From the Chrysalis: a novel

by Karen E. Black

  One morning Uncle Norm called her at the residence. She picked up the phone and heard a grown man crying. “Liza,” he said. “They got him. He’s back in jail.”

  “No,” she whispered, sliding down the wall and burying her head in her knees. “That’s impossible. We went to the lake last night.”

  “It’s true. They arrested him at a biker party. Then they came out here and wrecked his room. Tore up the shed, too. I had to put myself between them and the poor dog.”

  “Jesus! I told him all summer to stay away from those guys.”

  She didn’t mention she had been to the Clubhouse, didn’t tell him about the things she’d hidden for him. She felt sick to her stomach over the things she was keeping secret. God. She was twenty years old and had so many stories she couldn’t tell. Anybody could be listening on the phone. And Uncle Norm might blame her if he knew. Stupid, stupid! She had been responsible for keeping Dace safe. Maybe if she had said no earlier, maybe if she had taken him away … She heard a little hiss on the other end of the line: the sharp intake of Uncle Norm’s breath.

  “Sorry, what’s that? Are you okay?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. When they busted in here, one of the buggers twisted my wrist.”

  “You should go to the doctor, Uncle Norm. What are the charges? Is it a parole beef ?”

  “No. Weapons. They said he had a knife, but that’s a goddamn lie. It was a set up. I don’t know what’s going on, but they want him back.”

  “It’s okay, Uncle Norm. Don’t tell me anymore. It’ll be in the paper tonight.”

  “Lies, all lies. I have to go now. The lawyer says I can probably get him out if I post $50,000 bail. He’ll have to stay here at the house, though, until the trial.”

  “Thank God. The locals are going to love that,” Liza said wryly, and hung up.

  She was relieved she and Janice had finally gotten a phone in their room. She collapsed facedown on her bed, stuck her face into her pillow, and screamed.

  Chapter 27

  Making Choices

  Devereux farm, near Maitland, August 27, 1972:

  He couldn’t leave the farm, so the night before Dace was due back in court she met him there. She was so upset, she hadn’t remembered to bring her purse, much less her pills and she had already forgotten to take two of them this week. Uncle Norm was in the woodshed, hammering together a five-tiered birdhouse: a Purple Martin house, he said. He was slack-faced with grief and looking old. What was he, forty-five? A cigarette hung from his mouth and a bottle of Johnny Walker waited on a three-legged stool by his feet, three quarters gone.

  Dace was smoking too, balancing a metal ashtray full of reeking butts on his left hand. He wore a long-sleeved Levi shirt and soft blue jeans. On the outside he looked relatively calm. Like me, Liza thought, just before I’m about to scream.

  Uncle Norm wiped his bottle off and offered it to her, but he had little to say. It was almost as if he thought if he didn’t talk about Dace’s court appearance, maybe it would just go away.

  Liza took a small swig of Johnny Walker and welcomed its burning slide down her throat. “Uncle Norm, I’m s—”

  “It’s not your fault, little girl. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s the police. They have it in for him.”

  “For the love of God, Dad,” Dace said, kicking an old tire lying on the sawdust-covered floor. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here. It doesn’t matter if they have it in for me. I’m my own man. C’mon, Liza, let’s get out of here.”

  “We can’t go anyplace,” she protested, glancing at Uncle Norm. He shrugged and cursed when the hammer slipped, almost striking his thumb.

  “Jesus Christ. I’m not in jail yet. We can go for a goddamn walk,” Dace said, walking out the shed towards the back of the property. “Get over here. Take a look at the full moon.”

  “Dace,” Liza ventured, running to catch up with him.

  “Shut the fuck up,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders and squeezing her against his side. “I’m tired of everybody yapping at me.”

  “I’m not everybody,” she snapped. She walked beside him into the tall uncut grass by the trees, until all they could see of the house Uncle Norm had built for him was the occasional twinkle of window light.

  He tried to push her from him, but she grabbed his right arm and held on tight. He kissed her, going right for her mouth. “Liza,” he broke off, pushing at the waist band of her pants. “I’m warning you, I’m not myself tonight. Get out of your jeans or I’ll rip them off myself.”

  “Dace,” she said between kisses, stripping almost as quickly as he did until jeans, shirts and underwear littered the damp ground. “What’s the matter? Are you scared?”

  He stopped kissing her then and held her out at arms’ length. She looked at him warily, then closed her eyes, almost afraid of what was coming next. His eyes, his mouth and his nose had all narrowed; he had never looked so livid, at least not at her. He shook her for what seemed like a long time so that her head whipped back and forth and spittle flew from her mouth.

  “Dace?” she tried to say, counting her blessings he wasn’t a man to slap her, although she almost wished he were. Anything would be better than sensing his terrible fear. Twigs snapped underfoot when he finally stopped shaking her and took her in his arms. For a moment, her feet left the ground. She closed her eyes and held on tight until he dumped her back down.

  “No,” he said, thrusting a leg between her knees and burying his face in her neck, then in her hair. “Check between my legs. Does it feel like I’m scared? Goddamn, Liza. The only thing I’m afraid of is losing you. I’ve been to court for something much worse before. This is just a bullshit charge. To get me back in the can. The Crown Attorney visited me yesterday. Oh, yeah, that’s right. Came all the way out here. Ate a half dozen of Mrs. O’Connor’s muffins and drank some tea with a splash of whiskey on the side. Didn’t Dad tell you? He’s always yammering to you on the phone.”

  “Of course he didn’t. He hasn’t had time. The Crown—that’s like the prosecuting attorney, right? What did he want?” she asked, taking his head between her hands and trying to focus on his eyes. He reeked of perspiration but she didn’t care.

  Dace ripped his face from her hands. She fell back, staggering a little, struggling to keep her balance on the uneven ground. He steadied her by reaching for her elbow, but he still wasn’t ready to look at her or talk about what was really bothering him. Instead he stared at the sky. She stood alone, bereft, competing with the stars for his attention. “She. The attorney is a she. My God, a woman can do anything these days. Although I gotta tell you, she looks like she’s one tough lady. Kind of like Margaret Thatcher.”

  Liza crossed her arms over her chest, barely suppressing a grin. “Meaning she was immune to your charms. So what did she say?”

  “That they’re charging a bunch of the guys with the murders of those diddlers last year.”

  “The riot victims?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

  “Yeah, those victims,” he said, suddenly grabbing her hair with both hands and giving her head another shake.

  Tears sprang into her eyes, but she didn’t care. At least he was touching her. “Okay, so it’s about time.”

  He wiped the tears from her eyes with his thumbs. “Liza, they’re charging Alf and Steve with second degree murder,” he whispered. His hands slid down her smooth cheeks and settled on her shoulders.

  He still couldn’t look at her, though. She rubbed her cheek against his right hand, trying to make him see her. “But weren’t those the guys on your Inmate Police Force team? And Steve, isn’t he the one who’s seventeen?”

  “Well, he might be eighteen now. But the point is, he didn’t do anything like that. I swear on Granny Debo’s grave that he was with me almost all the time.”

  “So you told them that,” she whispered, wondering if it were just the moonlight that made him look so pale.

  “Yes, but that’s not what they wanted. They w
ant me testify against Alf and Steve.”

  When her legs almost buckled, she lay down, trying to take him with her as she sank to the ground. “Oh baby, you can’t. So that’s that, right?”

  He looked down at her and knew he saw her as luminous, as she saw him. She was smiling and crying at the same time, beckoning him with her open palms. “Please,” she begged, reaching for his stiffened penis, ready to take him in her mouth.

  He slapped her hands aside. Some of their clothes had landed close by. Retrieving his discarded jeans, he lifted her hips and bunched them under her rear.

  “Open,” he said, placing his feet astride her and sinking between her spread thighs. He stayed on one elbow so he could keep one arm free. His sex bulged against her hip; they both knew he was good for a while. Her labia peeked from its nest of curly hair, blush pink, but he ignored it, caressing her erect nipples with his thick fingers instead. Nerve lines ran directly from her nipples to her clitoris, the beautiful place he had traced so many times before.

  “So that’s that,” she repeated, taking a deep breath and trying to relax. “They’ll leave you alone now.”

  “Maybe. I doubt it though. That’s not the way it works. Uh Liza, you aren’t helping here, you’ve got to let me in,” he said when he finally brushed her elevated sex. She was moist, but not quite enough. “And no more crying, for God’s sake,” he said, inserting two fingers inside her before seeking out her tiny bud again. “You gotta stop it.”

  “Okay,” she gasped, grabbing his shoulders and arching both her neck and her back. “Sweet Jesus, that feels good. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop. Yes, right there. Ooh. Maybe,” she said, trying not to pant, “we should just run away. We could be at the Niagara Falls Peace Bridge before daylight and cross in the dark.”

  “It’s too late now. They’re watching us. They’ve been watching all summer. You know that.”

  “Wait. What’s that noise?” She tried to lift her head and chest in the small clearing they had churned in the grass, but her hair looked like it had rooted to the ground. “I hear bikes. What the hell are bikes doing out here?”

  “Shh,” he said, also lifting his head and listening to the noise only Harleys make. “Sounds like the guys.”

  “I thought they arrested all the bikers,” she said, laying back down with him still between her legs.

  “Not all of us. It’s okay. They’re probably just here to say goodbye, show the faith.”

  “But you’re not going anywhere! You’re going to beat this rap.”

  “Depends who’s the judge.”

  “Can’t you give him a little something?”

  Almost deflating but not quite, he lowered his face until his forehead touched hers. He spoke slowly and distinctly through gritted teeth. “What, Liza? What should I give him? Some pot? Or maybe one of my bros, for Christ’s sake? Or how about the title to the farm, my father’s place? I can’t just rat somebody out. What kind of life would I have after that … if I could live with myself?”

  “I wish you hadn’t taken up with them.”

  “Baby, how many times do I have to tell you? It makes me see red when people tell me what to do. Even you. It always has. I’m a man.”

  “You’re a man,” she agreed meekly, wrapping her legs around his hips. “You’re not going to run off with your biking brothers tonight, are you?”

  He lowered his face to her breasts, digging his hands into her rear. “No. Not as long as you’re good. The way I feel right now, I don’t want to party. Yeah, it’s true. I’ve kind of gotten used to hanging out with my old man and waiting for you to call. Have a little faith, girl. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “I’d like to believe you,” she said, sliding out from under him and rolling onto her stomach.

  “You know it pisses me off when you doubt my word. Get the hell back here or I’ll …”

  “Or you’ll what?” she teased. “Wait. What’s that?” She glanced back over her shoulder, into the woods. “Did you hear that? That snap, that crunch in the brush? Oh Dace, I think I see eyes! What if somebody’s sneaking up on us?”

  “It’s just an animal,” he said, stretching out and lightly touching her back. “A little fox like you. There now. You’ve scared him away.”

  “Darling, you’re crying.” She reached back a hand, looking at him through her hair.

  He flicked her bottom several times with the back of his hand. “I’m not crying! Why the hell would a grown man cry? Enough of this,” he said, grabbing her waist and positioning himself across her reddened backside. “You’re being a really bad girl tonight. Open up and let me in,” he insisted. “You’re ready, aren’t you?” He prodded two fingers inside, checking. “Ah, I thought so,” he said, then rammed his penis between her quivering buttocks and into her vagina, full force.

  She raised herself on her forearms, wishing her hair weren’t in her face. “Wait. I don’t like …” she started to say, feeling a little too full, even though she had opened up almost all the way.

  “But you will,” he said, ripping the leather thong from his own hair and securing most of hers back in a ponytail. “Just wait.”

  Her eyes scanned the forest the moment she could see. The tips of her aching breasts brushed the ground. She squeezed them with her own hands. Who was there? Who was watching? What if somebody were behind them? Her rear was way up in the air. She had never felt so naked or exposed. Even so, she hoped he would keep slamming her hard.

  “No, I … I don’t want things to end. I mean, I don’t want to come yet. I …”

  “Yes, you do,” he said, reaching around and stroking her clitoris with a finger at the same time as he plunged. She looked back over her shoulder, just once. He was wide-eyed, upright on his knees, all the protection she had against whatever hid in the trees. “Everything, my darling. Everything’s going to be all right,” he repeated, thrusting into her as if he wanted to go deeper than he’d ever gone before. The walls of her vagina clamped down over and over, determined to hold him in. Her hands and knees shook, but she didn’t want him to stop, no matter what she said.

  “No,” she cried, overwhelmed. “No!” even as they both came.

  Much later he wrapped her in his soft blue shirt and held her the rest of the night, although neither one of them really slept. Liza watched the night eyes in the forest and made wishes on falling stars. Dace was the air around her, his warm breath a breeze on her neck. He couldn’t make love again, although she wanted to, wanted to see his face above her once more. She wasn’t worried, though, not then. They were safe as long as all they had to worry about was the night. In the dark they were safer than they had ever been in the light.

  * * *

  It was a trumped up charge, but it might do. Dace had been there, that was all, but the Maitland Spectator called him a full-patch member. The reporters were so thrilled they might as well have gotten high. D’Arcy Devereux was about as bad as a Maitland boy got. Hell, the Spectator had called him worse over the years, Dace confessed to her during the final hours of his freedom. Come court time, his attitude didn’t sit too well with long time resident Judge Silverton. This desperado, this infamous defendant, was a probationary member of society, and a man well known to the police.

  “He’s a vicious thug now and he was a vicious punk then,” Judge Silverton took the liberty of volunteering off the record later. He hadn’t said a word in court. No sirree, Liza thought. Silverton was much too smart. Probably figured he could do more good sitting on the Bench than sitting in some dusty office trying to get reinstated. Like maybe he could keep Maitland streets clean. Juvenile records were supposed to be sealed anyway, and he liked to keep law and order, though he didn’t necessarily agree in this particular case.

  Later he was happy to tell anyone who would listen that men like D’Arcy Devereux always got too many chances, but in 1972 there had been no telling what he might do or say. Why, an ex-con from Maitland Penitentiary had only recently published a book
which had said plenty about nasty foster parents, police brutality and the whole goddamn legal system.

  Judge Silverton rolled off the phrase “a man well known to police” several times more, hoping the press might be clever enough to remember D’Arcy Devereux had gone bad long before he was put away in 1966, but they weren’t.

  They also weren’t clever enough to figure out that Dace knew the Judge. A lot of things might be forgotten, but a first time experience hardly ever is. Dace would never forget this man. The grey-haired man on the bench had helped seal Dace’s juvenile fate.

  It wasn’t just the name he’d recognized though, he told Liza a little later. It was the shape of his mouth. Judge Silverton had the same thin lips as his nephew Father Danby. Just my luck, other people might have thought, but Dace didn’t think that way. Only fools believed in luck. Besides, professional people were nearly always related. Especially if they had lived in the same small towns.

  “If you aren’t going to listen,” Judge Silverton shook his mane of grey hair, affecting rock bottom sorrow. Dace observed that his lips were the grim lines of a man who had hoped to mitigate the testimony of a ten-year-old child. And while the child wasn’t exactly believed, he had still been instrumental in the disgrace and expulsion of Silverton’s beloved nephew to a northern residential school.

  Liza could only guess what Silverton was thinking. In the courtroom, for one brief moment, she saw Dace through his cold blue eyes. Jesus, the man had been Outside for less than six months and by violating his parole and associating with losers, he had risked re-incarceration and ended up right back here. Why had he abdicated so much control? What had they talked about all summer? How many times had she pleaded with him to stay away from the Clubhouse? How many times had she waited until he was gentle with love?