But it didn’t matter. What she felt with the doll, felt good.
Oh, and she was a very good girl. She always did what she was told to do, by everybody and anybody.
Chapter 23 Employment
Another year passed. The chaplain and Nicole kept up with Les Paul by news stories—if anything reached that point—or simply by going out and checking. They also renewed their acquaintance with Riley Stokes and his crew and continued training, which began to include helping to train others. With the many doomsday threats, greenhouse effect, climate change, terrorism, and a whole host of other toxic problems, it seemed that many people wanted to learn a few self-preservation tactics. Besides martial arts, gun laws and the care and firing of weapons, and private investigation, Riley added to his course list rural, urban, and wilderness survival. A new man and wife from the Hopi Reservation joined the crew and brought with them many ancient Native American skills, and added to the weapons list, knives, spear and tomahawk throwing and bow and arrow.
One of Nicole’s main jobs became computer work. Besides two hours every morning of correspondence and research she also did background checks. Riley Stokes was the only person to answer the phone—or at least to give answers on the phone—but once he had names and social security numbers he handed them over to Nicole. She was surprised to learn that the chaplain, too, had provided his own number to Riley the first time he called, but because they had just met he didn’t ask for her number, and convinced Riley to take her on anyway. And all parties became very pleased with her addition—not only as the chaplain’s partner—but as one of the two newest members of Riley’s crew.
Both the chaplain and Nicole continued appreciating watching each other’s training, too. As yet, neither had betrayed their true feelings for each other, but they had become the best of friends. And working with Riley Stokes became a good source of income, and something to do when they weren’t tracking and/or documenting Les Paul, as both the chaplain and Nicole were keeping track of everything and writing down their own version of their search. With regular income again, laptop computers for each soon became part of their tool chest.
The work-for-hire continued too, and Riley’s crews increased their travels to include not only Arizona, but all of New Mexico, and parts of both Texas, and California…with their talks to drug dealers. There again, background checks of clients were essential, because, if ever they became involved with the wrong people the law could come down on them very hard. So more than one client was refused their service.
****
The horror stories shared by the many foster families continued too, and all but guaranteed the child they were tracking was truly worst-of-the-worst criminal, Les Paul.
At foster family-four, as best guessed, as always, they learned what Baby Boy-Doe9 did to get jerked out of their home and returned to the state system.
“My little girl has fourteen Barbie Dolls, the mother of the home said, “All the shapes and sizes and colors, and a few Kens and a few other dolls—way too many, I admit—But the number of dolls my daughter has is not the issue!”
“Of course not, Ma’am.” The chaplain patted the top of the lady’s shoulder.
The woman threw her hands to her face, “Oh! The little monster!” She sighed again and left her hands over her eyes.
“We know this must be difficult for you, Ma’am,” Nicole said, “But this is a special child. That’s why we’re trying to follow up on his actions, so, if you could please tell us, exactly, what he did.…”
The woman dropped her hands and guffawed, a sound more like a man would make, “Special, huh? Yes, I suppose any four-year-old who would place a bunch of dolls in sexual positions—boys on girls, girls on boys, and when he ran out of boys he put girls-on-girls, in every position even the worst sex predator probably wouldn’t think of! And just four years old!” The woman brought her hands up again, this time to her mouth, then dropped them, her face now a mask of scorn, “That child is evil. I can’t believe I would say that about any child but that one is! He’s Evil!”
Chapter 24 Les Paul at Seven
Two more years passed. Les Paul now stood four feet-six inches-tall at seven years old. He too had lost count of the number of foster homes he had been in and out of. It made no difference. He was on a journey to grow up, to start doing things that he did before, although he had no real imagination of what he had done before, just those funny daydreams that kept intruding on his real thoughts. He just knew he had never fit in anywhere, but he didn’t care. He had his own agenda, and that was to do what he wanted.
As of yet no family had required him to do a thing for his keep, not even keep his room clean and organized. When his room became too full of broken toys—if for no other reason—that was when he usually got that ride back to the government office. He especially liked breaking heads and limbs off action-figures and then stuffing the torsos into the cabs of toy trucks or tractors. The heads and limbs simply disappeared, in truth collected as temporary trophies and then hidden to in later years be found by and hopefully horrify whatever child came along next. He had learned though to plan things so that the family returned him before the halfway point of the month, so that they didn’t get any extra money for his keep. He was learning well.
His present home had already lasted for eight weeks. This family had no children of their own, but cared for six other foster children: Three other boys, ages six, ten and twelve, and three girls, five, seven, and nine. As of yet, because of the unusual and somewhat crowded conditions, he had picked no person to unleash his vices on. Often, especially after school, the children were alone in the house. During the day, when the husband worked, the wife was present to care for the younger children. But when the older children came home from school, quite often the wife would put the two older boys in charge and then leave.
He and the three other boys would go into their room and the girls would go to theirs. If there was pizza available or some other junk food that could be warmed in the microwave, the children would eat. If not, they wouldn’t, not till much later when the lady of the house was present again. So, even Les Paul could see there wasn’t a lot of caring care going on in this household. This man and woman appeared to be getting quite a lot of money for foster children, and didn’t appear to be doing a lot to earn it, but that attitude went right along with his own thinking.
“What say we go bother the girls?” the oldest boy said.
“Yeah, they’ve been gettin’ off pretty easy lately,” said the ten-year-old.
“Can I come too?” asked the six-year-old.
Les Paul just watched, learning. This had not happened before.
“No, loser-baby, you’re too little!”
He wondered what the older boy was referring to, but figured he, at only seven, would also not be allowed along.
“But I wanna do it too!”
Do what? Now he really wondered.
The twelve-year-old doubled his fists and stomped over to the youngest, who held up his hands and cringed, “No! Don’t hit me!”
The twelve-year-old grabbed the boy’s hands, then open-fisted slapped his head, both ways, “You stay here, little shit, and watch that dorkhead over there!” He pointed to Les Paul, then released the boy. “Hey!” he shouted to the ten-year-old, “Let’s go! Before the old folks get home!”
The two left and closed their door quietly.
“What are they going to do with the girls?” Les Paul asked.
“I don’t know,” the little one answered, “They’ve never let me go along.”
Well, that wasn’t good enough. He wanted to know. If he was missing out on something he wanted to know, and went to the door, opened it quietly, then saw the little one was going to tag along, “No!” He doubled and raised his fist.
The little one cringed back. Les Paul was only a year older but big for his age, and when he had food in front of him he made sure he dispatched plenty of it. He stepped quietly into the hall and closed the door.
..
The day was gorgeous. The sun was bright. A few fluffy clouds rolled gently across the sky. The whole world of grass and hills spread out before them. Far to their right a group of mammoths appeared to be resting.
He stood with his main lance in his right hand, two more attached to a holster on his back, where he could get them out quickly. The sling was easily accessible near his right hand. The bag of small rocks hung from his right shoulder to his left hip, quickly accessible with his left hand. In his left hand was the hand of his darling little girl, “See the mammoths, my child?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Tomorrow, or soon, so they don’t leave, we will join the rest of the clan families and begin our hunt. We will all be able to stock our hearths with meat, and new skins, and bones for tools, for the coming winter.”
“Yes, Daddy.” The little girl squeezed his hand and looked up, and smiled.
How he adored his little girl, and loved her smile, and returned her smile and caused hers to get even bigger and brighter, “This winter, my child you will enter your seventh season. You are becoming a big and very beautiful little girl. You will go along on the hunt tomorrow, but you will not help. But you must watch, and learn, for someday you will lead our people.” He jabbed his lance into the earth, then leaned down and gathered his little girl into his strong arms. Then he held her with his left arm and recovered his lance, which always remained ready to use.
The little girl wrapped her arms around his neck, “I love you, Daddy.”
A sound came, a whine, some animal…!
He held his little girl child tightly and moved toward the sound, which came again and did not sound threatening. With his lance he parted some shrubbery and they saw…
What? What did they see?
Les Paul shook his head, and shivered his whole body, what the hell was that? A cave man dressed in skins? And a little girl? He knew about cave men. He had seen them on TV, both as a movie and as a cartoon. But what the hell did they see? If he was going to see movies in his head he should at least get to see it all! So what did they see? The little girl had said ‘daddy.’ Who was she calling ‘daddy?’ And ‘mammoths?’ A ‘hunt?’ For a few seconds the memory—or whatever the hell it was—seemed to him as warm and cuddly, then he again shook his head and shivered his whole body—violently—and forced the memories from his head! They were NOT his!
Chapter 25 Rape!
At seven, Cassandra was still a quiet little girl, and small for her age, trim, but no longer underweight. Some inborn instinct had told her long ago that she needed to eat, even though she didn’t always feel like eating. She held her dolly against her front tightly, always. All of her prior life she had gotten by with standing far off on the sidelines. Having two other foster girls for siblings had changed her, to a point. Often she had stood up to the boys to protect the other two girls. Even though one of the other girls was bigger and older but appeared to be even more reserved than Cassandra ever had been, if that was possible. And the youngest: from day one at this household Cassandra had taken on the role of mother to that little girl, and, to a point, the older one too. It was a position in life she had never planned on, and didn’t want, but the role had made her a little stronger.
A knock at their door.
“It’s the boys,” the older girl said, “I wish we could lock our door.”
Cassandra eased the younger girl to behind her, “I wish we could too, but we can’t.”
The door cracked open. Both boys stepped in and closed the door again. They both had crimson faces, and both wore a grin, as if expecting to get something good.
“They probably want you, Cassandra,” the older girl said quietly.
“Me?” She had not been there long enough to know what the older girl meant, “For what?”
“For sex,” the older boy said, “We’re gonna rape you.”
“Sex…?” Rape? She had not heard either word before, and did not know what they meant.
“Don’t be stupid,” the boy said, “You know what sex is!”
“No! I don’t!” She felt the little girl behind her grasp her arm, and could feel she was afraid, even shaking. The older girl then too stepped to behind Cassandra, and pulled the little girl’s hand away. Cassandra glanced behind her. Both girls had stepped back. The big girl’s eyes showed both fear and acceptance; the little one’s showed only fear. She jerked back to the boys who had not yet come closer.
“Take your clothes off,” the bigger boy said.
She didn’t move, “No!” I’m not taking my clothes off!
“Take’em off!” he said again, much louder.
“Look, man,” the younger boy offered, “The old folks’ll be home soon. She doesn’t have to take her clothes off. We can just pull her panties down.”
Cassandra’s stomach felt instantly empty. What were they talking about? She didn’t really trust the ‘old folks’ to help her much anyway, because they seemed to believe anything the boys told them. Just last week the boys had stolen two cans of beer and blamed her, which got her a slap on her butt and sent to the girls’ room. Not really a bad punishment, but still, the ‘old folks’ hadn’t even given her a chance to explain.
“Right.” The older boy’s grin faded, “Get over here, Cassie-girl.”
She couldn’t move. A fear was creeping into her that she had never before known.
“Do it!”
She still didn’t will herself to move, but her body did. She took two steps closer to them. It was enough. Both boys came at her. She raised her hands. The older boy grabbed her doll and threw it!
“No!” she cried
Then the boys both grabbed one of her hands and jerked them to behind her.
“Hold her!” the older boy said.
Cassandra felt her hands and arms gripped together and raised. It hurt, making her bend over a little. Then she felt her panties gripped. She stiffened and tried to grab them, and she could see the older boy working with his jeans and snap and zipper—
What’s he doing?
“Hold her, goddamn it!”
The younger boy stepped to her side and pulled her hands and arms tighter, and pushed then higher, hurting her more and making her bend more. The other boy jerked her panties down and got behind her.
****
From outside the girls’ room Les Paul heard, “No! Please…!” He recognized the voice of the middle girl, the seven-year-old, “No! I’ll tell!”
“What’re you going to tell, huh?” The twelve-year-old said, “You got in trouble last week for lying, so they aren’t going to believe anything you say. Now stand still!”
“You’re the one who lied!”
“Right! But you’re the one who got in trouble—now quit squirming!”
“No—!”
Les Paul heard much noise. Something hit the floor and spilled, a chair tipped over. One of the other girls screamed, then they both did.
“Shut up, you shits!” yelled the older boy.
They stopped. More noise: A body hit the floor, then another, then the seven-year-old didn’t exactly scream but Les Paul could tell she was hurt, then maybe even gagged with maybe a hand over her mouth. Seven, near the same age as the girl in his dream, or that movie in his head, or whatever the hell it was! He wanted in the worst way to open the door and watch, but didn’t quite dare. Either of the bigger boys, he figured, would not think twice about beating him up…
The fire in the middle of their cave burned not brightly but subdued. He knew how to bank a fire just right so that it would give them light and help keep them warm for at least most of the night.
With his woman he lay in the furry skins. One last peek at his darling little girl child not four feet from the foot of the bed of her parents. She lay quietly, and certainly was sound asleep. That evening she had played hard with a young wolf puppy they had found in their travels that very day. How happy his little girl had become when he allowed her to take the puppy back to their hearth. He h
ad heard of other people taming wolves, which then became friends and great protectors of the family.
The pup now lay in the furs at the foot of his little girl child’s bed. His family was happy and safe. They were well fed. They were healthy. Life was good.
He turned to his woman and enveloped her in his arms and legs. She responded with her own arms and legs. They were entwined, and they shed their fur garments quite easily. He kissed her, long and deeply. Their love was so real, and he had been so alone in the world before he found her.
How many years had he wandered after leaving his own mother and father and siblings. They were so far away now. It would take more seasons to ever return, but now he wouldn’t, for he had found his own love, and his own family had come from that love. His little girl child was soon seven seasons old.
Their kiss continued and continued and continued until his arousal was so full, and so ready, and so…complete. His woman grasped him and squeezed him and pulled him to enter her…and he went, and entered her as she wanted. Her arms clutched him so firmly, her legs wrapped around his legs and she held him as close as their bodies would allow as the peaks of their love-making released them—
He removed his arms from around her body and gripped her neck. She stiffened instantly. Her eyes crashed open, big, round, eyes, showing fear. He loved seeing that fear. He loved seeing those eyes get larger and larger and larger, even seeming to bulge and leave the sockets as her fear grew, as she came to realize she was dying, that he would not stop until the life was gone from her—her body began to convulse as her life force left her, but her arms and legs instinctively tried to fight him.
Then the body stopped. He released her throat, but he needed to be sure. He grasped the sides of her head, and twisted! He heard the snap of her vertebrae, something she would never recover from. He released her, and rose from her body, and dressed, and pulled the bed clothes up to cover her…
The Light at the End of the Tunnel Page 9