaked 'cause he know his wife don' wan' no nigger at the table. I wanted to jump out right then and there an' take my chances walkin'. It was fixin' to get dark, too, like maybe rain soon, you know what I'm sayin'? So I buck up an' I'm thinkin': It can't get no worse than this an' I can handle it. Wrong! Their house was the worst. No, it was a converted chicken coop wif'out the convert. Firs', we kep' on takin' these turns on this dirt road, I mean, I knew for sure I was headin' for certain death. I could see my black face starin' out from one of them missin' chirren milk cartons on the shelf at Winn Dixie. I could see you an' MayBelle at supper one night an' you goin' to the fridge an' gettin' out the milk an' MayBelle sittin' there cryin'. Fine'ly we come to their driveway. Sister, I didn' know it was their driveway 'cause Gator an' Kenny wasn' speakin' after their little argument over what to do about me, so anyhow, when they pulled in that drive I thought it was another junkyard or a little dump, you know, an' they was fixin' to do me like Rachel in the diary. Leesa, lissen to me, I was plannin' on gettin' out when they stop', like pretendin' I didn' suspec' nothin' an' as soon as my Reeboks hit the sweet earth I was gonna haul Hershey. Well, it turn out to be their actual driveway after goin' pas' all that trash, their house included, an' the porch light was on, I mean this bulb jus' hangin' there by a thread, an' this ole honky bitch wif' dishwater blon' hair all four-hundred poun' of her, she's standin' there wif her han's on her hip an' starin' at me – her eyes was burnin' clean through the windshield, Leesa! – then starin' at gator an' then starin' at Kenny, an' all three of us sittin' in there like leftover chicken in a microwave. Then all three of us had to try an' squeeze aroun' her to get inside 'cause she wasn't about to move her lard. Get this, they got 'sqeeters there in the middle of winter! Mo-squiters! An' chickens – inside! Okay, we got chickens here, too, right, an' MayBelle love 'em so much you don' even have 'em on your chore list, right? Like she go in the pen herself an' collec' the eggs, an' she feed 'em herself, right? She love 'em! Well, this Gator an' his family, they live with 'em! They was chicken goin' in an' out of the front door free as you please! An' when Kenny pull out this chair for me this big ole rooster squawk an' flap off. But Kenny, he got a piece of newspaper an' he clean off the seat for me. Firs' we had to go out in back an' wash up wif' this han' pump 'cause Kenny said the 'lectric pump cut off an' they ain' figured out why yet. Well, when I come back from there, oh, I forgot, they have this big, black dog look like the devil chain up in the backyard an' when he saw me he started barkin' an' foamin' at the mouf an' his paws was tearin' up clods an' I could see the pipe wigglin' in the groun' where his chain was attach'. So I'm watchin' this dog instead of Kenny tryin' to pump water on my han's, so he stop an' go over but he don' kick the dog, no, he bend over an' he punch the dog in the head wif' his fist! An' the dog sort of stagger there for a minute but he didn' fall over but he didn' stretch his chain at me no more, neither. But that dog he kep' his eye on me an' you could hear this low, mean growl, you know what I'm sayin'? Well, Kenny's mother comes out an' she's bitchin' at Kenny for hittin' the dog for no good reason. Then when we was all at the table that woman serve Kenny an' Gator but she didn' put no plate in fron' of me so Gator he got up an' done it. It was chicken an' dumplins an' cornbread, sort of like MayBelle fix it, only our chickens ain' members of the family. But I wasn' hungry till I started eatin' jus' to be polite an' havin' somethin' to do, an' all this time the news is blattin' away on the TV – they had a coat hanger for rabbit ears – well, I notice that Gator ain' starin' at me no more wif' the wife aroun' but the one time he did look my way, jus' then she jus' happen to look up an' catch him at it, an' then she look over to Kenny an' catch him at it, too, him not meanin' nothin' I don' think, an' I'm gettin' this feelin' like I'm in Chuck Conner's house in Roots when he was fixin' to go over to the quarters an' get that las' piece of black pussy wif' the wife makin' that face when he go out the door. It was jus' like in the movie, the feelin' I got, an' sure 'nough, jus' like t'lepathy, the bitch say: 'She ain't sleeping here tonight!' I mean, Kenny already 'splain that he was drivin' me to MayBelle's after supper. Leesa, it was terrible!"

Leesa and Brenda were holding hands, and Leesa gave her half-sister's hand a squeeze. MayBelle knocked, and filled the doorway.

"Brenda? It didn't take you so long to tell **me** your ride home story."

"Mama, it was cold on the porch. I had to speed it up. I had to skip the little stuff."

"Sounds like your telling about the forty years in the desert!"

The girls' hearts skipped a beat. Was that in Rachel's diary? Does MayBelle know about Rachel's diary?

Leesa said: "Forty years in the desert?"

"You don' go to church or you'd know," Brenda said.

MayBelle's stern look melted into a grin. "It's when The Good Lord promised his people the Promised Land and then he had this little fit and he fixed it so they'd get lost and wander around in the desert for forty years so that they'd all be dead before they could get there and only their children would live to see it. My step-daddy used to say: 'Never count on no promise from nobody lighter colored than me, no matter how high up!'"

"Mama," Leesa said, "Brenda need to finish her story."

"So may I hear your school-bus story, too?"

The twins looked at each other, shrugged, and nodded. MayBelle smiled and plunked down beside Brenda. Leesa's school books slid across the quilt and scooted toward the depression MayBelle's mass had cratered into the mattress. Leesa quickly shoved the diary further under the covers, and Brenda allowed herself the comfort of leaning against MayBelle.

"Maybe you both are my children. You and Leesa both. And I love you both."

"We love you, too, MayBelle," they both said.

"Me, too, Mama, Brenda said."

"So what happened next?"

"Well, I tol' jus' about everything."

"What about Kenny driving you back?"

"Oh. Yeah. Kinny! Well, when we finally got to his pickup truck, after dinner, jus' him an' me, I was puttin' the pillow I sat on back behin' the seat where it come from an' I didn' see the ole hag comin' out an' she look in an' she say: 'Now what that piller for?' That jus' the way she said it. Piller. Then she say to Kenny: 'Kinny! You come right back or don' come back at all!' So when we fine'ly out on the road Kenny 'pologize to me. He was real nice. An' when he make this turn at this crossroad he 'splain it to me so I wouldn' worry about him takin' me to someplace wrong. An' he was sayin' things like what grade you in at school an' shit like that to make me feel comf'table. An' he stop at the mailbox an' he waited till I got on the porch an' click the light on 'n' off before he drive off. Wasn' that nice?"

"An' he was good lookin'?" Leesa said.

"Well, I know you would think so."

MayBelle said: "Leesa? You're the Devil!"

"Mama, you said there ain' no devil. Jus' people."

"And you're one of them!" MayBelle laughed.

Brenda said: "Guess I better get my shower now. Is there plenty of lotion? I need to use a lot of soap so I'll need to lotion-up after."

"There's plenty."

"Good. That place was crawlin' wif' bugs. One time, while we was eatin', this big ole heifer chicken snatch a roach-bug crawlin' out of the floorboard an' Gator say: 'See that? Chickens are good buggers!' Mama, they got dayshif' roaches an' nightshif' chickens. Well, there was these two chickens roostin' on the sofa-back already asleep but when Kenny an' me lef' out Gator run all the chickens outside to roost."

"They don't have a front door?"

"They have this screen-door tie back an' when gator run the chickens out he untie it an' it bang shut. I guess they only close the door at night. Kara say that Marty's mama leave her door open all day an' she sit on her chair in the middle of it like a Buddha. She say Marty ain' got no front porch."

"We should be thankful, I guess," Leesa said.

"To your father."

"Where is he, Mama?"

"Yeah, Mama?"

"He's wherever he needs to be, girls."

"An' you don' care about him havin' two wives an' all?"

"Do I have a choice? He's never run out on me and left me with nothing."

"He run out now!"

"He left money, and he'll be back. You ask around your school how many friends you got their fathers never came back."

"They come back for money!"

"Yeah!"

"You know Daddy's comin' back?"

"I know."

Brenda nodded and dabbed away a tear. She was afraid to ask if MayBelle thought Peaches might be coming back.

"Anybody check the mailbox today on their way in?"

"No...."

"I didn'," Brenda said. "Mama! Where's your flashlight?"

MayBelle heaved herself up off the bed.

Leesa said: "You won' catch me goin' down that drive at night."

"Sister, I already walk through the Valley of the Shadow today. Be right back!"

There was a clutch of stuff in the mailbox and Brenda quickly poked through it in the light of MayBelle's flickering flashlight. A light bill. Leesa's Elle magazine with a long-haired white girl on the cover, a flyer from McDonald's, and an American Legion magazine with someone else's name and box number on it. Nothing from Peaches.

Leesa gathered her books up on the bed and thought about Brenda alone at the mailbox. But instead of picturing Kenny dropping her off in the dark out there, all Leesa could see was the black girl in Rachel's diary, crucified up-side-down and bleeding in the junkyard in the night, all alone in the cold and rain.

## Chapter 34

## The New Family

In his new home office, Jeremy eased out of the swivel chair at the desk and stretched. He should have been happy but he wasn't. He had made every call – every contact on his list – except the one to his mother at the nursing home. Well, fuck it, a man can only do so much in a day.

He wondered if Junior or Julie one day would be putting off calling him after his own body was reduced to a bony rack dangling wrinkled sheets of spotted, transparent skin. Jeremy could see it: lying there at the "home" on cold, pissy sheets, dependent on underpaid and disgruntled nurses' aides to hold the phone to his ear. Junior's voice: "Hi, Dad, how ya doing?" Julie's voice: "Hi, Dad, how ya doing?"

Jeremy moved to the other side of the office, which was one of the best rooms in the old house. They were all great, the rooms, large with big windows, hardwood floors.... He stood at the tall, latticed windows facing the backyard. Two squirrels were frolicking in the branches of the live-oak, chasing each other off the tree, the saplings nearby bending with their weight when the tiny, furry bodies landed in their tops. Chattering. Tails flicking. So cute! What had he read about them? Squirrels were lucky to live three years? Their numbers decimated by numerous diseases and parasites?

They like to chew through phone wires.

A panicky feeling began to spread through Jeremy's brain. His entire body. He had touched all the right bases today but something was missing. And if all of his business associates would eventually get to know each other they surely wouldn't need him! Then there was the convention in Atlanta next week – where did he get the idea he would be able to skip it? Then there was Johnny Perez in Sarasota – what was he working on now? Jeremy's own lawyer had taken care of patenting Perez' wave generator refinements and the piezo-electric switching devices that Perez loved to demonstrate in his lab. Switches so sensitive they could detect a cockroach taking a deep breath before stepping out into a lighted kitchen. "This switch can even tell when the bug is thinking about doing it!" Perez liked to joke. Profits were a good way down the road, maybe as much as two years, unless they sold the process. And if Jeremy couldn't pay his lawyer soon he'd have to make him a partner. Plus there was only enough money in the bank to make three or four more monthly mortgage payments on this new place, that is if Sandy didn't insist on going out for steak or seafood anytime soon.

Jeremy felt stretched. And yes, he'd better see Perez in Sarasota before heading for Atlanta. He could cut expenses by driving. Day after tomorrow at the latest. Jeremy glanced at his watch, a cheap, digital stand-in for the gold Omega he saved for business meetings. 3:00 PM. Central.

He would have to ask Sandy to sit the kids. What could he promise her in return?

The house seemed eerie in the stillness Jeremy encountered as he pushed open the carved-oak door between his office and the living-room. He was in his socks, and he padded quietly toward the kitchen. Listening. He was fully aware that he was sneaking. Sandy was so young and he didn't really trust her. But a good feeling washed into Jeremy's soul as he moved into the empty but bright and cheerful kitchen. A feeling of peace and timelessness. The memory of that feeling from his first LSD trip with Wife #1 – alone with her on a deserted stretch of the west coast, miles from Tampa....

Jeremy stopped a few feet from the kitchen table and stood there. He did not remember for how long. He looked up at the large clock on the wall and laughed. Three PM exactly. The long, red second-hand was jerking its way from the big 12 at the top and heading for the 1. ... _jerk...jerk...jerk..._ heading for the 2. .... _jerk.. ..jerk.... jerk....jerk....jerk..._

Time is slowing down.

Jeremy tried to pull himself up from the pleasant flashback. Finding Sandy and talking with her now, before the school bus arrived, was important.

Sandy's scary. Who is she, really?

She called me an old guy!

It didn't matter. You do the best you can. Get through the moment you're in. Enjoy it. What is, is.

This isn't a real flashback, is it?

Haven't had one of those for years!

The second hand on the kitchen clock was heading for the 3. ..... _jerk.....jerk.....jerk.....jerk.....jerk..._

Where's Junior?

heading for the 4....

Jeremy could hear the wind but the trees through the windows were still. And the squirrels were gone. It wasn't the wind – it was the sound of the ocean! The waves lapping the shore, water gurgling through the porous, dead coral as it receded, the gurgles becoming a chorus of voices, millions of voices, voices of all the spirits, all the beings that ever were but normally couldn't be heard or seen or known they were singing: _"We're here! And here! And here! We've always been here! All the time! Where have you been?"_

Relax.

Jeremy sucked in a long, deep breath and listened to the wind rushing past his teeth, wheezing down his windpipe, filling his lungs, expanding his lungs, brightening his blood, the blood and oxygen permeating his meat. The exchange. The breath escaping the lungs....

Atmos....

Another deep breath.

He had skipped lunch, that was it! And no breakfast. The old, acid-induced program, which had entered his bio-computer years before, was emerging into the light of day once again, reminding Jeremy of that oceanside trip. Beckoning to him. Summoning him to remember his priorities. Making him whole again, even if just for a moment.

...a moment....

...everything flows....

_.....jerk.....jerk.....jerk.....jerk.._.

Time flows, clocks jerk.

climbing up now from the bottom of the 6....

Another slow, deep inhale of Atmos. No more pain. No more worry. Jeremy's body was as light as a feather. And powerful. Pleasure rippled up his back. The ocean lapped the shore and the chorus split into individual voices, and a baritone cleaved the center of it, and another behind it, and then a clatter of baritones beaming through the sea of nymph-like voices, now receding from him again, receding, sliding back into the frothy sea. The clatter....

Sandy's VW beetle. Putt-putting up the driveway.

Jeremy lunged at the sink and plunged his head under a stream of cold water. Eyes closed, he reached for the hand towel.

He shivered and looked at the clock.

3:01

He remembered and pictured the single battery which powered that clock. In a receptacle in the back. All this time had passed and that battery was still dispensing its energy. Jeremy pictured the day he had put the battery in there. The kitchen table back in Tampa. The clock face down so he could hunt for the little \+ sign so he'd know which way to snap the battery in. Wife #2 had just driven off for the last time with the last of her things. She'd decided to let him have the clock. "It needs a new battery or something." But Jeremy already had a new battery for it and was putting it in. Turning the clock over and seeing it ticking again seemed a miracle, the second hand moving along almost silently. ... _jerk...jerk...jerk..._

"Jeremy! You look – sick!"

"Sandy! Well, I'm not. Just doing a lot of thinking.... You look as cute as a bug in a rug!" Jeremy walked up to her to give her a hug but she turned and headed past him to the sink. Then, as if she didn't know he had wanted to hug her, she turned back to him. "I'm not a bug and I'm not cute. I'm beautiful!" She held out her arms to him and they hugged.

"I love you, beautiful!"

"Mmmm-hmmm." Sandy pushed him away. "Nuf, nuf!"

"I'll never get enough of you."

"I know. Jeremy, do I have to go to town to hunt up a payphone just so I can make a simple telephone call? You were on the line all day! And once, when I picked up in here, instead of your voice there was this static and beeping stuff."

"That was the computer."

"Well, good for him. But I need my own line if you expect me to stay here." She moved closer to him again and let him hug her some more, and let him roam his hands over her young ass. "You do want me to stay here, don't you?"

"Oh, for sure! You know it!" Jeremy kissed her forehead.

"Well, are you through working for the day?"

"For today – but I have bad news."

"Yes, I know. The school bus will be here any minute."

"That, too, but...." Jeremy hunted for the best way to ask her. He could say he'd be gone for only four days, then call while he was on the road to add two or three more. But maybe this wasn't a good time, with Sandy grumping about Julie's imminent arrival. "Where's Junior?"

Sandy put a hand to her chest. "You asking me?"

Jeremy sighed. "I just thought maybe you knew."

"Jeremy, I don't even care! Jeremy, listen. Your kids are your kids, okay? Yours. That doesn't have anything to do with me."

Jeremy tried to hold his gaze on Sandy's bright, green eyes.

Don't look down at your feet like a whipped puppy!

"Oh, Jeremy.... Okay. Junior went out in back about an hour ago in his Jungle Jim outfit. He said he was going exploring. He blew me a kiss. He blows me kisses, Jeremy!"

Jeremy turned away from her and looked into the fridge.

"Jeremy – I'm hungry, too."

He kept on peering into the refrigerator. It seemed peaceful and safe in there.

"I should've gotten something to eat in town, such as it is. I know! Jeremy! Let's take off right now – go to town – before Julie and Junior get back! We can stop at McDonald's! Smoke a joint on the way!"

"And what'll they eat?"

"What'll **they** eat? Sandy smiled sweetly. "We can bring them back a takeout."

"And I quit smoking shit a long time ago. I have a business to run. I get paranoid now when I'm stoned." Jeremy let the refrigerator door shut gently by itself. At least the floor in the kitchen was fairly level....

"You told me you used to go to work high."

"Yeah, when I was a young jerk."

"Jeremy? What is there in this for me? Huh?"

Jeremy walked past her to the back door with two Coors Silver Bullets hanging from their plastic rings. He stifled the urge to bitch at her about the rings, like: I always pull the cans out of the rings before I stack them in the refrigerator! "Let's sit outside," he said in his happy voice. "Talk out there." Jeremy slipped on his boots at the door and led the way out. The clock in the kitchen said 3:20.

_Pschttt!_ Jeremy handed Sandy the opened can across the picnic table. _Pschttt!_ He pulled the tab on his. "Not very high tech," he mumbled.

"So what's in all of this for me, Jeremy?"

"Plenty of reefer, apparently. A nice, secure place to get wasted in."

"Oh, well, I like that part! Is that all?"

"Living in a huge, beautiful, old house. Good country vibes. Forty acres to do your thing in. A husband who's on the verge of making considerable money."

"A husband?"

"A man, I mean. Husband if you like."

"Is that a proposal?"

"Yup!" God, Jeremy thought. I'm doing it again!

"I don't want a husband."

"Oh. Well...."

"Not one with a ready-made mess of kids if you know what I mean type thing."

Sandy was leaning toward him across the picnic table and Jeremy wanted to bury his head in her freckled cleavage and never come back out. "You're secure here. You're..."

"Secure? Jeremy. If anything happens to you, what do I get? Nothing! Your brats will get everything and I'll get kicked off the place. There's no security for me here!"

"I'll make out a will."

"When?"

Jeremy sighed.

"When, Jeremy?"

"Sandy.... You've only been here a week and you want me to make out a new will?"

"Yes! Otherwise I have to move on! I mean, I like being here with you but I'm not going to be twenty-two forever. I have my own future to look out for. And I have to do it now. The skills I have won't be any good later. I'm a girl! I'm a girl now, not later!"

"Jeez, let's look out for Number One!"

"You do. Right? Am I right?"

"Well, yeah, but..."

"Right. So when, Jeremy?"

"As soon as I get back from my trip I'll have my lawyer do one up for us."

"Trip?"

They both stiffened at the sound of the school bus making the gentle grade to the driveway.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I just found out this morning."

"For how long? Where?"

"Sarasota, then Atlanta. Three, maybe four days."

"Oh, Jeremy! I love Sarasota! I've never been to Atlanta but everybody says it's so neat! So much to do!"

"Yeah, well, I was hoping you would stay here and watch the place, you know, while I'm gone. It's going to be all business. No party time. You wouldn't enjoy it."

"Oh? Yeah, sure, Jeremy. Forget it! This is some neat way you take care of me!"

"Baby, I... You're right. I don't take care of Junior, either. Julie. You're right. You deserve better. You all do. Let me think."

"You don't take care of Junior? He has everything he wants!"

"Except time with his father. Build the swamp buggy we always dreamed of building. Now it's the same old shit. Work, work, work. And when I do take time off it's with you, not them."

"It better be! You feel guilty about them? You think they give a shit about you?"

"Damn right!"

"Well, it's for nothing, Jeremy. All Junior cares about is choking his lizard. And playing King Kong in the woods. I'm sure he'll love it when he finds out he has me all to himself alone here in the boonies for a week!"

"I didn't say a week. Does that mean you'll stay?"

Sandy rolled up her eyes. "You don't care about me. All you can think about is those mutants you conceived while you were tripping."

"I wasn't tripping when they were conceived. We were drinking too much at that time."

"Whatever."

"And Junior will do whatever you tell him."

"Oh, yeah, sure. We'll need a cook, too. The forest primeval around here isn't exactly Restaurant Row."

"You told me in Tampa you liked to cook."

"Not every day! Not all day!"

They turned to watch Julie saunter toward them, books in her arms, studs gleaming from her black-leather wrist-braces and fingerless gloves. Chewing gum. _...smack smack smack..._

Sandy leaned back from the table and put on a smile. "What's for supper, Julie?"

## Chapter 35

## Mooneyhans

Jamie snuck in so his father, who was working in the study of their small, frame house, wouldn't be disturbed – and wouldn't know that he was home. Jamie was surprised to see his mother sitting at the kitchen table behind a steaming cup of coffee. He poured himself a cup and slid out the chair at his place. His mother's hair glowed gray and frizzy in the light streaming through the west window.

"Everything okay, Mom?" He caught her eye and saw her look away, then look back and past him, holding a finger to her lips.

"I don't want your father to come barging out right now."

"So what's happening?"

"Jamie, did you have a yard-job at the Abigail Freewill this morning?"

"Yeah. The Abigail Freewill Holiness Church of Christ, no less, if you can imagine that crap."

"Jamie, don't talk like that around here. Please. You didn't make it over there?"

"No. I called and cancelled. I have a better job now. It pays more and it's cleaner than doing lawns all the time."

Jamie's mother seemed to sag a little. "So it's true, then."

"What's true, Mom?" Jamie stiffened.

"You've been with that junkyard hussy. The Reverend Mooneyhan's wife called me and told me some of it, and that you're too busy to do the work you contracted for."

"There's no contract, Mom. The church jobs don't pay shit. I'm sorry – I mean they don't even pay minimum wage. I've always told them I'd do their lawns and stuff at a cut rate only if I had the spare time. And Mooneyhan is no reverend! God, he wears white socks with black shoes and stupid, plaid slacks that are always too short. He's a flake. His eyes bug out when he preaches, and he drools and sprays on the pulpit, and he walks around with his fly open and his Bible zippered. I've seen that too many times for it to be an accident."

"Jamie, keep your voice down. And why do you have to be so hateful about the church?"

"Don't you complain about being a preacher's wife all the time? Besides, there's no such thing as The Church!"

"Jamie, please. So, is it true? Is that the woman you said you found love with?"

"Is what? Oh. It's true I'm working for this crippled lady. She doesn't have any legs. I drive her places and I do stuff at the salvage yard – work – and..."

"She used to be a hooker. When she had legs."

"Oh, come off it, Mom."

"Well I don't imagine she'd tell you."

"She tells me stuff. But she's very nice and she's educated and she reads a lot. She lives in a neat place, too. You don't know her. She's the only person besides you I ever heard about likes foreign movies, too."

"Do you have sex with her?"

"Mom!"

"Well?"

"Mom, it's a job! I have to drive her to Pensacola this afternoon by the way."

"She has her car all fixed up so she can drive herself. A fancy, silver Mercedes. Everybody's seen it."

"It's still hard for her to drive. It's not safe."

"And God knows where she gets all her money."

"Mom, you've changed! You're talking just like Dad now! Her husband left her that whole place plus this huge warehouse full of antique cars. She sells one about every year or so to pay the taxes. Hell, there's even a Bugatti in there worth about a half a million dollars!"

"Oh, really? That's how she does it?"

"Yes, Mom. And she's very nice. It's just that all the Christians around here can't forgive her past. Chalk one up for Jesus!"

"She likes foreign movies?"

A muffled voice from the study yelled: "What's going on in there?"

Both of them jerked upright."You sure this job is on the up-and-up?"

"Yes, Mom, I get paid for what I do." Jamie wanted to add: And I love her! He got up and bent over to give his mother a kiss. "She's really a wonderful woman, Mom. Trust me."

"Oh, Jamie...."

"I want to split before Dad comes storming in here."

"Well, I know that feeling. Where do you have to take her in Pensacola?"

Jamie hesitated. No more lies. "I'm taking her to a tattoo parlor."

## Chapter 36

## New Rules

smack...smack...smack...smack...

Julie rolled the green wad of gum to the end of her tongue and opened her mouth.

Sandy laughed. "Mmmmmmm! Julie! That looks so appetizing!"

"Julie, sit down with us," Jeremy said. "We have something important to discuss."

"Okay. But I have to drill a hole first and get a beer." Julie turned back toward the house.

Sandy covered her mouth and giggled. "Drill a hole? Oh, Julie, That's so cute! So refined!"

"No beer for you," Jeremy said."

Julie stopped and stared at him. "Well, let me roll a joint then. I'll be right back."

"And no reefer."

Julie reached into a pocket and pulled out a pack of unfiltered Camels. She tapped one out.

"And no tobacco. Damn it, Julie! You know the rules!"

"Will it be okay if I breathe?"

"No reefer, Jeremy? It's not addictive like alcohol. The legal stuff. Sometimes I go all day before I think to burn one."

"Oh, wow."

"Julie? Will you give up cigarettes and booze if you have permission to smoke grass?"

"In front of everybody?"

"Well, not until school is over each day. You know. The War on Drugs."

"Sure."

"Promise?"

"Sure."

"Done then! See, Jeremy? How easy it is to relate to a younger person when you respect their intelligence?"

"You're not her mother, remember? What about her father's permission for this?"

"Didn't you just ask me to sit for them when you're gone?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"Are you going to respect my intelligence?"

"Marijuana is against the law, Sandy."

"So is eating pussy, Jeremy. In Georgia it is, anyway. I think. Or is it Mississippi. Texas? Here too, Florida? I can't remember...."

"Sandy!" Jeremy lowered his voice. "In front of Julie!" Jeremy turned to Julie who had moved off a bit and was squatting, her back to them and her jeans pulled down.

"Julie!"

"She's drilling a hole, Jeremy. Remember?"

Jeremy dug his elbows into the table and buried the heels of his hands in his eyes. Nobody spoke while they listened to Julie's tinkle splattering the dirt.

"I have the rent for my apartment in Tampa to pay, too, Jeremy, by the way. I know you have more important things on your mind right now or I wouldn't be reminding you." Sandy looked back at the rivulet of urine which was winding its foamy way toward the picnic table. "Damn, Julie!"

"Sorry, I thought the ground was soft here. I don't like to use the bathroom at school, either."

"Oh, yeah, I know what you're saying." Sandy sounded happier now that she'd had the opportunity to bring up her main financial problem. "They took the partition doors down?"

"That's one of the things. And there's a teacher's aide in there all the time and I think she's a faggot. And when she's not there the other kids gang up on you for money and shit."

Jeremy looked up. "In our new country school?"

"It's a human school, Dad."

"So what's wrong with the bathroom we have here?"

"It's inside, it's upstairs, and I'm here."

Julie pulled up her jeans and sauntered away. Sandy smiled and reached across the table to take Jeremy's hand. "When do you have to leave?"

"Day after tomorrow. I have to call this guy in Sarasota again first. You'll do it then? Babysit, as you call it"

"Will you send a check to my landlord?"

Jeremy sighed. How much?"

"Well, I think I'm behind a month or so.... I'll look as soon as I'm back inside. Oh, Jeremy, I'm so worried! I mean about you! Planes are going down all the time."

"Sure."

"Crashing for no reason.... What would I do without you?"

"What did you do before me?"

Sandy's face fell. "You don't want to know."

"Well...." He thought about what that might mean and swallowed. He could not stand the picture of another man touching her. He said, "Well, I'm going to be driving."

"And if you have an accident on the road? Jeremy! Will you be faithful to me while you're gone? Look me in the eye now! Promise to be a good boy?"

Jeremy looked into her eyes. One part of him was begging to believe that she was concerned enough about him to worry about an accident – or him cheating on her – but another voice was telling him that she was simply playing on what he wanted to hear.

"Jeremy, if anything happened to you I'd be – devastated."

"You mean, the free ride would be over."

"Free ride? Free? You don't think that being your mistress is work? You don't think my prancing around for you last night in that white garter-belt and hose and that wedding veil wasn't work? You put that outfit on and try it! I do my job! Well, it isn't all work, but if you think you can do better go ahead! Get somebody so ugly even Junior won't want to fuck her. That way she won't have to fight him off while she's in the kitchen gratefully whipping up three meals a day!"

Jeremy dug the heels of his hands back into his eyes again.

"I know that sounded cruel, Jeremy, but I do care about you. It's just that I don't think you really care about me. I see this as a one-way street. I do care about you, Jeremy."

"Sandy, I love you!"

"Prove it."

"How?"

"As soon as we get our boring little family discussion over with here, you call your lawyer and make an appointment for tomorrow for a will that gives me the security I need. Just in case something bad happens to you. Is that too much to ask? If you love me, that is."

"He's in Tampa. I won't have time to get that done before I leave."

"So call one here! The yellow pages. We can afford that little bit, can't we?"

"Well, yes...." If your rent doesn't cost me too much. Jeremy considered contacting Sandy's landlord. Letting the lease on her apartment default without her finding out until it was too late. Forcing her to rely on his place. Sending for all her stuff....

"So call one before supper. Now. Tell him what we want. Have him bring it over tomorrow, or we'll go over there together. Let your fingers do the walking someplace else than between my legs for a change."

"Mmmm-hmmmm."

"Deal? Do you love me enough for that?"

Jeremy looked at her. It seemed that she'd unbuttoned her blouse another notch exposing a bounty of creamy-smooth, freckled, firm meat with just a blush of pink and the hint of blue veins. He looked back to her face, so beautiful. Flaming hair and bright green eyes peering all the way back into his brain. He nodded. "Yes, I love you that much."

"I love you, too, Jeremy."

"Yeah...."

"Well, I do. You just don't realize how hard it is for me to say that."

"I'll bet it is." And God, you are smart for twenty-two!

"Don't get cynical with me now. A girl has to defend herself. Not put all her cards on the table. It's not the same for a man."

"I know...."

"There now, baby." Sandy leaned across the table and puckered her lips into a perfect, luscious "O". Jeremy raised up a little and landed the kiss.

"Disgusting," Julie said, plunking down next to her father on the picnic bench. She opened a small tin and got out her rolling papers, tipping the can to show Sandy how little remained. She'd left her leather jacket in the house and Jeremy got a whiff of her BO through the cut-off sleeves of her black, "Guns & Roses" T-shirt.

"That's all that's left?" Sandy said. "You must be smoking at school, Julie!"

"Well, yeah!"

"Well, from now on it's after school only! Hand me your cigarettes!"

"I already threw them away. You can check in the garbage if you want to. Don't think that quitting smoking will be easy, either. And you're not my fucking mother!"

Jeremy slammed an elbow into Julie's ribs. Hard. He watched her suck in a breath and her face contort with pain. But before she could speak his hand was around her neck, his fingertips poised over the Adam's apple.

"Don't even think about talking back."

Julie began to sob. "You broke my ribs! My lung is punctured! I can feel it!"

"I doubt it. And I had a rule about smoking cigarettes, remember? So I don't give a fuck about how hard it will be to quit!"

"And I have a hot-line I can call for child abuse, you remember that!"

"Call them!" Sandy said. "No, wait. Wait till your side turns black-and-blue so you have something you can show them. Yeah. That way they can take you away to one of those youth farms. We could use the privacy, couldn't we, Jeremy?"

"Yup."

"I thought you were my friend!" Julie broke into real tears now. "Yesterday when we got high together I thought.... Ohhhhhh!" Julie yanked her eyes away from Sandy and pulled her father's hand away from her throat. "I have rights!"

"You'll have rights when you're on your own!" Sandy glared at her. "Just now you're nothing but a fucking dependent! You'll get your rights when you're on your own! Get it? Paying your own way!"

"Like you're on your own? Paying your own way?"

"You're god damned right! Tell her, Jeremy!"

"She's right, Julie, bless her sweet ass."

"Oh, sure!" Julie slid away from her father on the bench and began to probe at her side.

"Spitting up any blood?"

"Not funny!"

Sandy was carefully tapping the remaining, crumbled reefer out of the tin into the V of a rolling paper between her fingers. She rolled the whole business together with the ease of an expert. Two, slow licks with her tongue and the joint was finished. Checking to make sure Julie was watching, Sandy produced a kitchen-match from the watch-pocket of her jeans and swiped the head of it along the side of her pantleg. The match burst into flame.

"You are a real princess," Jeremy said.

"I know." Sandy sucked in a small hit and handed the joint across the table, to Jeremy first, offering it for just a second before aiming it at Julie.

Julie dabbed at a tear with the back of her hand and nailed down a long pull, causing the end of the doobie to glow and burn down a good half-inch. She held in her breath while handing it back to Sandy.

"No, no, later. I'm thinking maybe we have to go back there and get some more before it gets dark. I'm afraid of getting the heebie-jeebies in the woods if I get too high. Start seeing stuff that isn't there..."

"Heebie-jeebies?" Julie stifled a laugh.

"You guys go back there every day!"

"Girl talk, Jeremy. Stay out of it."

"Junkie talk."

"Jeremy – something's wrong. Maybe you are too old for me. That must be it."

"Fuck it."

"Fuck me, you mean."

"Maybe you're too young for me."

"Maybe? You'd miss me, you know you would. And your business associates – now don't you know I'd be an asset? A feather in your social cap? Don't you think I know that having me at your side will give you more power over other men? You think I took psychology in college for nothing? Your friends see me and your status goes over the roof!"

"Your modesty is overwhelming."

"You went to college?" Julie was trying to talk and hold in another hit at the same time.

"Two years! I have an AS in psychology."

"Great!"

"It sucks. It means I'm qualified to be an office nigger in a nut-house or whatever."

"Well?"

"All the doctors in the world are married already. All they want is a free fuck on the side. Everybody wants a free fuck nowadays it seems."

Julie looked at her father and laughed.

Jeremy grinned back at her. "How's your punctured lung?"

"I won't be able to fuck for a month."

"Oh, Christ!" Jeremy got half-way up from the table and was sliding his way out when he saw Junior emerge from the woods. The young man was walking fast and he looked pissed.

"Believe me, Julie," Sandy was saying. "Don't dish it out for nothing. Sometimes your ass is all you've got to bargain with."

Julie nodded wisely.

Junior's eyes bored straight ahead, over them, as he approached the table. His canteens were slapping his sides as he tramped up, and there was a band of sweat oozing through his Marine Corps fatigue hat.

Jeremy eased himself back down on the picnic bench. "What's the hurry, Junior?"

Junior passed by the table as if none of them existed, his breath hissing past clenched teeth.

"J.R. sit!"

Junior slammed on the brakes and turned around. He looked at Sandy and grinned.

"Sit, Junior," Jeremy repeated. "We have something important to discuss."

Junior wiped a dribble from the corner of his mouth and slid over on Sandy's side. Sandy moved away a little but she was smiling. "Now let me have some space, Junior." She glanced at Jeremy and raised her eyebrows.

Jeremy yelled. "Look at me, damn it, boy!" He lowered his voice. "Listen up. Next week, no, day after tomorrow I..."

"You working out more?" Julie said to her half-brother. "It looks like it."

"I've been climbing trees and stuff a lot."

"God," Sandy said. "I could feel the bench give when you sat down. "How much do you weigh?"

"I don't know. Two-twenty when I was still in school."

"Listen up, you guys, this is important."

"We have permission to smoke reefer now," Julie said, handing Junior the roach.

"Now wait a minute!"

Sandy slapped at Jeremy's hand. "Wait a minute what!?"

Jeremy tried to think.

"They've got a cherry-picker down at the clearing." Junior blurted out.

Jeremy was helpless. "Cherry picker?" He watched his son nail a second toke, burning what was left of the joint clear down to his fingertips. The boy handed the roach to his father but Jeremy simply let him hold his hand out until Junior gave up and handed it to Sandy. Sandy shook her head. Julie snatched it away before J.R. could finish it off.

"Cherry-picker," Junior said. "A bucket truck. The man goes up in this bucket and works on the electricity wires. Only that's not what they're doing!"

"Jeremy! You never heard a bucket truck called a cherry-picker? Some engineer you are!"

"I'm not an engineer. I'm a business consultant."

"He's a salesman," Julie said. "A PCP plastics salesman."

"Julie, you don't know shit. It's PVDF plastic. It's used in electronics."

"Yes, Dad."

"They're picking all the reefer," Junior said. "But not with the bucket. They're like walking along the fence there and..."

"Okay, enough!" Jeremy shouted. "Now everybody pay attention!"

"They're what?" Sandy rose from the table. "Where? How far are they?"

"They're almost up to where our path comes out of the woods." Junior looked Sandy over. She was leaning over toward him, her hands on the table. Junior looked down the front of her blouse.

"Julie, get up," Sandy said. "This is serious."

"Now wait a minute," Jeremy said.

"Jeremy, you've lost it. Julie! Oh! wait! Let me think a second!"

"We could drive over to where the clearing comes out at the highway and start there. Pull up as much as we can until they see us!"

"Good thinking! Right on! Hurry, we'll need some pillow cases and, wait, do we have any pruning shears or anything like that?"

"The plants are real soft and soggy. Because they froze. Remember?"

"Honey, they used to make rope out of that shit. You just don't tear the stalks apart with your bare hands!"

"We could just strip the buds off into the pillow sacks and leave the plants in the ground."

Junior was nodding and grinning. He was up now, too, and was following the girls to the house. Jeremy slid out and tried to catch up to them. He had to walk fast.

"Julie, I'll start my bug while you fetch the pillow sacks."

"Okay!" Julie was already half-way through the back door.

"I sit in front!" Junior yelled. He turned back to look at his father. "You've lost it, Dad."

Jeremy watched as the VW beetle sagged under Junior's weight. Julie came running out with a handful of pillow cases and crammed herself in on Junior's lap.

They were off. Jeremy stood there at the side of the house until he could no longer hear the clatter of the four-cylinder, air-cooled engine. Despite his defeat, the sound brought back a lot of pleasant memories. His own, youthful exuberance during the Flower Power years. His first VW bus. His first sight of an actual marijuana plant in the ground and in full bud. The smell of it and the joy of it.

He pictured Sandy's happy face as she hauled-ass down the road in her beetle.

He could see her firm, plump ass as she bent over the bathtub – his bathtub – looking out the window there....

Back in his silent office, the cursor on the computer monitor blinked at him – exactly where he'd left it – in front of Johnny Perez' Sarasota telephone number. Jeremy plunked down into the swivel chair and pulled out the new, local phonebook. The Yellow Pages were only about a half-inch thick and the listing covered all the small towns in the area. He started under "A" for "Attorneys".

## Chapter 37

## Power Lines

By the time Sandy snapped the beetle into fourth gear, Julie's side was hurting again, bad, and she reluctantly had to squirm her butt around to get more comfortable in Junior's lap. She leaned to the side and bent over the gear lever so she could see out of the windshield, and as she did so she felt Junior's erection growing under her. She raised an elbow and cocked it for a jab into his ribs at the first hint of a hand sliding up under her shirt.

"Your hair tickles my face," Junior said.

"So does my elbow if you can't keep your brain on business, J.R!."

Sandy giggled. She was slowing at the intersection of their county road and the state highway, which was less than a mile from the house. "Left? Right?"

"Left!"

The underpowered beetle, with the extra weight on the passenger side, leaned perilously as Sandy crammed it northbound.

"Better slow down," Julie said. "The power lines are close."

"There was a STOP sign back there," Junior said.

Julie felt his hand go for her left breast and she jabbed her right elbow into him as hard as she could. The hand disappeared without a sound.

Sandy geared down. "Julie, it's okay if he sees something on the road I missed."

"That's not why."

"Oh? Oh! Junior!" Sandy dropped her smile. "Junior, you ever pull any shit with me and you're a maggot farm."

"Stop," Julie said. "Stop!"

The powerlines were crossing the highway directly ahead of them and Sandy pulled off onto the shoulder. On the left side was a huge log truck with its four-way flashers on, blocking the powerline right-of-way. A young black man with a goatee was leaning against the radiator, staring at them.

"Shit!" Sandy said.

"Look, he's got binoculars laying up there on the fender. See them?"

"I've got binoculars," Junior said. Good ones. Better than those!"

Sandy eased the VW up a little until they were directly across the road from the man. She yelled at him. "What are you doing?"

"Hey there, mama! I didn't know you were on the menu!"

"I said, what the hell are you doing? We need to pull in there!"

Sandy waited until the driver looked both ways before crossing over toward them. Julie whispered: "Sandy, don't tell him we need to get in there. There's another way."

"I'm broke down." The black bent over to look in on the passengers and backed off when he spotted Junior. "I already called for help on the two-way. CB. My handle's 'Sweet-time'."

"Okay, bye bye, Sweet-time. Good luck with that." Sandy made a quick U-turn and poured the coals to the little car. "He was kind of cute, huh, Julie?"

"Jeez, Sandy, not to me!" Julie had to readjust her position on Junior's lap again, and she twisted her head to see if there was room enough in the back for her. The back seat was covered with suitcases and boxes and loose shoes and sweaters, loose coat hangers, and the stack of pillow cases they'd brought for the reefer. "You didn't unpack yet?"

"Yeah, of course I did. Where do I turn?"

"Okay. Go back only go past our driveway and about a half a mile further there's another road. Maybe a mile down. Turn right on it. The first, blacktop right."

"There's no STOP sign on that one," Junior said.

"Junior, your pants better be zipped."

"They are!"

"It doesn't feel like it."

Sandy made the right turn slowly so Julie wouldn't slide into the shift lever. "Junior, what are you doing to her?"

"I think the powerlines are right after the curve up there," Julie said.

Half way around they spotted the second log truck – blocking the right-of-way on this side – the driver waving them around. Sandy pulled off onto the shoulder in front of it. This driver was black, also, but much older and bigger than Sweet-time. He was standing beside the truck with a red flag in one hand and the other holding a CB microphone to his mouth. He appeared to be talking into it. The mike's flexcord ran into the cab through an open window.

"Sandy opened her door and yelled at him. "Two trucks broke down?"

"Yes, Ma'am. I know. He got me on the radio. I'm calling a mechanic now!"

"Oh. Okay!" Sandy took one last look at him, and at the long, jagged, pink scar running down his left cheek. She smiled and waved and made another U-turn.

"They're blocking the powerline roads on purpose," Julie said. "They're in on it."

"Okay, we know," Sandy said. "But I don't want him to know we know."

"I get it!" Junior said.

"How close was the cherry-picker to our path, J.R.?"

"It wasn't up to the path yet."

"But it could be by now, right?"

"Uhhhh...."

Sandy made the turn into their driveway and cut the engine before they got to the house. "Okay. I need to run in and get my revolver. J.R., do you have your knife?"

"Do I have my pants on?" Junior cackled.

"Okay! You guys grab the pillow sacks and meet me in the backyard at the path."

Two minutes later the three of them were heading through the woods, Julie smacking gum and carrying the pillowcases, Junior with his Bowie knife in his hand, and Sandy with the huge .41 mag in hers.

"Julie, spit your gum out. Junior, put that knife back in your boot or whatever. You could fall down and kill yourself with that thing. I'll tuck my gun under my shirt when we get there."

"You can do that?" Julie said. "Looks too big."

"I'll pull my shirt out over it. It'll be uncomfortable but...."

At the top of the hill Julie was out of breath but Sandy and Junior were fine. By the time they got down to the bottom on the other side, Junior was telling them about the tree-house. "You can see everything from up there. It's on the right, before you get to the clearing."

Julie peered through the lengthening shadows between the trees. "You have a tree-house built already Big Brother?"

"Somebody else made it. It was already here. I found it. It belongs to my girlfriend."

"Oh, yeah, sure."

"It does!"

"Hush up!" Sandy said.

They could hear an engine running up ahead. Julie whispered. "The cherry-picker!"

Junior led them off the trail to the tree-house and stood under it with a happy grin on his face.

"Oh! This is neat-o, Junior!"

"Yeah, Bro. Cool!"

"J.R., is there another trail where we could get ahead of them or something?"

"I started one. I was going to finish one. It goes almost all the way but it was hard to do. I'm sorry. It's all sticker-bushes and vines and they have thorns and stuff. It's hard to swing the machete in there and I have to use clippers. See?" Junior pulled out a small pair of pruning shears from a pocket. "We could try to bull our way through but it's all thorns and..."

"Junior!" Julie whispered. "Enough is enough, Jeez!"

"I was just trying to say I'm sorry to Sandy."

"You talk too much!"

"Both of you shut up! Junior, climb up there and see what they're doing. Quick. And come right back down."

Junior nodded and grinned. He clambered up the ladder and got his binoculars out of the empty ammo case he had hidden on the platform. After looking out toward the powerline he came back down with the glasses around his neck.

"They're already past our path. They're chopping at the plants and putting them in garbage bags. There's nobody in the cherry bucket and there's one of those Reddy Kilowatt pickup trucks right behind it."

"Two trucks in all?"

"Yeah."

"Junior, swap with Julie. Let her have the binoculars."

Junior reluctantly pulled the binocular strap over his head and readjusted his fatigue cap. He took the pillow sacks.

"Okay. When we get over there, Julie, you hang behind where the path comes out. If you see anybody else coming – another truck or whatever – you holler. Junior, you're going out there with me. Keep your knife out of sight and let me do all the talking. If you see me pull my gun you pull your knife. But don't cut anybody unless they attack me. Understand?"

Junior was nodding his head and grinning.

"Does he understand, Julie? Really?"

Julie nodded. "Yeah, but.... Jeez, Sandy." Julie hesitated. "Junior, do exactly what she says."

"I will! I will!"

"Sandy, aren't we going to get in trouble?"

"Julie, they're breaking the law!"

"Oh. Yeah...."

"I get it!" Junior said.

"Shhhhh...."

They waited a moment before getting back onto their trail and going the rest of the way. Above the crunching of their feet on the forest litter they could hear voices now. A distant laugh.

"They don't seem to be worried about anything," Julie whispered.

Sandy stopped. "Well, good. Bless their hearts!" She pulled her shirt out of her jeans, unbuttoned it, and tied it together at the bottom. Then she sucked in and slid the barrel of the .41 down along the left side of her groin, hooking the grip inside the knot of her shirt. "Well, I can't bend over now, but.... How do I look? Can you see it?"

"No, but your tits are sort of hanging out in the breeze."

Junior chuckled. "Yeah!"

"Junior? When we get out there I want you to be looking at **them!** Look mean! And keep your eyes on all of them. Don't be glomming at me!"

"I'm not dumb."

"I don't get it," Julie said. "What are we doing?"

"We're going to give them the opportunity to share."

"Oh. Yeah."

"Instead of their getting ripped off."

Julie nodded, but she looked worried. "Right. Yeah."

Sandy let Junior lead the rest of the way to the clearing. The trucks had progressed farther down the line than Sandy had thought. They would have to walk farther than she wanted to out in the open.

"Okay, Julie, you stay here close to the path and keep a good lookout. Both ways. Along the tree line. Everywhere. Junior, you walk right beside me. Looks like there's three of them. Know where they are at all times. Like if one gets behind a truck or something. And there might be drivers in the trucks we haven't seen yet. Or maybe the guys outside just get in and out to move them. You see what I'm saying? We don't want surprises."

I understand," Junior said. "This is fun!"

Julie rolled her eyes up to Heaven.

"Okay, we're going to walk right down the middle, like we're lovers or something." Before Junior could respond, Sandy headed out for the middle of the clearing. Her hair caught the sunlight and she gave her head a toss as she stopped to look around. Her gaze settled between the two trucks down the right-of-way: the cherry picker on the one side and the pickup on the other. Only one man was outside now and the trucks were crawling slowly away from him. He was dragging a large, green-plastic leaf-bag and did not see Sandy and Junior approaching from behind. He whistled and both trucks stopped.

"Junior, remember, we're going to walk right up to them like nothing is wrong. And I do the talking."

"Okay. Boy, this is neat!"

"Yes, it is."

Sandy swallowed and looked behind her. They were too far from either highway to see the log trucks, but she was more concerned about a new pickup or something coming in to help. Sandy speeded up a little. "I guess that's the whole crew there, Junior."

"Yeah."

"Stop looking at me all the time. Act like you're not that interested, you know, like we're married or something."

Junior was walking beside her as close as he could, his boots thudding into the soft, grassy earth. "Can we hold hands?"

"Sure. That's a good idea. But as soon as we get up to them turn me loose, just in case they want to start trouble."

Junior grabbed and took her smaller hand in his. He began to swing her arm as they walked. "Your hand feels good."

"Thank you, Junior."

"I love you, Sandy."

"Ohhhhh, Junior.... Oh oh! They see us!"

The drivers had just stepped down from their vehicles, empty leaf-bags in their hands, when one of them spotted Junior and Sandy. His voice sounded scared. "Hey!"

The three of them clumped together in a knot, all of them staring now. Junior stopped swinging Sandy's arm. One of the men leaned into the cherry-picker truck and pulled out a microphone. The cord stretched around his shoulder as he faced the couple walking up.

Sandy lowered her voice. "Junior, let go. Okay, We'll keep just a couple feet apart, okay?"

The man lowered the mike and just stood there, staring. He was wearing a white hard-hat and looked young and clean cut. The other two were older guys, one with a full beard and mustache. The one with the beard wasn't wearing a hard-hat and was slightly balding. He spit when Junior and Sandy got close. Sandy stopped about eight feet in front of them and Junior halted right beside her.

Sandy smiled. "Hi!" Her smiled broadened. "Well, don't all talk at once! What on earth are you doing? Are those litter bags?"

The radio crackled inside the cherry-picker. "Delta crew – any trouble over there? C'mon back."

The young man mashed the mike button as he brought the unit to his lips. "We've got two trespassers. A man and a woman. Looks like they're just out for a walk. Over."

"Roger-four. The woman a red-head? Over."

"Affirmative."

"Find out what they're doing and lay down the law. Let me know if we need to call the sheriff, over."

"Ten-four. Stand by."

Sandy looked over to Junior, who was standing with his hands on his hips, his legs spread. He was grinning. If it wouldn't be for that one eye looking off in another direction, she thought, he'd make a good Marine poster.

Well, the buck teeth.... And the pimples....

"You're trespassing," the young man said. He looked to the two older guys and the one with the beard spit again, just far enough off to the side. He added his own two-cents worth. "It's dangerous out here."

The other older man nodded, his hard-hat flopping. "This is the power company right-of-way. We can't allow unauthorized personnel out here."

"Insurance would go sky high." They were all staring into Sandy's unbuttoned shirt now.

"Sky high, right?" Sandy said. She laughed.

"Keep your eyes in your head!" Junior suddenly barked. All three of them looked up, back at Junior.

"Oh!" Sandy sniffed the air. "I smell reefer! Can you imagine that?"

"Delta crew – radio check."

"Radio check, stand by." The young man turned and made a move to climb back into the cherry-picker.

Sandy suddenly wheeled to the side, clawed out the huge revolver stuck down in her waistband, and swung back to face them. She drew the hammer all the way down with her thumb. "Freeze, kid!"

The boy turned back from the truck and faced her, his eyes wide. But Sandy's eyes had already locked onto the other two, who were closer.

"Hands behind your heads!" She glanced at Junior who was in a semi-crouch now, the afternoon sun gleaming from the awesome blade of the Bowie knife erupting from his right fist.

"Now wait just a minute, lady." The bearded guy took a step forward and without hesitation Sandy dropped the barrel of her pistol and blasted a shot into the ground between his feet.

The report rang in her ears. "I said freeze!"

Junior did not move. "She repeated, "Hands behind your heads!"

Sandy had remembered to cock the revolver again. Her smile was gone and she aimed the gaping mouth of the .41 directly at the bearded face in the middle. All three men had their hands firmly locked behind their heads now.

"That's much, much better. Okay, you, boy, you ease on over to the back of the truck and get me out two, nice, big sacks. The fullest, heaviest ones."

Junior was still grinning. "Move it!"

"Junior, you follow him. Right behind him. Don't kill him if he behaves. Okay? Understand?"

"Okay!"

"You behave now," Sandy said to the young man. "He's an ex-marine but he won't hurt you if you don't fuck up."

"Yes, Ma'am. I don't want no trouble, Ma'am."

"You other two, quit fidgeting! This gun has a hair trigger and you're making me nervous!" Sandy glanced at Junior to make sure he had the kid covered, and turned back to the older dudes. "Did I say turn around? You! Carpet-face! Just you. Loosen your belt and drop your pants. You heard me!" Sandy waited. "That's right. Underwear, too. Yuk! You're gross! Don't you ever trim your bush? Okay, hands back up. You, next! Look me in the eye! Drop your pants. Come on! Well, that's much better! Hands back up!" Sandy glanced back over her shoulder and saw that the boy had placed two, large sacks at Junior's feet. "I didn't say put them down, kid! Okay, no, leave them! Come back over here! Junior, stay right behind him!"

"Should I bring the bags?"

"No. Okay, young man, you get down and tie their legs together with their belts. Go ahead. And hurry up!"

"Together together, Ma'am?"

"Yes! Back to back. No. Wait! Kneel down!"

The boy dropped to his knees and Sandy stepped up to him and pressed the muzzle of the .41 against the back of his neck, clunking the barrel against the rim of his hard-hat.

"Please don't kill me, Ma'am."

"Junior, pat them down for guns and stuff. Knives. The two gone-asses first."

Sandy stood there, picturing the bloody explosion the boy's head would make if she pulled the trigger. _Gross._

Junior switched hands on his Bowie knife and in a moment was pulling a small automatic out of a rear pocket of the bearded geezer. "I got me a gun!" He pulled the hammer back and aimed the pistol off to the side, pointing it at a small prickle-pear cactus. He squeezed the trigger.

click

"Junior, that's an automatic. He didn't have a round chambered in."

Well, that blows the ex-marine story.

"It's cute! Well, he had the safety off!" Junior was turning the piece around in his right hand, the Bowie knife loose in the left. "It says it's a thirty-two!"

"Please, lady, that was my daddy's gun,"

"It sucks."

"Please don't take that gun. Take the clip out of it if you want but let me keep it, please?"

"You have another clip?"

"No, Ma'am."

Sandy searched the man's eyes. "Junior, you're supposed to be searching them!"

"Delta crew – radio check. Come in, Delta crew!

"Come on, Ma'am." It was the older guy with the hard-hat. "If anybody shoots anybody here, we're all in deep shit. Just take your two bags and go. You let us do our thing and we let you do your thing."

Sandy faked a sigh. She shifted her gaze back to the young man who was kneeling at her feet. His head was bowed and the nape of his neck had been recently shaved. Junior straightened back up with two knives and the .32 in his hands. "No more guns."

Sandy rapped the young man's hard-hat a good one with the pistol barrel and he flinched. "What about this one, Junior?"

"I forgot him. I'm sorry." Junior hunkered down beside him and began to pat his clothing.

The young man shook his head. "I don't have a gun on me. My knife's in my back pocket."

Junior pulled the large, folding knife out and got to his feet. The knife was a brand new Gerber Gator. Junior looked at it and faced the bearded one. "You shouldn't be standing there with your pants down in front of her."

"Back off, Junior." Sandy stepped away and raised her pistol between the three of them. "You, boy, get up! Drop your pants!"

"Ohhhhhh, Ma'am, please!"

The older guy with the hard-hat said: "Your marine's a little slow, ain't he? No disrespect."

Sandy lowered the .41 and snapped off a shot at his feet. The 210 grain soft-point bullet plowed the dirt inches from his toes and a split-second later the report echoed back from the salvage yard on the other side of the clearing. This time, Sandy returned the gun to the man's face and had the hammer re-cocked in an instant.

"Okay! I apologize!"

"Can I kill him, Sandy?"

"No, Junior, we better not. Well...."

"Can I kill just one?"

Sandy knew it was past time to haul ass but she was afraid of making a mistake. "No. Not unless they try any shit. Anybody want to try some shit?"

"No."

"No, Ma'am." The three of them were shaking their heads, hands locked behind heads.

"Delta crew, we're moving in, over? Come on, Delta crew!"

"Okay!" Sandy was smiling again. "We're going to walk out of here with two bales. You three are going to answer that radio like nothing happened. Then you're going to finish your fucking harvest. You're not going to see us again." Sandy turned her back to them, walked away two paces, and swung back around. Not a one of them had moved.

"And from here on, every fifth plant you leave as-is."

"Yes, Ma'am. My pistol?"

"Every fifth female plant. I'm going to check. Junior, go get the bags. When we get to the next tower, lay down their weapons at the base."

"I can't keep the thirty-two?"

"No. You have your own guns."

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"Good. And don't bother looking for us later. We're into violence and survival. Plus I have a boyfriend in the FDLE. You got a sheriff backing you up? He'll lock his ass up with the rest of you."

"Yes, ma'am."

Sandy toted one of the bags and tried to keep it off the ground so it couldn't snag on anything and rip. And every few seconds she turned to make sure the three dudes were staying put. When they got back to the trail and Julie, Sandy turned and saw that the three men were still there where she'd left them but with their pants back up. Their knives and the gun were still under the tower where Junior had carefully laid them. Sandy lowered her bag to the ground and waved, and the bearded guy waved back.

She cupped her hands around her mouth. "Every fifth plant! We'll be checking from the tree line. You better get busy! It'll be dark soon!"

Sandy ducked back into the woods with Junior. Julie gave her a big hug, the binoculars in one hand.

"I saw the whole thing! You guys were great!"

Junior had set his sack down and was peeking through the knot at the top. "Daddy's going to be pissed!"

"Junior, Daddy doesn't have to know. Right, Sandy?"

"Depends. I can handle it."

Julie was working at the knot on Sandy's bag. "This smell! It's wonderful!"

"Wait, Julie. Tie that back up. Let's get at least as far as the top of the hill before we stop. We have to think about where we're going to dry this shit, too!"

"You weren't even scared or anything?"

"Sure I was!"

"You don't look it."

"Feel my heart!" Sandy reached to place Julie's hand against her bare sternum but Julie backed away. Sandy had to slap at Junior's. She buttoned back up and shoved her pistol down into her jeans on the outside of her shirt. "Come on, guys. Hup two!"

"Three four!" Junior added. "Anything you say, boss. Or can I call you Mom now?"

Julie gave Sandy's bag a heave and Sandy helped her hang it over one shoulder. "No, that wouldn't sound right," Julie said. She balanced the load and started up the trail. She raised her voice so Sandy could hear behind her. "Mother? Mummy?"

Junior snatched at the dangling strap of his binoculars before Julie dropped them. "Sandy, you can be my mother anytime."

Unloaded, Sandy picked up the unused pillow cases and followed the two of them back through the woods toward the hill. She could feel the bulge of her little derringer now, working against her watch pocket. She had forgotten she had it. It was that little bit of reefer she'd smoked before all this happened. Memory dysfunction. She hoped she hadn't forgotten anything else important.

Julie was plowing ahead in the lead with uncommon vigor. "This is so great! Sandy! We have enough shit here to smoke for a year!"

"Yeah, Sandy. You're nice. You're pretty, too!"

## Chapter 38

## The Warrior Chair

When they returned from Pensacola, Sophia was sitting high and pretty on the pillow they had borrowed from Sandy – on the passenger side of Jamie's '62 Ford pickup. When Jamie turned in toward the gate they spotted a strange contraption parked in front of the new flower garden. It looked like a Moon lander: a single, large seat between four, large, knobby tires. New. All chrome and fresh, robin-egg blue paint.

Sophia yelled. "He finished it! My new road-warrior chair!"

Jamie jumped out and ran around to Sophia's side. She had already unbuckled and her arms flew around his neck as he lifted her out. An arm under her chunky little butt, he carried her over to the machine. "What kind of engine is that?"

"Jamie, that's a vintage Ford flat-head V-8! Look! Edelbrock heads! My grandfather used to have a '32 Ford Deuce with a flathead just like this! God, this is so beautiful! Where's Gus?"

"You had a grandfather?" Jamie found the idea weird for a moment.

"Oh, Jamie, what a neat end to a perfect day! "Wonder where Gus is."

Jamie began to bounce her up and down. "Where's Gus?" he mimicked. "Where's Gus? Where's Gus?"

"Jamie, my tits had enough bouncing for one day in your old truck."

Jamie hefted her a little higher and nosed his way into her blouse, giving the nearest breast a nip. "I'm horny."

"Later, my boy. Later! Ooops, one of my stump-covers is sliding off! Yaaaaaaay - hooooooooo!"

Jamie took his free hand and lifted the elastic on the black-velvet, partly-sequined cover and slipped it higher over her right stump. "There. All perfect." He kissed her cheek and she turned her head and inserted her tongue into his mouth.

"Oh, Jamie, I'm so happy. I – am – so – happy! Come on. Set me down in it."

"Wait a minute. Gus is coming." Jamie turned a little so she could see the man trotting up from the yard. Gus stayed in shape by running from place to place, row to row, in the salvage yard – using the Jeep only when he had to or needed to carry tools. When he stopped beside the two of them he wasn't the least out-of-breath. He looked proud.

"It's neat, Gus. It's beautiful!"

Gus held out his arms and Jamie reluctantly released his cargo to the older man.

"Oh. Gus, can I try it out? Now? Come on, show me how to work everything."

"There's not much to learn but it's starting to get dark, Sophia." Gus patted one of the stump covers.

"Ouch! No, Gus. That hurt!"

"Since when? And what's with the floral design on the covers? What was wrong with FUCK YOU!"

"This is a different pair. Peel one back and look!"

Jamie looked away. It bothered him to see Gus holding her.

"Bandages? You okay? You back from the doctor?"

"Oh, Gus, no. Guess. Jamie took me to Pensacola to a tattoo parlor!"

"FUCK on one and YOU! on the other?"

"Right! In big, capital letters!"

"Yeah? Sounds like you had fun!"

"Oh, Gus, we did!" Sophia laughed and pecked a kiss onto Gus's mouth.

"Sure beats cutting grass over at the Abigail Freewill Holiness Church of Jesus H. Christ!" Jamie said.

"Ha, yeah, well.... Abigail, huh? Jamie, you know who she was?"

"Uhhhhh...."

"They probably don't, either." Gus suddenly pretended he was going to drop Sophia and she screamed. "Abigail was King David's sister. And there was another Abigail, not his sister – I hope – who was some other asshole's wife in the Bible, Nabal his name was, anyway, David and his troops come roaring up one day and scare the shit out of Nabal, him and his wife Abigail, and the guy dies right on the spot of a heart attack. Or from drinking too much, or both. So David, being one of God's favorite people, which means he was a bad-ass, horny dude – David marries Abigail and this other chick, forget her name, on the same day! Carries them both off. Bible doesn't say whether he buried Nabal first or not. You didn't know all this good shit, Jamie? You being a preacher's kid and all?"

Sophia pretended a yawn and squirmed her electro-massaged, firm ass around in Gus's arms. "It's going to be da rk soon, Gus, didn't you say? I want to try out my new road-warrior!"

"In a minute. Jamie needs to know all this important stuff. The church dwellers have us surrounded. Anyway, oh, the other chick he marries that day, her name was Ahinoam. Bible doesn't say which one he fucked first, though."

"Gus...."

"So they named their church after her? Well, I guess that figures. duhhh...."

"Jamie, none of their shit figures. That's why they're dangerous."

"Gus.... Jamie!"

"Let's see her drive the new chariot, Gus."

"Well, I have to show you. Wait, tell you what." Gus handed Sophia back to Jamie and slid onto the seat. "Okay, set her in my lap. Good. Now..."

"No steering wheel."

"Hydraulic steering." Gus gripped the handle of the short lever on his right side. "Everything's hydraulic but the motor has to be running. Key start, like a car." The engine burst into life and settled down to a nice, low rumble. Jamie took his eyes off of Sophia's happy face for a moment to look at the twin, upright, chrome-plated exhaust stacks. Gus spoke above the noise. "We'll go slow now because I can't get the seat belt harness around both of us, okay? Centrifugal clutch. You don't have to do anything except pour the coal to her by pushing this throttle lever here – left hand – the same lever you pull backwards for brakes, okay? Right hand on the steering lever. Pull back and you turn right, push on it and you turn left. The whole machine articulates in the middle, see?" Gus pulled on the steering lever and the unit swiveled in the center, pivoting under the seat. The tires scrunched sideways through the gravel.

Jamie was impressed. "Wow, Gus! Neat! Four-wheel drive, too, right?"

Gus smiled, gave Jamie a little wave, and throttled forward with Sophia jouncing in his lap. Jamie watched them thread the narrow path through the gardens to the junkyard. They disappeared down one of the rows. Above the sound of that smooth engine Jamie caught a shriek of Sophia's laughter. He was jealous. So jealous his stomach was burning and he could feel tears coming.

Jamie stood there a long time. The sun was down behind the rows now, the sound of Sophia's new toy fading in and out in the distance – punctuated by snatches of laughter and shouts – from well past the area where Jamie was still forbidden to roam on his own. Suddenly he decided to leave before they returned. He thought of leaving an I love you note on Sophia's pillow but he was too hurt. He wanted her to be hurt, too, and maybe by just leaving without a word she would remember that just a few minutes ago he had told her he was horny. Maybe she would remember what fun she'd had with him that day. Maybe she could just sit there on her bed by herself and cry about it.

Jamie started the engine in his pickup. The six-cylinder 223 sounded like a farm tractor. It was dark enough now to turn the headlights on and he sat there for a minute hoping they would return just as he was backing out. He pictured Sophia calling to him. Begging him to stay. But as the headlights carved out the path ahead when he swung backwards onto the blacktop, there was no sign of them.

The winding road home was empty, the painted white lines faded and nearly invisible, and the air blowing in the open window was neither warm nor chilly. Jamie could smell a drop of oil burning on the exhaust manifold, leaking from the valve cover gasket.

Abigail Freewill Baptist, no, Holiness, Church.

Abigail....

Only Gus would know stuff like that about the Bible. The moment Gus started his little speech about Abigail and King David, Jamie had remembered Rachel's diary again and all those Bible lessons in there. There was no escaping it: Gus was the one who kidnapped Rachel and raped her and tortured her. And now Sophia was with him having the time of her life. It was time she knew about the diaries. Maybe she already did know. Maybe she was in on it. She knew about the slave he kept back there in his trailer – at least that's what Sophia called his girlfriend – _that slave he keeps back there...._

Abigail....

What a bunch of shit.

Jamie, already doing only about fifty miles per hour, slowed her down to forty. In a few minutes he would be home. He pictured sitting at the supper table with them, his mother and father. Bet they had a lot to discuss about me today.... Picturing Sophia in Gus's lap, a new stab of pain churned in his gut. But Gus had been good to him. he wouldn't even know Sophia if it hadn't been for Gus. Gus liked him. And nobody could have built that monster, hot-rod wheelchair like he had, either.

Cool it, Jamie.

Jamie remembered the plans he had for spending the night and the tears finally did come, and he had to wipe them away with his fingers.

Supper at home. In just a few more minutes it would be that whole, different world. The bright glare of the kitchen lights....

Maybe Sophia would let him move in with her. That would be so beautiful!

Abigail.... He could hear his father's voice: "The Bible is inerrant. Period. God inspired every word!"

Shit, living at the junkyard would be so neat! It would be The Garden of Eden.

## Chapter 39

## The Trove

Jeremy left his office and went through the darkening kitchen on the way outside. He made a mental note to bring along a legal description of the new property as the lawyer had requested. Jeremy had to laugh at that. The place was so deep in debt right now that if anything should happen to him, Sandy's best bet would be to simply pack up her VW beetle and ride out into the sunset. Junior and Julie would be up Shit Creek, too, but there was a consolation in that. As they paddled upstream they would be sure to appreciate the good old days when their father was still alive.

He would explain to them all at supper time about the new will and what it meant, making sure they all understood that it was in their best interest to ensure his survival and good health, and maintain his good will as well.

Supper time....

Jeremy sighed. He could almost hear the two kids saying: "What's for supper, Dad?" And Sandy's pretty face saying: "Yes, Jeremy, what's for supper?" He could see her smile at his discomfort over that. But he could picture her in bed with him that night, too.

He glanced up at the kitchen clock before opening the back door. _...jerk..jerk...jerk..._ The large, red second-hand was doing its thankless task – not as slowly as it had during the little acid-flashback Jeremy had experienced earlier – but then it didn't seem to be going as fast as a real second, either. _...jerk...jerk...jerk...jerk..._ Well, what is a real second, anyway? A rush of happiness washed over Jeremy as he stepped out. The top of the large oak in the middle of the backyard was glowing with the dreamy gold of the sinking sun. The Earth was a beautiful planet and he owned a country chunk of it. He had a new lady half his age – a beauty who was as sexy as she was intelligent. What else could a mere mortal ask for?!

Junior erupted from the woods first, a plump, green garbage bag over his shoulder. He didn't see his father standing there on the back porch, and Jeremy watched him set the bag under the oak and wipe the spittle from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. Then Sandy appeared, looking so pretty and happy! She was toting a similar bag and she flopped it down beside Junior's. When she looked up and saw Jeremy she waved. Her smile radiated the joy of youth and adventure.

Julie came trudging in from the path last. She looked tired. _...smack...smack...smack..._ Jeremy watched the three of them huddle for a quick conference, and he took his time walking up to them. Fuck it. He felt good. Let them do whatever turned them on. As long as it didn't put his own ass in a sling.

Couldn't she at least keep her shirt buttoned up when Junior was around?

"Hi, Baby." Jeremy gave Sandy a good, long hug and she hugged back. Her bulky revolver mashed between them.

"See, Jeremy? I even lifted one foot off the ground while we hugged. Just like they do in TV commercials!"

"Oh, yeah, wonderful!"

"That means I love you 'specially much today! Did you make the appointment?"

"Yup."

"Well! That means you love me 'specially much!"

"Look, Dad!" Julie was untying the knot on one of the bags. "Smell!"

Jeremy leaned over for a sniff, then lifted the bag to test its weight. He had never seen so much reefer in one bunch. "Felony possession," he said. "I don't know anything about this."

"Aren't you proud of us?" Sandy said.

"It needs to be dried."

Sandy looked so excited. "I was thinking in the barn, under Junior's apartment. We can string wash-lines to hang it on. Pillow cases for the loose buds. If we get caught, which we won't if everybody keeps his mouth shut, then it belongs to Junior!"

"Oh, yeah?" Jeremy looked at his son, who was grinning and nodding.

"We made an agreement," Julie said.

"See, Jeremy, if we all get caught we can't have the bread-winner going to jail, can we? And Julie hasn't finished high-school yet – she needs to do that – so it all works out for the best! But we're not going to get caught, anyway, because we're not going to sell any of it!"

"You'd better not! Are you buying this, Junior?"

"Sandy said so."

"Oh! Right!"

"Sandy's right, Dad." Julie said. "Plus they think J.R. is mental and he'll get off easy."

Junior nodded. "Nobody's going to fuck **me** in the ass in jail, either! I'm hungry. What's for supper?"

"Work comes first!" Sandy said cheerfully. "We don't want this good shit to get moldy in these plastic bags!"

Junior grinned. "Okay, Mom."

"Mom!" Julie snorted.

"Jeremy, do we have any rope or wash-line?"

"I haven't seen any...."

"They have kite string at the Seven-Eleven."

"Jeremy, do you mind?" Sandy put an arm around his waist and pulled him sideways into her right breast. "Do you mind taking the van and, oh, let's see, better get at least three balls of it. And tons of clothes pins."

"He doesn't mind," Julie smirked.

Jeremy sighed. "Come on, J.R.. We have stuff to talk about, besides.

"I want to stay here with Sandy."

He caught one of Junior's eyes. It was cold. With a sort of standing-my-ground look. Jeremy shrugged and headed for the van.

"Bring back some fried chicken!" Sandy said. "If they have any left."

"No wings or drumsticks," Junior said. "I don't like those."

"And some rolling papers," Julie said. "JOB one-point-fives."

"And a pack for me!" Sandy called after him.

"Me, too!" Junior said.

Jeremy suddenly turned and faced them. "Sandy, come here!"

There was a long silence. Before moving, Sandy waiting until she saw Jeremy start toward her.

"You're coming along. That's what girlfriends do."

"Oh? Well, that's one thing girlfriends do." She giggled.

"You kids be cool while we're gone. That stuff has to be kept a secret."

Junior trotted up to them. "I'm coming along, too."

"Get back over there!"

Junior looked to Sandy.

"Do what your father says, Junior."

"Okay...."

But when they got to the van, Sandy had second thoughts. "I don't know, maybe I should stay with them, you know, until it's all put up."

"Yeah.... Maybe you're right. And when I get back you can tell me how you got it."

"Okay. Don't forget the chicken!"

It was twilight when Jeremy got back. Not a single light had been turned on, in the house or outside, and he had to move slowly around the east side of the building to keep from stumbling. The backyard was silent but he could make out the three of them huddled under the huge oak. The air was cool, and heavy with the funky-sweet smell of burning marijuana. A tiny, red coal lit in the darkness as he approached – Sandy sucking in a long pull.

Jeremy tried to hunker down next to Sandy. "Move, Junior!" He held one of the Seven-Eleven bags and shook it. "All they had left was wings and drumsticks."

Julie reached over for it. "I've got the munchies. Bad. I could eat my socks right now."

Sandy reached in and pulled out a wing. Junior nailed a drumstick. "This is good, Daddy. Thanks!"

"Yeah, Dad."

Sandy leaned toward him and planted a greasy kiss on his cheek. Jeremy pulled out a wing and a napkin and began to nibble on the meat. His stomach was growling from skipping lunch, and the chicken was still warm and crispy. For a long time not a word was said. Just the sounds of chewing and smacking, and hands plunging into the white-paper bag, and the chirping of bullfrogs and insects from the swamp deep in the woods. Life in the country courtesy of the Barnett Bank of Florida and Seven-Eleven convenience stores.

A large bird flapped mightily out of the branches above them and four pairs of eyes looked up. A huge owl – how long had it been there? A shooting star streaked across the cold, night sky.

"Wow!" they all said. All four of them.

Near their feet hulked the full, dark sacks of damp marijuana.

"Did you get the kite string?" Sandy asked suddenly.

"Yeah. Four balls." Jeremy had intended to tell them to score their own fucking rolling papers from now on, too, but he changed his mind.

END of Part-1

See notes below:

ABOUT THIS E-BOOK

Originally written as three books: I, II, III, **Crucified, Laid, & Buried** was as combined into a single, reasonably priced print version and is available titled **Laid & Crucified.**(Subtitle: **& un-Buried)** This "book in the paw" is a large and heavy volume at 229,000 words, but with a 12-point font which is easy on the eyes. The print volume has a different and gamy cover illustration, but other than the cover, the two parts of this e-book contain the identical content of the complete print version.

Other books by John Aalborg

Search: "John Aalborg"

— _The Schaffner Trilogy —_

ALL MEAT STORY – A Redneck Meets LSD-25

HARRY & IVORY

LOWBOY #22

GULF COAST STORIES

CHILDREN OF THE LAMBS

LAID & CRUCIFIED — PART-2

Global publisher: StreetWise Publications

Sydney Australia

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

As always, my lifelong thanks to John Schaffner, Victor Chapin, and Barney Karpfinger – New York literary agents whose early encouragements went unheeded for so long. Too long. Now they will never know.

Perry Gamsby, founder, contributor, and editor-in-chief of StreetWise Publications, Sydney AU, who supplies my current get-off-your-ass encouragement, published my first printed novel after reading the original typewritten manuscript, and who prompted me to digitalize and publish the others.

Hot girlfriend and nurse extraordinaire Lisa Peters, LPN, who was relegated to sleep in our hot and humid Florida bedroom after coming home every morning from her hospital graveyard shift, while I punched out the first draft of this novel in my small but air-conditioned camper studio. There was an unused cot here at one end where she could have slept, but I would not have been able to concentrate with her there. This went on for two years. 1,100 typescript pages and 229,000 words. Babe, I owe you!

\-- John Aalborg

PUBLISHER'S NOTE:

CHEATER'S VALENTINE TO THE AUTHOR

John Aalborg has been able to elude punishment, jail, and notoriety for his entire life despite a long list of bizarre occupations. With a young family in Miami, one of the less risky was writing under the pen-name Stephan Aalborg, back in the early 60s when racy books and magazines were censored in the USA – "girlie books" – unless each edition contained _new_ "literary content". When the courts ended this requirement the bottom dropped out of that writing market, and Aalborg ascended into psychedelic drugs while keeping more working-class jobs. Still writing on the side, Aalborg's gamy novel: "ALL MEAT – A Redneck Meets LSD-25" featuring a fictional, page-turning dysfunctional family, was released just last year. The typewritten manuscript was misplaced and lost – as only a "head" can do – for 40 years.

Around 1980 John began moving away from Miami, "The Magic City", to his present, undisclosed hidey-hole, where years later a dangerously-younger new girlfriend, me, prodded him to do something with the novels and essays which had been piling up on legal pads. This, and with major encouragement from an Australian writer and editor, finally resulted in John allowing us to 1get his longer work into print while attempting to keep his whereabouts a secret. "I could stay invisible in Miami," he likes to say.

In addition to the riskier side of his life, John managed to publish "Over the Road" articles internationally, wrote the Axel McKay radio-play series aired coast-to-coast and sponsored by Ford and Caterpillar, magazine publications of American trucking experiences in foreign countries, and a 4-year run with a monthly road column by "Mo'hammer & Cheater". Articles in NEWSWEEK and COSMOPOLITAN were often copied without compensation in India. He describes himself as credit-card debt with legs and a smile.

During his last birthday get-together, Aalborg was persuaded by Gene Llewellyn Smith, Houston theater entrepreneur, to work on his memoirs and to do something – _anything_ – to promote his page-turning novels. The reading public has never heard of John Aalborg. My fault as much as John's.

_\-- Cheater_ , February 14, 2016

former Bleep-Free Press admin,

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