Hallowed Horror

by Mark Tufo

“Phht? Spell that.”

  Emma glared. “To work. It’s either internet or the dreaded microfiche.”

  Peter had his own and Allyson's birthdates to research, and Emma took hers and Matt's. Peter started with Allyson: August 18th, 1979. As he opened the very day, he found nothing under the name of Ellen Carver in the Santa Ana Register. Same with the LA Times. He went from one site to the other, hoping to find them, and hoping not to.

  Somehow, if he found her name, it would be like losing Allyson. As Christopher Wickham he had fallen in love with her, that sweet woman-child who was so frightened of the man who controlled her. She'd barely begun to live, and had still not broken from the bonds of her father. At least Peter—or Chris—wanted to see that moment when she tasted true freedom for the first time.

  Peter knew that Ellen Carver would feel her life had been complete, if only she could call her own shots without the interference of Ferguson Carver.

  His eyes scanned the notices before him, if only to take in each page quickly, hoping not to see her name. Christ, he loved her—or them. Ellen and Allyson.

  But without Ellen's death—if Isabel was right—then Allyson would not exist at all.

  That made it a bit easier.

  It did not take Peter long to find her name among those of the contemporaneous dead. Her soul transmigrated to another child the very same day she died, for the date of death for Ellen Carver was exactly that of Allyson’s birth.

  But there was something else, and it flooded Peter’s heart with warmth, yet discomfort.

  Ellen did not die as Ellen Carver, but as Ellen Wickham at the age of 59. Her cause of death was not listed.

  He turned to Emma. “They were married, Em.”

  She looked him, her face a question mark. “Who?”

  “Chris and Ellen. Somehow they were married.”

  “Did you find the death notice?”

  He nodded. “Ellen died on Ally’s birthday.”

  “So immediate. What about Chris?”

  “I’ll find it. Any luck on your end?”

  “Not yet. But I’ll get it.”

  The realization that Chris realized his love and created his family with Ellen Carver made Peter’s heart sing.

  Peter looked quickly through the computer listings, searching by last name. He soon found Christopher Wickham. Chris died a month earlier than Ellen. According to the obituary, he was born in 1916 and had died on July 16th, 1979 at the age of 63. Ellen had died on August 18th of the same year. While Ellen’s said nothing, Chris’ death was listed as “accidental.”

  He began to scan the newspaper from July 17th, 1979. On July 16th, the day he was actually interested in, the big news was Saddam Hussein taking over the reins in Iraq. In Los Angeles, Archbishop McIntyre passed away.

  But on page 8, there were local stories.

  LAGUNA MAN DIES OF CARBON

  MONOXIDE POISONING FROM CAR

  Christopher Wickham, artist, passed yesterday after succumbing to fumes from a running vehicle parked in an attached garage at his home. Wickham had apparently returned home from dropping his wife at a sick friend’s home for the night, then forgot to turn the engine off. He left the pass-through door open, and fumes filled the residence. His wife discovered his body upon her return home the following afternoon. He was rushed to the hospital but was pronounced dead on arrival. Mr. Wickham is survived by his wife, Ellen Wickham. No services were announced.

  It was like reading his own death certificate. Indeed, it was. Peter turned to look at Em, who had already found her assigned notices.

  He jotted on a piece of paper:

  Chris Wickham. Born: 9-10-16 Died: 7-16-79

  Ellen Carver: Born: 2-2-21 Died: 8-18-79

  “What do you have Em?” he asked.

  She turned to him, her eyes sad. “It’s not good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I kind of don’t want to tell Matt.”

  “What, Em?”

  “He dies very soon. Like a year after our 1939 visits.”

  “Are you shitting me?”

  She shook her head. “Fire. Guess where?”

  “The church?”

  “Bingo.”

  “When? I’m making a list.”

  “December 1940. On the 22nd.” Born March 20th, 1918. But Lilly was easiest to find. Famous, you know.”

  “Did it say how she died?”

  “Tragically, but not as romantic as she’d have liked.”

  “How?” Peter asked.

  “Train derailment. She was on the way to a gig in northern California, and it went off the track.”

  “Date?”

  “1979, a year before Ellen and Chris. October 31st.”

  “Halloween.”

  “Just coincidence, I’d say. But it’s a shitty day to die,” Emma added.

  Peter added to his list:

  Joshua Mattingly: Born: 3-20-18 Died: 12-22-40

  Lilly Morris: Born: 6-20-17 Died: 10-31-79

  So now they had them all. All but Ferguson Carver. His was nowhere to be found. Peter clicked back once more at the article about Chris Wickham, then looked again at Ellen’s obituary.

  Since it said Ellen was survived by her father, Mr. Ferguson Carver, the death of Christopher Wickham must have made him a very happy man.

  At least until thirty-three days later when he lost his daughter forever.

  But of course, he killed her, too. He was no ordinary father, something Peter was surprised to find he could not get used to.

  Now, Peter wondered. What became of Carver?

  * * * * *

  Glenn Webster stood before the girl, Tanya Reese, who was presently seated in the witness stand. She was the victim in this trial, and he intended to drill her for as long as it took to break her. They had put her on the stand in the first place because they knew she wouldn't know the difference, and they had been sure it would win the jury over.

  Glenn had other ideas. He'd drill her, all right. Hell, he'd drill her right in the ass if he got the chance. She was probably tight, even if she was only half there.

  His client, Othello Kingsley, sat quietly behind the table in front, staring at the jury, his head resting in his hands. He looked bored, but somehow curious with the members of the jury.

  The jury consisted of five blacks, three Hispanics, and four whites. Not a bad mix for his client. 45% black, almost half, and only 36% female. Another plus for Othello, a transplant from Jamaica who had a predisposition for white women, especially for white women in their teens and early twenties. Unfortunately for him, he'd suffered some kind of severe facial burns as a young boy, and he looked like that kid whose father had lit him on fire, or like that Dick Tracy character, Moleface.

  That was good for him, too. The jury would feel sorry for the poor burn victim. Not that he'd need it. Glenn had other stuff to bury this slut with.

  “So Miss Reese,” he said smoothly, pacing back and forth in front of her. “You say that Mr. Kingsley attacked you without provocation on the evening of May 7th?”

  The girl on the stand nodded and smiled, her freckled face turning toward her mother, her trusting eyes on the woman who had cared for her since birth. In response, her mother clutched the handkerchief and nodded, reassuring her mentally handicapped daughter who would never possess a mental capacity greater than approximately twelve years old.

  “Miss Reese, would you please speak your answers,” said the judge softly. “The court reporter needs to write down what you say. Court reporter and members of the jury, please note the witness responded in the affirmative.”

  “Very well,” Glenn said. “How old are you Miss Reese?”

  She lifted her hand for a moment as if to use them to count on, then with one hand she slapped the other to her lap and smiled, obviously embarrassed. “I'm twenty-four years old,” she said proudly.

  Glenn nodded. “Now, I understand that when you walk in the evenings you wear what could be referred to as short shorts. Is that correc
t?”

  “I like my shorts,” she said. “They're real comfortable for walking. I wear my tennies and my shorts and my tee-shirt and I go walking every day.”

  Glenn smiled for the benefit of the jury. “That's very nice, Miss Reese. Now, I have another question for you, and this may seem a bit forward.” Glenn hesitated while the jury shifted and the judge's brow furrowed.

  “What size bra do you wear?”

  Tanya looked at her mother, the smile spreading across her face partially covered by the back of her right hand.

  “Objection!” shouted the opposing attorney. “This is leading toward a line of lewd questioning that has no bearing on the child's testimony.”

  Glenn jumped in, addressing the judge. “May I remind you, Your Honor, this is not a child. Despite her mental capacity, she is fully developed and has the physique of a young woman in her sexual prime.”

  “Overruled. Miss Reese, can you answer the question?”

  “I don't wear no bra.”

  Glenn stifled a chuckle as he turned away from her, then faced her again. “Have you ever worn a bra?”

  “They're itchy. I told mama I don't want to wear no bra 'cause they make me sore and red.”

  Glenn looked at the fabric of her top. Today she wore a yellow, collared shirt, more like a man's than a woman's. He imagined her unbuttoning each button slowly as he unzipped his trousers and took his cock in his hand. Her empty eyes watching him, not knowing she should fear what was coming as he walked closer to her, finally ripping her shirt open the rest of the way and letting those big tits fall out. Then he'd push her down until his cock was twitching right up against them, and he'd tittyfuck her until he spurted all over her stupid face. She'd laugh like an idiot and he'd want to kill her after so he didn't have to look at her anymore.

  Back to earth. “So, Miss Reese. I'd guess if you did wear a bra, you might be around a 36C cup. Does that sound about right?

  “Objection, Your Honor! She's established she doesn't wear a bra, so how would she possibly know what size it would be if she did?”

  Tanya looked around, confused.

  “I withdraw the question,” Glenn said, waving a hand. “Miss Reese, what were you wearing the day you and Mr. Kingsley met?”

  “A tee-shirt, and white shorts and my tennies.”

  “What kind of tee-shirt was it, Miss Reese? Did it have sleeves or not?”

  “It didn't have no sleeves.”

  “So it was a tank-style tee-shirt?”

  A little of the sparkle disappeared, then she smiled and her eyes grew wide. “A tank top! Yeah, it was a tank top!”

  Glenn smiled again. He was working it, working it. “And you had no bra on under this tank top, did you?”

  “No bra. Bras make me itchy.”

  “Now, Miss Reese. You're a pretty friendly girl, aren't you? Say hi to everyone, talk to people you meet on your walks?”

  “Objection!” shouted her lawyer. “Your Honor, this is clearly designed to put my client in a bad light when she is the victim in this case, not the defendant!”

  “Your Honor,” Glenn said. “With absolutely zero regard to her intentions, I'm just trying to establish whether Miss Reese could be construed by a stranger as a pretty, friendly woman.”

  “I'll allow it,” the judge said. “But hurry it along counselor. Miss Reese, would you answer the question please?”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Glenn said. “Miss Reese, the question was, do you talk to people on the street, act friendly toward them?”

  Tanya nodded. “Yeah, I do. I talk to lots of people every day. 'Specially if they got doggies. I love doggies and I pet them. I even walk Tony and Sheryl's doggie sometimes. He's a poodle.”

  “Now when you were walking up Thiel Avenue the day you met Mr. Kingsley, did he have a doggie?”

  “Yeah, he did. His name's Shiloh, and he's a German Shepherd.”

  “Good, good. Did you approach Mr. Kingsley and ask him if you could pet his dog?”

  She bowed her head and looked ashamed. “Yeah.”

  “What did Mr. Kingsley do when you first approached him? He kept walking, didn't he?”

  “Objection, Your Honor! He's leading the witness!”

  “Rephrase your question, counselor.”

  Glenn nodded. “Okay. Did Mr. Kingsley stop when you started talking to him?”

  “No,” Tanya said.

  “Did you follow him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did you follow him, Tanya.” As he used her first name, he glanced at the girl's mother, whose knuckles were white from squeezing the now soaking wet handkerchief.

  “Into the gully,” she said.

  “And this gully, can you describe it for me?”

  Tanya smiled. “It’s a woody forest with a trail that runs down the middle. It’s shady and pretty. I like it in the gully.”

  “And what happened when you followed him in there, Tanya?”

  “He walked into the gully a ways and I talked to him until he said I could pet his doggie. Shiloh is his name.”

  “What did he do then?”

  “He told me he'd make me a deal.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “He said if he could touch me, I could touch his doggie.”

  “Where did he want to touch you, Tanya?”

  “My . . . titties.” She blushed and covered her mouth. Her eyes did not fall upon her mother.

  “And did you let him?”

  She nodded. “I love doggies.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I was gonna go home 'cause I had to pee, but he said, “Look at Shiloh! He's peein' right outside.”

  “So did you do that, too?”

  She nodded. “Shiloh did it first.”

  “And what happened after that?”

  “He said Shiloh wanted to play with me some more, that Shiloh really loved me, but he'd make another deal with me if he could touch me . . . down there.”

  “And did you make that deal with Mr. Kingsley?”

  She nodded again, and smiled. Her hand automatically went up to cover her mouth.

  “You didn't really mind what Mr. Kingsley did, right Miss Reese? You made a deal and you didn't really care, did you? If that lady hadn't come by and screamed, you might have never told your mother about it at all, right? Might even have gone back for another deal with Mr. Kingsley?”

  “Objection, Your Honor! He's leading the witness!”

  The judge glared at Glenn. “Sustained. Mr. Webster, you will change your line of questioning immediately.”

  Glenn held back his smirk. “I'm only trying to establish what everyone in this courtroom can see. That this girl, while semi-retarded, is an attractive young woman who would clearly appear to a stranger to be able to make her own decisions.”

  “Objection!” shouted the attorney.

  The gavel came down hard, and the judge pointed a rigid finger at Glenn. “Mr. Webster, you are nearly in contempt of my court!” He turned to the court reporter. “Strike that from the record. Members of the jury, you will disregard counsel's last comment. Mr. Webster, approach the bench.”

  Both attorneys came forward.

  “I move for a mistrial,” said the prosecuting attorney. “That can't be taken back.”

  “I didn't say anything they don't already know for themselves,” Glenn said.

  “I'll decide what will and will not be allowed in my courtroom. Now, I want you to get that child off of the stand in short order. Mr. Donohoo, do you want to cross?”

  Donohoo shook his head. “I want her off the stand more than you do.”

  “I'll be quick. Just a couple more questions,” Glenn said.

  “Watch yourself or spend the night in jail,” the judge said.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Glenn held his grin again, but oh, how he wanted to laugh out loud. Instead, he stared at Tanya Reese's ample tits and savored what he had to say. Oh, he'd held this for the longest time,
but now jurisprudence required that he play his trump card.

  “Tanya, had you ever had sex before that day with Mr. Kingsley?”

  “Objection! This is completely out of line, Your Honor!”

  “Where are you going with this, counselor? I told you to wrap it up!” The judge’s voice shook with anger and Glenn got the distinct feeling he’d better get to the point.

  “I'd like to submit to the court this gynecological report taken at the hospital the day of the incident.”

  The bailiff took the report and passed it to the judge. He read it, and Glenn saw his face droop.

  “I'll allow it. Keep it brief.”

  Glenn smiled and nodded. “Tanya, would you please answer the question? Did any man ever touch you in your private places before Mr. Kingsley did?”

  Tanya Reese looked sheepishly at her mother, then said in a low voice, “My daddy did.”

  Evelyn Reese fainted and fell out of her chair.

  The judge did not want to recess. Mrs. Reese was removed from the courtroom and taken outside for some air. When it came time for closing arguments, Glenn was more prepared than Daryl Donohoo.

  Donohoo offered his closing arguments; sad crap explaining how this young girl with a mental disability walked the sidewalks of her neighborhood in safety for years until a man named Othello Kingsley came by to shatter the peacefulness of her life. And while he may not have taken her virginity, he had surely stripped away forever whatever trust in men had remained. Othello Kingsley must be convicted of rape and sentenced to the maximum term.

  Donohoo bowed his head and moved to his seat. Glenn stood.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “I ask that you look at Tanya Reese.” Glenn turned toward her and smiled, and she returned his smile. Her mother was back, and she wasn't smiling.

  “Do you see trauma there? I don't. Tanya's twenty-four years old, five feet nine inches tall, and she weighs around a hundred and twenty pounds. She's clearly attractive. She's friendly. My client had never met her before, and she was also willing.”

  Glenn walked along the front panel of the jury box and glanced from each of them to Tanya. “And as disturbing as it is, she revealed to us that this was not the first time she's engaged in sex, and a gynecological report backs up that statement. Therefore, you must realize that Tanya Reese may no longer be frightened at the idea of sexual intercourse. It’s important that you not focus entirely on her mental age, but on her physical appearance as well. Don't let your personal perceptions of a mentally handicapped person come into play here. You must look solely at the intent of Othello Kingsley. Was he taking advantage of a child? No, Tanya is clearly a woman. Did he realize she was mentally retarded, or was he so intrigued by this pretty, friendly woman that he reacted to signals he thought she was putting out? Maybe that she was putting out? She didn't fight him, we know that. The witness told us that, and there were no defensive injuries on either one of them, save for some scratches made by the weeds.” Glenn smiled, and he was sure a couple of the men on the jury smiled with him.