“You know Melanie, that book is the most important survival guide I have in my collection. There have been many times I have gone into the desert for a week at a time naked and only carrying a knife and that book in a little bag! Bethany thinks I am crazy but we shall see who is crazy when everything comes to an end.” I joked, “You don’t do that in the winter, do you?” He took an extremely arrogant tone, “My dear, winter is the best time. I have survived in freezing temperatures – of course, I know how to build a shelter, build a fire and weave shoes out of pine stems and track a dear for food. I can make a coat out of dear skin in no time at all while life-warmth is still in the covering and steam is still arising from the skin. That is true survival!” I was impressed. Part of me wondered if I was capable of such a thing and then he said, “Melanie, pay close attention to what I teach you and you too will find this strength.”
Vincent did not talk much again until dinner. We pulled over at a truck stop and had a most wonderful meal consisting of a huge greasy hamburger, fries and beer. He took my hand across the table, “Tomorrow we will do some target practice. I’ll show you how to handle a rifle.” He took notice out the window at an obese couple and child emerging from a car. In an almost venomous tone he complained, “Modern people are so weak and pathetic! They deserve what’s coming!” He remained quiet a moment as the family entered the diner and took a seat. Then he said one thing I really thought was insightful and remember clearly to this day, “You know, they warn you of wolves in sheep’s clothing, but what of the wolf who is unashamed of his true nature? I have no need or desire to deceive. I am a wolf in wolf’s clothing...I fear no man or god and that insures my place at the top of this food chain they call civilization.”
That night we stayed in the kind of cheap hotel you associate with back road travelling. I was not optimistic of anything beyond a good night of sleep – especially when he made sure to get twin beds. This was the first time I had spent the night alone with Vincent but he apparently was not the kind of person into talking before sleep. He merely undressed, said “good night” and immediately passed out. I, on the other hand, laid there thinking about all we had talked about that day. However, I have to admit that my mind was becoming less and less devoted to his ideals of a life of denial, although many of the rest of his ideas did intrigue me. I even let my mind wander into what it would be like in the mountains at Blue River to try a cavewoman existence for a week, or even a month. I would take a gun though…the reservoir there was not named “Cougar” for nothing.
The next morning I had the opportunity to take a shower for the first time in almost four months. It felt nice to have the water run down me, even if the shower itself looked really “Third World.” Yet right in the middle of my little treat a memory of the last day I was with Matt overtook my mind. It seemed that this flashback was more intense than the ones that I had been experiencing lately. I was curious why, as well as wondering about all the other memories coming back. I wondered, as Vincent was giving me more freedom was my mind taking me back to the past? Was his hold on me decreasing? Then he interfered with my thoughts of my past life as he called through the door, “I’m going out to get some food. Be dressed when I get back. Oh, I’ll pick you up some cigarettes while I’m out.” I said I would and asked him to hurry. Actually, I wanted him to take his time. Like a nervous teen suddenly alone, I chose to break one of his rules for physical denial. The reason was not necessary for pleasure, although that was a benefit to be sure. In reality, it was more just an attempt to “get away” with something. And afterwards, like the adolescent, I rushed to get dressed as quickly as possible so Vincent would not suspect a thing. I felt proud of my secret act of defiance and after his return, and our retrieving our things, I gave myself an evil smile as we passed the mirror on our way out the door.
As we packed our things into the car I had another flashback – this time to the trip I took to go see Nicole and Daniel. The small town we left, the “feel” of early morning in the desert, it all seemed so much the same. And then, as my mind began to wander while Vincent drove, thoughts of a more “primitive” nature started flooding my mind again. I quickly asked Vincent if he had any more books, and he handed me something similar to the one I read the day before. The difference was I was barely concentrating on the topics this author was presenting – my mind was reliving past sensual memories involving Nicole, Matt and, strangely enough, Sara. I finally just gave in and allowed my mind to go on autopilot as I pretended to read his book. A part of me seemed to have re-awakened – which I felt might be awkward to say the least, considering Vincent and Bethany’s aversion to this aspect of life. Yet maybe it was up to me to eventually manipulate the situation to my advantage, after all Vincent was still a man and I figured at some time he would find himself open to a “modification” of his philosophy.
After a while I saw the sign indicating we were entering Nevada. I could see why the government had chosen this state for testing nuclear weapons. It seemed lifeless and hot…an alien landscape I just could not identify with in any way. Vincent tried to find something on the radio but aside from some AM-talk show there was nothing, and it seemed he did not carry music CDs of any sort in the car. So I sat there listening to someone going on and on about some painfully boring subject until Vincent slowed and turned down a dusty road, eventually pulling over to an open area and parking.
He asked, “Ever fire a gun Melanie?” I said I had done some shooting, but I did not mention what, or who, the targets had been. He said, “It’s your lucky day! I brought a 270 with me.” We got out of the car and as he took out his rifle. I looked around at the desolate area before me. It seemed others had been there shooting – with all the broken glass glistening in the sunlight and the remnants of shot up cans. There was even an old refrigerator with bullet holes perforating every portion of its exterior.
Vincent called out, “Hello!” and handed me the rifle. He started explaining, “Look, this is the perfect gun for a woman. It is lightweight and doesn’t have a strong kick. It’s not as powerful as a 30.06 but it has excellent range and accuracy. This baby will really bring down whatever big game you are after.” He took it back, loaded it and handed me some ear plugs. He demonstrated the correct positioning and then said, “Here you go. Try hitting that old coffee can over there.”
I have to admit that it was a bit intimidating as I took my first shots but it was fun. The first two shots missed though. Vincent pulled the plug out of my left ear and said, “Remember what I told you when we were fishing? Project yourself into your weapon. It’s an extension of you: be it a piece of sharpened wood or a rifle, it matters not!” I quietly replied, “I’ll try.” In a father-like tone he gave me more advice, “One more thing. Hold steady and aim until you can detect your heart beat. Then slowly let out your breath and fire in-between beats. Go ahead and try.” I relaxed until I was aware of my heart rhythm. I took aim and fired as he had instructed…and the bullet hit dead-center, mangling the can! Vincent praised me, “Excellent!” He took the gun, showed me how to use the scope for long range targets and guided me along for the next few hours. We emptied two huge boxes of ammunition and started on a third. And by the time that box was almost empty I was hitting targets several hundred yards away with what he claimed was uncanny accuracy. He said he was extremely impressed, but that it was probably time to get the cleaning equipment so he could show me how to properly take care of a rifle.
As I stood there holding the still-loaded gun a thought came to my mind as he was getting the things out of the trunk – the thought of how easy it would be to aim the rifle and kill Vincent right there. The power I held my hands gave me a rush of excitement; “What if?” questions dominated my mind. Yet I did not want to kill him and gain my freedom. As much as I hated to admit it I had grown close to him, and yes, maybe even loved him beyond any daughter-like context. Even there I fantasized about turning the gun on him and forcing him to surrender to my physical desires. Yet I chose not to take
aim. I patiently waited for him to come over and start his lessons on gun cleaning.
Soon after we left our target range and headed off to what appeared to be Reno according to the signs along the road. Then, for some reason he took a different road that just seemed to be heading into nowhere. In an hour we came to an area that had some abandoned buildings. We got out of the car and he asked me to walk with him down the remains of what was once a street. “Melanie this ghost town once had a fairly large population, but when the silver ran out the city died. This will be what Seattle, San Francisco and Portland will look like someday. In fact, due to the dryness here, these buildings might still survive in some respect when the skyscrapers of New York have turned to mud.” He seemed to take delight in mankind’s doom.
We ate some snacks on the porch of what had once been the town saloon. We left and were on the road for about four hours when he commented, “It’s getting late. We’ll stop in the next town for dinner and find a place to stay.” The sun began to set over the horizon and I closed my eyes and started thinking about what had run through my mind earlier at the shooting area. In a way it felt like another night alone with him would drive me insane unless he showed some signs of weakness. I wondered if I would have to be content with some wicked fantasies and just hope for them to come true somehow.
Just as the sky was turning dark we pulled over at a bar. When we walked in it seemed like something out of a movie. It was noisy with the sound of slot machines with electronic messages trying to entice people to play. There were a couple of pool tables with some locals who looked like they were a mix of bikers and gas station attendants playing, and of course cigarette smoke permeated the air. A while back this would have bothered me but at that moment I liked it, enough to start adding to the mixture once we sat down.
We ate a dinner not unlike the one from the previous night. I liked this sort of food, but found myself feeling my hips to see what the damage might be. Thankfully I still felt bone rather than fat. After our meal Vincent asked if I might like to try my luck on the slot machines, handed me fifty dollars and asked me to go make change.
I had never gambled before; I had always looked down on the process of wasting money with the incredibly small chance of winning. Yet I gave it a try. I won a small amount but soon that was gone. Then I noticed the reflection of a man on the screen and turned around to see who it was. It was some guy with one of those ugly sleeveless t-shirts which exposed his disgusting hairy arms. He looked as though he worked out and perhaps this was his attempt at showing off. He was wearing a baseball cap, and had a dark several-day growth of beard. I just stared at him; and then he asked if he could buy me a drink.
Of course I said no to him. I just wanted him to leave me alone but he absolutely insisted on getting me a drink and called out to the bartender to pour me something. He said he had not seen me before and I replied, “Look, I am just travelling though. I’ll be gone quite soon.” I was really hoping he would just leave, but he didn’t. At that moment Vincent, came over and asked, “Anything wrong?” The guy turned to him and replied, “Just trying to get the young lady a drink.” Vincent sternly replied, “She’s with me!” The guy laughed, “Hey gramps, why not let the lady decide who she wants to be with right now?”
Vincent’s face suddenly went blank of any expressions. He showed absolutely no indication of emotion as he went back to the table and quickly returned with our things. The guy laughed, “Hope you have some Viagra in there grandpa.” Vincent merely ignored him and we walked out of the door to the car. Then, the door of the bar swung open and the obnoxious man rushed out towards us and protested, “Gramps, you know it is rude to just walk away from someone when they are talking to you!” Vincent continued to ignore him which only seemed to anger him, “Hey you SOB I’m talking to you!” Just as he made that comment he reached out to grab Vincent by the neck but as he made contact Vincent, in a motion that one might expect to see in some action movie, caught the guy off guard and, within seconds Vincent had thrown him to the ground!
Vincent jumped onto the guy’s back and manoeuvred into a position to where he could pin him face-down in the gravel and twist his right arm in back of him – again, like you see in police dramas. Vincent twisted the guy’s arm further, towards the guy’s head, as he pleaded, “Okay, you win, I give, I give! Please have mercy!” Yet at that Vincent’s face turned from expressionless to rage. He seemed to use little effort to force the guy’s arm further and further, to the point I heard the sound similar to the cork of a wine bottle being released. At that the guy let out a desperate shrill! But Vincent was not through – he continued to twist the arm up until I heard a cracking sound, the sound you get when you break apart raw chicken bones from their joints before separating them into a pan.
By now I was shocked nobody had come out. It was still just Vincent, the guy who was now on the ground crying and me – the spectator to this scene of violence. Vincent released the arm which, while trembling, seemed to be totally limp and unusable. I looked towards the bar, still nobody was in sight. The guy was squirming on the ground but Vincent continued to pin the guy underneath him. As the guy was crying and pleading for Vincent to let him go Vincent just uttered the words “pathetic, just pathetic” and then changed his position slightly and grabbed the guy’s other arm. With seemingly little effort Vincent proceeded to repeat what he had done with the other arm, except this time, probably since his adversary was unable to put up any resistance, he twisted the arm up with such force that I distinctly heard a loud crack as the connection between his arm and shoulder was split in half!
Vincent released the helpless, and essentially useless, arm. The guy was squirming on the ground and pleading to Vincent to stop. Vincent then patted the guy on the back as a friend might do with a drinking buddy and said, “Don’t worry now, you will probably live, but welcome to the world of adult diapers for the foreseeable future!” He then stood up and motioned for me to get into the car so we could make an exit before being seen by any of the local patrons.
As we sped off Vincent muttered, “Stupid bastard!” I could feel the tension in my body of an adrenaline overload. I asked, “Where did you learn your fighting skills? Were you in the military?” He shook his head, “Not a chance of that. I avoided the draft with a religious deferment.” How ironic, I immediately thought. Then he explained, “I learnt all I know about hand to hand combat from an ex Green Beret at some white power training camp in Idaho a few years ago. Strange, huh…I can’t stand neo-Nazis but lots of people in Hermiston think I am a white supremacist. All the better I suppose if it scares them away from bothering me.” In my mind at the time I found all that he was saying interesting, but I could not get the image of that guy on the ground out of my mind. Part of me wished Vincent had just shown some compassion and finished him off rather than leaving him with injuries that would never totally heal right. Yet I was fascinated, and maybe a little more fearful, of the man sitting next to me. The realization of the brutality he was capable of was both disturbing, and strangely attractive. I was not sure as to what that said of who I was deep down. That evening we drove past Winnemucca and stayed at a hotel far from the bar scene, just in case police might be looking for our car. I found it really odd that night that Vincent, just as the night before, undressed as if nothing had happened and immediately fell asleep. I, on the other hand, laid there for at least a couple of hours contemplating the events of the evening – trying to analyse the man in the bed next to mine.
The next day I repeated the activity from the day before, but this time a little more fearful of Vincent’s detection. I wondered what the day would be like as we headed off towards Reno. I asked if we were going to tour the city but Vincent said that we had a stop, but that we were only going to pass through the city. He promised, “We’ll spend some time in California before heading back, although with the holiday weekend it might be difficult to find much solitude.”
After an hour or so on the road we were coming up o
n Reno. Vincent mentioned, “We’re taking a little detour. I want to show you a place with a great view.” I was into the idea as I had never been in this area before. We drove off the main highway and soon Vincent pointed, “There it is! Now let’s see how talented you have become.”
“What did he mean by that?” I asked myself. We were on a totally deserted road going up a hill that I assumed had a unique view of the landscape. Yet when he pulled over, and I got out, I could only see a suburban area on the outskirts of the city. The mountains to the west looked nice – what I could see through the pine trees that obscured my view. Yet I was still wondering what was so special about this spot. Then Vincent pointed to a park below, maybe a half mile off in the distance. He commented, “Look at all the little people playing on their day off Most are just assuming this is just a regular day – a day to relax, walk the dog, and think about whatever trivial matters occupy their existence at this time. I wonder, is this the way we think God looks down on us?” I asked what he meant and he just stared down at the people below, “Melanie, you ever wonder what it must be like, to be like God and just capriciously take a life and cause pain for whoever cared for that person?” I said, “You think that is how God views it? Maybe we need pain in our lives to be able to appreciate the good in life.”
Vincent seemed unimpressed. He pointed to a spider’s web and asked, “So, would you tell a butterfly that is trapped in the web that its fate of being eaten alive by the spider was justifiable so we can have the opportunity to marvel at the intricate and beautiful designs of the web?” I shrugged my shoulders, “If there were no spiders then the bug population would get out of hand and destroy everything, including eventually, all of the food for the bugs.” He laughed and responded, “So who is to say God does not see mankind the same way?”
I was going to respond but Vincent stated, “Now it’s time for your final exam – your chance to play God, so to speak.” At that moment he opened the trunk and removed the 270 from its case. I was confused as to what his plans were. Then he let me know, “Yesterday I saw you hit targets four or five hundred yards away – the same distance as those people in the park. Now it is your turn to play God!” I asked in shock, “You want me to kill those people? Why?”
Deliverance from Evil Page 17