Ourselves

by S. G. Redling

  “And you’re sweet. Are you through with that beer?” Aricelli’s fingers slid down his wrist, across the back of his hand, and wrapped around the neck of the bottle. She brought the beer to her lips and drank deep, her eyes never leaving Tomas’s. Her throat working to swallow, her lips wrapped firmly around the brown glass, the small sounds of satisfaction she made as she drank, were all Tomas needed. He leaned in, burying his face in the base of her neck. She smelled like everything he hadn’t realized he had been missing.

  “I’m not sure you’re going to like the way I smell after two days in the truck with Louis.”

  She pulled his t-shirt over his head and began to kiss his chest, her tongue tracing arcs on his smooth skin. “I love the way you smell. You smell like a man.” She put her forehead to his, tangling her fingers in his hair. “You look like a man. This trip agrees with you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this trip.” He picked her up and placed her on the bed. “I don’t want to talk about anything.”

  Gary Hunter III of Glenn Creek Freewill Baptist Church looked forward to the autumn revivals at the county fairgrounds every year. Each summer and fall, busload after busload of young, impassioned country girls rolled through his little town on the highway that was known among churchgoers as the northern loop of the Bible Belt. Pentecostals, Seventh-day Adventists, snake handlers, Southern Baptists, even a Methodist or two made it to his little acre with their families to find another piece of the Lord. Gary felt he was doing his part as he made a point to get at least one young woman per revival onto her knees, although he joked, it was usually him that wound up saying, “Oh god!”

  When the Fellowship of God’s Word bus pulled up and what looked like a truckload of nuns piled off, he was at first dismayed. Upon closer inspection, however, he realized that under those incredibly ugly clothes, even by revival standards, were some lovely young women. Putting on his best “come to Jesus” smile, Gary Hunter III greeted his northern guests and helped them settle in the Conestoga Lodge, the mildewy cinderblock barracks they would call home for the night.

  It was difficult to put an age on the women. In their frumpy clothes they could have been fifteen or forty and from the looks he was getting from some of them, he suspected this was not their first rodeo. While he appreciated an experienced woman as much as the next man, this weekend he was looking for something a little fresher, a little more challenging.

  That’s when he saw her.

  How to pick her out? She was simply another dark-haired girl in ugly clothes. And was it just him or were all their eyes blue? Either a huge coincidence (unlikely) or some serious inbreeding (far more likely, he figured). But this young woman didn’t meet his eyes boldly. She didn’t giggle with the other girls on the bus, or push and play with the boys around her. No, this girl clung to her mother and, when she caught him staring at her, ducked behind her mother to hide. Yes, Gary thought to himself, sometimes a man wanted a challenge.

  “May I get you a lemonade, Sister?”

  Stell could feel his intention as clearly as if he were humping her leg. Pretending to be struck with shyness, she kept her eyes downward, knowing Malbette would play her part.

  “That would be very kind of you, Brother.” Her mother’s voice was strident, like that of a wary guardian. She too had noticed the leering smile of this young man. “My daughter and I would appreciate a nice cold drink.”

  “It would be my pleasure, ma‘am.” Gary tried to catch Stell’s eye and she rewarded him with the briefest glance. As he stepped away, Malbette chuckled.

  “Not exactly a prince but I suspect his experience on his back could make up for any shortcomings while upright. I would suggest however”—she pulled Stell close, her voice low—“that you keep your encounters with him in absolute privacy. All of it, including whatever passes for flirting in this county.”

  Stell didn’t question her mother’s advice. She had been dazzled by her mother’s proficiency at luring men away from the crowd and not only lowering their defenses but leaving them grateful for the encounter.

  As always the revival seemed to last forever. Singing and praying and waving arms, people dropping to the floor and speaking in tongues, it had all become a prelude to what she and many of her congregation members considered the main event of the evening. During the supper break, Stell pretended to be engrossed in the endless selection of green bean casseroles but was instead following Gary’s course to get her alone.

  “Is it all right if I sit with you?” he asked.

  Stell looked around worriedly. “It might seem improper. We haven’t been introduced. My mother . . . my preacher . . .” Gary stared hard at the ground and Stell could feel his concern that she was simply too hard to get. She let him sweat for a moment then blurted out in her best mousy-but-bold voice, “We finish our singing at eight.” She bit her lip as if she had revealed her deepest secret and Gary took the bait.

  “Well then, Sister, I’d best let you eat. Why don’t I get your mother and let her have my seat and maybe, just maybe, we shall see each other after your performance?” Stell allowed a pensive smile to escape as Gary turned to go. Malbette joined her a moment later.

  “For heaven’s sake,” she said, “did he just bow to you?”

  Gary Hunter III was nowhere to be found during their singing performance. He found the revivals easier to endure with a large mug of Mountain Dew and vodka. Sipping his cocktail through a straw, he leaned against the back wall of the picnic shelter, waiting until the unbearable singing was over. There was the usual applause, the shouts of his father, Preacher Gary Hunter Junior, and general commotion as yet another choir took the platform. He waited until he saw the dark-clad group filing out of the tent, seeking fresh air and cold drinks. In the failing light he had trouble picking out his little songbird, but knew he didn’t need to worry. He had seen the look in her eye. She would find him.

  And there she was. While the other girls gathered together to giggle, he saw one skinny one looking around the crowd. That was his girl. Her mother hovered nearby. Ditching her would have to be the girl’s problem. He’d been caught once with his pants around his ankles by an angry father and vowed, as the bruises healed, never to be so careless again.

  Staying on the edge of the grassy field, he walked slowly, keeping his eye on his little target. He knew the moment she spotted him, for she ducked quickly behind her mother. This time, however, it wasn’t to hide modestly, but to signal to him without her mother’s knowledge. She waved, her eyes wide, and he pointed to the picnic shelter. She nodded and waved him away, just as her mother turned back to her. Gary laughed as the girl smiled innocently, certain of the lies that slipped out of her mouth as easily as he planned to slip into hers. Making his way back to the picnic shelter, Gary Hunter said the only prayer he ever prayed.

  “Thank you, Lord, for dumb country girls.”

  It was nine thirty before he heard footsteps coming around the corner. He was half-drunk from his latest cocktail and had nearly given up on getting any action tonight. Seeing her smiling at him, he wondered for a moment if he had had too much to drink to perform adequately, but then reassured himself that a little chicken like this one would never know the difference.

  “Good evening, Brother.” Her voice was breathless.

  “And good evening to you too, Sister.” Gary struggled to his feet.

  The girl looked around nervously. “I’m sorry I took so long to get here. I didn’t think my mother would ever settle down with her scriptures. I was afraid you wouldn’t wait for me.”

  Gary stepped close to her and slid the cotton kerchief off her hair. “Now why on earth would I not wait for such a pretty girl as you?”

  She ducked her head and he knew she was blushing. “I . . . I am only plain. I’m not really allowed to be alone with boys. If anyone should come back here . . .”

  He took her hand and led her along the path to the barn. “Then let’s take a walk, Sister. I grew up in these fields. Why d
on’t we find a quiet place to look at the stars?”

  Gary settled them down on some soft grass that Stell noticed was well out of earshot from the revival. She could smell the vodka on his breath and see the glassiness in his eyes. Malbette had never told her how to handle a drunk common, but she wasn’t worried. It was clear from the bulge in Gary’s trousers, he was planning on making the first move. Filling her mind with thoughts of desire, she parted her lips and let her thought-breath drift toward his grinning mouth.

  Lulled by vodka, Gary dispensed with the niceties. He lunged toward Stell, his lips clumsily bruising hers as his tongue forced its way into her mouth. She wanted to laugh at the juvenile gesture but instead pretended shock.

  “Wait!” She cried, letting visions of helplessness mix with desire, wordlessly urging Gary on to his ill-laid plan. “What are you doing?”

  He pushed her down onto the grass, his hand pushing up the heavy, woolen skirt. When he realized the stockings she wore only went as high as her thighs and that everything from there up was bare, he forgot the little decorum he had held and climbed on top of her. Stell made as if to fight him off, her own strength more than enough to flip him, yet enjoying his false sense of superiority. She was going to enjoy bleeding him.

  “Relax,” he growled in her ear, fumbling to open his pants.

  “Please wait!” She allowed a whimper to escape. “I don’t understand.”

  He buried his face in her shoulder, the vodka keeping him from being fully erect. He banged at her, trying to force his way inside of her and beneath him, Stell rolled her eyes, trying to feign fear at this ridiculous situation. Finally he was able to enter her and pumped furiously within her.

  “That’s right. That’s right. Oh, it feels so good, baby. It feels so good.”

  Maybe it was hunger, maybe it was trip fatigue or maybe Gary Hunter was just that sort of person, but all at once Stell found it impossible to maintain the facade of fearful desire any longer. Ignoring his pitiful thrusting, Stell felt around until she found the small folding knife her mother had slipped into her pocket. Wrapping her thighs around him in a forceful grip, Stell slipped the blade up to his neck. Thinking he had finally awakened her desire, Gary began to urge her on.

  “You want it, don’t you, baby? I know you do.”

  “I do. Oh, I do.” She slid the knife on the tender part of his neck below the ear and attached herself to the wound.

  Still not understanding his situation, Gary Hunter continued to thrust and grunt until weakness overtook his muscles. He tried to pull back from Stell, but found himself locked in her grip. The vodka and blood loss combined with his natural stupidity kept him from understanding the true nature of the encounter until Stell flipped him onto his back, never breaking contact with his jugular vein. He began to panic, screaming, wrestling in vain to free himself.

  But the forest ignored his cries as it had ignored all the cries of all the girls he had brought to this very spot.

  The blood flowed more powerfully than she had ever known possible. She saw stars and heard symphonies as his heart pounded bravely, struggling to meet the demands of his rapidly depleted body. Stell sucked and swallowed, her body covered in sweat as his heartbeat became a whisper. And still she drank. The moment his body fell still, Stell released her grip, the echo of his death shocking her brain, making her body recoil. In the haze of her blood high, she marveled how quickly a living thing became a dead thing and, rolling onto her back, she stared at the stars, puzzled. Her body floated through the night, her nerves and muscles alive. When she heard her mother speak, she thought she must be dreaming.

  “Wake up, Stell. We don’t have much time.” Malbette stood over her, a satchel in her hand and a faraway look in her eyes.

  Chapter Three:

  R ‘ACUL

  R ‘acul: to kill common by feeding from them, draining them of blood; can involve violence.

  Malbette stood beside her, looking down at the dead body in the forest. She who had always been so difficult to read was as clear as a picture window to her blood-high daughter. Her eyes were filled with sadness and resignation but there was something else, something Stell could smell, almost taste. She had never known it before but she would have sworn it was a touch of pride. Stell searched her mother’s face for more information but Malbette turned away.

  “We don’t have time for this now. We have to hide him.”

  Stell looked at the body at her feet. “He was a pig.”

  The sting of her mother’s hand on her cheek spun her around. “He was not a pig. He was a human being, a common. I assure you, they are far more dangerous.”

  Stell tried to concentrate on her mother’s directions as they picked up the body and began carrying it through the woods. Her mother was teaching her as they worked, trying to give her necessary information even as they both knew Stell was in poor shape to learn. The echo of the end of life pounded within her, making the dark forest twinkle with light. The body in her hands was so uninteresting compared with the flares going off in her mind and body.

  “Burning is usually a good option for bodies. It hides the cause of death and destroys evidence.” Malbette hefted the corpse by its armpits. “But the forest is too dry now. We’ll put him in the lake. Put some stones in his pockets. And we’ll have to widen the wound.”

  “Why?”

  “To make it look like somebody cut his throat to kill him. Stell, you have to think. You have to concentrate. I won’t be with you to tell you what to do.”

  Stell dropped Gary’s feet. “Where will you be?”

  “Pick him up. We have to keep moving.” Stell obeyed, her eyes fastened on her mother. “I’ll stay with the Family. You have to go. Don’t drop him again!”

  “Where am I supposed to go?”

  Malbette put her end of the body down. “Take off your clothes. We’re getting in the water.” They searched the edge of the lake for stones to fill his pockets. Malbette used Stell’s knife to lengthen the wound under his ear to reach the other side of his neck.

  “It wouldn’t fool a thorough autopsy, but hopefully the water will do our work for us. Get him in the lake.”

  Despite the weight of the stones and the depth of the cold water, Stell felt stronger than she ever had. Beside her, her mother struggled under the burden, so Stell took the body from her and towed it out toward the middle of the lake. The shore was still brilliantly clear to Stell’s hyperalert eyes when Malbette told her to stop.

  “This is probably as deep as it’s going to get. Push the body as far down as you can.”

  Stell used her legs to push Gary beneath her, plunging them both down into the murky depths of the small lake. In no time, her feet pushed off of the sandy muck below, rushing her back to the surface.

  “I bet it isn’t even twenty feet here.”

  Malbette treaded water, looking around for anything that might help them. “He won’t stay down long here. But this is all we have. Go back down and step down hard on his stomach and chest. Try to get as much air out of him as possible. Drive his body into the mud.” Stell dove back down into the blackness. The cold water on her naked skin felt marvelous and she was hardly aware of what her feet pressed into as she pushed off the bottom and broke the surface with a joyful breath.

  “Do it again.” Her mother’s voice was cold.

  Again and again Stell dove and rose, dove and rose, loving the feeling of strength that pulsed through her muscles, the explosion of the sky as she broke the surface over and over. By the fourth dive, she had forgotten why she was diving, lost in the physical sensation of it.

  “That’s enough, Stell. Let’s head back to shore.”

  She floated on her back, watching the stars peeking through the trees all around them. It was beautiful here. It was almost as beautiful as Calstow Mountain. On shore, Malbette rummaged through the satchel she had brought with her.

  “Teherestelle, I need you to listen to me.” Stell tried, but the night air on her wet body was so
distracting. Her mother grabbed her by the shoulders. “Stell, you have to listen to me. I know this is a lot. This is my fault that it’s happening so quickly but it is happening and you have to pay attention.”

  Stell nodded, trying to focus on her mother’s face.

  “Put this on.” It was the cotton dress from her luncheon at Tomas’s grandparents. “I’ll leave the shoes in the bag. I know you hate them but you have to wear shoes in town. There’s money in here too. It isn’t much but it was all I could grab from the till. You’re going to head south from here. The highway is less than five miles. Do you remember the road we came in on, Stell?” The quiet urgency in her mother’s voice began to pierce the high she was on. She nodded again, trying to absorb everything her mother said.

  “Take that highway west. You’ll sense the sun rising before you see it. Turn your back on it and walk as quickly as you can. Do not catch a ride with anyone. Stay out of sight until you get to town. There is a bus station next to the post office. I saw it when we came in. Stay out of sight until the ticket window opens. Buy a ticket to Iowa City. Can you remember that, Stell? Iowa City.” Stell felt tears burning her eyes and saw those same tears in her mother’s.

  “There is a bank in Iowa City. It used to be called First Fidelity Trust on South Clinton Street. Ask for directions. They should still be there.”

  “Where are you going to be?” Stell could only whisper.

  “There isn’t time. If you can’t find the bank, look for signs. Look for the blue signs. Look for Nahan. I don’t think there’s any Family there but be careful. Don’t tell anybody where you’re from or who you are. Just ask them for help. They’ll help you, Stell.”

  “Malbette . . .”

  Her mother hugged her tightly. “Maybe you can find Tomas. There are sunglasses. You’ll need them. And a bag of candy. Orange slices. Your favorite, remember? I brought them back from town when you were only five and you ate the whole bag and you cried because your stomach hurt.” They clung to each other, rocking each other for comfort until Malbette pulled away and grabbed her face.