by Joy Redmond
The night before he was to start his junior year of high school, he lay in his bed and his mind went back to the last time he’d been with Caroline. He could still see her legs trembling like gelatin as she lay back on the bed. Then his lips descended upon hers like a thief, taking what he wanted with a polite violence. His hands had quickly and mischievously undressed her, never taking his lips from hers. Hands touching and exploring, mouths feasting and consuming, ripples of delight were cascading up and down her spine, terminating in warm, wet radiance between her legs.
The women had paid handsomely during that summer, and the cigar box he had hidden beneath the loose planks under his bed was filling up with get-away money. The next summer was even more profitable. Four more women lured him into their beds and they willingly paid for his service.
Chapter Eleven
Lance saved every dollar he could. Miss Hampton made him buy his own personal items, but he lived simple and saved a lot. Miss Hampton told Lance that he didn’t have to leave Hampton House when he turned eighteen. He knew it was because she needed a man to do the hard work. She was getting on in years and she wasn’t able to work as hard as she once had. Bonnie Sue and Mary Lou were the only girls and they couldn’t chop wood as fast as it needed to be done, and they weren’t capable of plowing the ground for the garden.
The night before Lance graduated from high school he said his goodbyes to Mr. Wiggins and thanked him for being his friend and introducing him to the real world.
Mr. Wiggins shook Lance’s hand, slapped him on the back and his voice trembled a bit as he said, “You’ve been like my own boy, since I never had nothing but girls. I hope I’ve given you a few pointers that’ll come in handy when you get outta these hills. I hate to see ya go, but I realize this is a nowhere place and ya need to discover greener pastures.” As he shook Lance’s hand one more time, he slipped him a ten dollar bill. “It ain’t much, but I hope it helps.”
“It sure will, Mr. Wiggins. And I thank you for everything.” Lance hurried on his way. He knew he would miss Mr. Wiggins, but the thought of getting out of Hampton House was so exciting, it was all he could feel at the moment.
The night Lance graduated from high school, Miss Hampton, Bonnie Sue and Mary Lou attended the commencement, and Lance noticed Miss Hampton sitting high and mighty, as if she had earned the diploma for him. After the ceremony, they headed back to Hampton House, and Ruby asked Lance if he would sit up front with her in the pickup.
“No. I rode in the bed on the way here, and that’s where I’ll be riding back to Hampton House. Let the girls ride up front.” He jumped over the tail gate, then told Bonnie Sue and Mary Lou to get in the cab. “I wanna ride back here by myself. I’ve got some thinking to do and you two don’t know how to keep your mouths shut. You give me a headache.” Lance noticed how quickly Mary Lou jumped out of the truck bed, but he noticed that Bonnie Sue was teary-eyed. Sometimes, Bonnie Sue really got on his nerves, the way she always wanted to cling to him.
As soon as they arrived back at Hampton House, Lance jumped out of the truck bed before Ruby had come to a complete stop. He headed for the back door and heard Ruby yell, “Bonnie Sue, how many times so I have to tell you, you better keep your distance from him. You stay in the truck until he goes to his room. And you better not go into his room. I’ll be watching and listening. I’ll have your hide if you don’t mind me.”
Lance heard Bonnie Sue whimper, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll keep my distance.” He blew a sigh of relief.
He entered the kitchen feeling hungry, but he didn’t want to look at Ruby’s face when she came inside. He ran upstairs and shut his bedroom door. He undressed, turned out the light and lay nude on his bed, enjoying the night breeze coming through the window. Soon, he fell asleep.
The next morning he dragged out the cigar box, carefully counted the money, and whispered, “Six-hundred dollars!” He let the bills slowly fall into his lap as if they were green snowflakes. “Freedom, freedom,” he sang, as he picked up the bills and placed them back into the box.
After careful consideration, he decided he was California bound; Los Angeles, where the rich bitches lived. He had read all about them in the magazines. He was confident the rich bitches would take to a man like him and support him in the style he had longed for, for years. His body was rock-hard from the many years of swinging an ax on the post pile. His face was more handsome than the popular movie stars. His jet black hair that hung to his shoulders along with his dark brown eyes and dark complexion set him apart from the rest of the young men.
He walked across the room and whispered to his reflection in the mirror that hung over the head of his bed. “Look out, ladies. Here I come!”
In a rapid fury he packed a cardboard suitcase containing all that he owned. He descended the stairs two at a time, singing, “Free at last, gonna travel fast.” When he reached the bottom of the staircase he remembered the many mornings he had run down the same stairs, trying to make it to the breakfast table on time. He smiled as he recalled the mornings when he hadn’t made it in time, and Peggy Jo threw a piece of toast, or a piece of bacon, or half a pancake under the table.
Peggy Jo had left the year after Jimmy and he still had fond memories of her. She was a girl, but he admitted to himself that he had liked her. The other girls had left one at a time over the next four years.
He stood in the living room for a few minutes, did a quick soft-shoe, then proceeded across the floor, opened the front door, and came face to face with Miss Hampton.
She eyed the suitcase, placed her hands on her hips, her thin lips drawn tight, her long narrow nose tilted upward, resembling a harpy. “And where do you think you’re going?” she asked in a booming voice that sounded like a foghorn.
“As far away from you as I can get, you old bitch!” He gave her an evil grin, and he could feel his eyes glowing as if the devil were dancing on his corneas.
“Oh, Mr. Smart-ass with his big diploma thinks he’s man enough to make it on his own? Well, let me tell you one thing, boy—you won’t last a month. I’ll see you—”
“I’ll see you in hell!” he interrupted. He gave a slight salute, sidestepped her, and hopped down the steps. He strolled across the yard, surveying the many trees, the sandbox, and the old woodshed.
As he walked to the edge of the front yard, he saw Bonnie Sue squatting beside a hickory tree, tears running, her hands waving. Bonnie Sue was ten-years-old, but as he eyed her, he had a flashback of the four-year-old hugging him, telling him that she loved him. He waved, blew a kiss, turned and headed up the lane.
Miss Hampton ran after him, her arms outstretched. “Don’t leave, please. I took you when your own mama didn’t want you. I’m the only mama you have—I need you in my old age.”
Lance had never seen the soft side of Miss Hampton, and it amused him. He gave a sinister laugh as he took a step toward her and pushed her with all his strength. She fell and her large body indented into the loose dirt. To his surprise, she sat on the ground, buried her face in her hands and cried. Then she held her arms up to him and whimpered, “Lance. Oh, Lance!”
He flipped her the bird, then merrily headed up the dirt lane.
***
Ruby picked herself up from the ground. She wiped her tears so the girls wouldn’t see her crying. She wasn’t sure she could feel the earth beneath her feet as she made her way across the yard and into the house.
Bonnie Sue and Mary Lou were nowhere in sight, and Ruby figured they had run to their rooms after witnessing the unspeakable and disrespectful actions of Lance. She unlocked her bedroom, not bothering to lock it once she was inside. She walked over to her desk and opened the top drawer. She pushed all the letters aside and took out a fresh piece of stationary. She loved the picture of the lilac at the top right corner. She couldn’t remember how old the stationary was, but it still had a new smell to it.
She reached for a ballpoint pen. It was the first letter she would write in ink. Her hands trembled as she began.
May 22, 1967
Dear Cousin Willadeen,
I know you’ve been gone for a few years but I still need to write to you. Once I put my feelings on paper it helps me empty my heart pain. I’ve never had anybody to talk to in person, so my writing to you is all I’ve ever had to help me though the hard times. Thank you for always being there for me, even though you never knew about it.
Today was one of the worse days of my life. I lost Lance. I think the pain is almost as bad as the day I lost Robbie. Now they are both gone and there’s such a hole in my heart. I can only hope that Lance will come back to see me before I die. I’m getting on up in age and I don’t have that many years left, but I refuse to go on to whatever my reward will be in the Great Beyond until I see his face one more time.
As soon as I see the face of Lance Jackson again, I’ll give up the ghost and go on Home and be with you, Aunt Maybelle, Uncle Vernon, and Father, and I’ll finally get to meet Mother.
Sincerely,
Cousin Ruby
Chapter Twelve
When Lance reached Rural Route 4, he mopped his brow and flung sweat to the ground. The North Carolina sun was beating down hard, and Miss Hampton’s voice was still ringing in his ears, giving him a headache. He stood on the side of the road with his thumb out and hitched a ride with the second car that came along.
Each time he’d gotten as far as a ride would take him, he thumbed a few minutes and soon he had another lift. By dusk, he hopped a ride with a truck driver who took him across several states. A few truck drivers and four days later, he arrived in Los Angeles. The place was more splendid than the pictures he’d seen in the magazines. The sight of the Pacific Ocean astounded him. “That’s spectacular!” he said, and stared in awe.
He spent the first three days walking the beach, admiring the bikini babes, watching the surfers, and enjoying the beauty. He spent the nights sleeping on a blanket spread on the cool sand, listening to the roar of the great ocean, longing to set sail to some unknown place. “Someday I will,” he said, as if he were talking to the stars.
He smiled as he thought about sailing the seven seas and drifted into a sound sleep.
Suddenly, he was on a large ship. Life aboard a ship was like being surrounded by men in a metal can. One of the guys on the ship was a brute with a low forehead and close-set eyes that peered out from beneath bushy eyebrows, resembling a Neanderthal. Several times, Brute leaned in close to Lance and said, “I’m going to screw you,” then he’d give an obscene little girl giggle.
Suddenly, Lance was down below in the Engine Room tool locker, cleaning wrenches and hanging them in their proper spots on the peg boarded bulkhead. He turned around and Brute was standing just inside the door, holding his erect member and leering at Lance.
Brute stepped through the door and grabbed Lance by the arm. Brute had a grip like iron and before Lance could react, Brute pulled him close and kissed him hard on the mouth, and his nasty tongue licked his lips.
Lance struggled to get away, but Brute was strong and he pushed Lance against the work bench, covering his face with his foul kisses. “Come on,” he said, “show Daddy what you got down here,” as he put his hand between Lance’s legs, trying to unfasten his pants. Brute’s foul breath was like garbage in a dump, reeking of filth.
Lance grabbed the first heavy tool his hand was close to. It was a heavy rubber mallet, and Lance hit him with the butt end of the wooden handle in the ribs as hard as he could. Lance loosened Brute’s grip and broke free of him.
Brute lunged at Lance and Lance brought the hammer down on the side of his head. He hit him several more times as Brute slumped to the deck, holding his hand up, trying to shield the blows.
Brute was on his knees, but he crawled toward Lance, growling. “I'm going to kill you, you sonofabitch!”
Lance avoided his grasp and kicked him in the face with his steel-toed shoe, knocking him backwards onto the deck.
Brute started to scramble to his feet, his narrow dark eyes glaring red hot hate.
Lance managed to grab Brute around the neck and pushed his thumbs in on his Adams Apple.
Brute’s eyes began to bug, he went weak in the knees, his body hit the deck, lying in a heap. Again, Lance grabbed the mallet and beat him over the head. Blood was running down Brute’s head from the blows. Lance stood over him, breathing hard, out of arm’s reach while the blood pooled beneath his head on the metal deck plates.
Minutes later, the First Engineer descended the ladder from the upper deck. His eyes widened when he saw the deck ape laying there covered in blood. “Jesus, kid! What the hell went on down here?”
Lance explained what had happened.
The First Engineer said, “Go get cleaned up, kid.”
Lance went topside to his room, took a shower and rinsed the filth off of him. He could still smell Brute’s disgusting breath, and he wanted to puke.
Lance had just finished getting dressed when there was a knock on the door and the Third Mate said, "Come up to the Bridge.” Lance followed him to the Captain's cabin where the Captain, the First Mate and the two deckhands were gathered together.
Captain sat in his chair at his desk, a log book open and a pen lying across it. He lit a cigar, swiveled his feet around and propped them on the desk. “You want to tell me what happened up there?”
Again, Lance told his story.
Captain blew a heavy smoke ring towards the ceiling and it drifted about in the still air of the cabin. Then Captain looked at First Mate and then back at Lance, then back at First Mate. They both started laughing. Captain pulled a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the desk and poured three shots into glasses. He handed Lance one, and the other to First Mate. “Damn it, do you have any idea how much trouble this is going to cause this ship?”
“No, sir,” Lance replied.
“The Coast Guard is going to be all over this.” He looked at First Mate. “What do you think, Joe?”
First Mate rubbed his chin and smiled, “I think that clumsy sonofabitch fell down the ladder in the engine room, Captain.”
Captain puffed on the cigar, clouds of smoke wreathing the room. Then he picked up the pen and entered it into the log. He spun it around so Lance could read it. It was written up the way First Mate had stated it.
“Sign it,” was all Captain said to Lance. Then he turned to First Mate and said, “Pour us another shot of Jack.” He pointed his cigar at Lance and said in all seriousness, “You tell it just like it’s written up to anybody that asks, got it?”
Lance’s body jerked, he sat up drenched in sweat, realizing he had been dreaming. He wiped his brow. He lay back down with a smile, thinking how he had gotten by with killing, even in a dream. But he decided that sailing the seas may not be for him.
The next day, he walked the streets of L.A., amazed by the strange sights that were so different from North Carolina. He gazed upward, spied a large billboard, and read, “Uncle Sam wants you.” He pointed his finger, studied the face with the long, white beard, the black top hat, and the red-white-and-blue vest. Uncle Sam wants me?
He studied the pointing finger on the billboard for a few minutes, and it seemed to be wiggling, beckoning him. Uncle Sam is my way to kill a few commie bastards. I’ll fight for my country, become a hero and maybe get myself decorated.
Chapter Thirteen
After three nights of sleeping on the cool beaches, Lance decided he’d turn loose of enough money and rent a cheap motel room until he found a rich bitch. He settled into his room, opened a fifth of Jack Daniel’s and polished off the whole bottle before his mind deliciously washed away into fluid fantasy as he fell asleep.
He was in boot camp. The training was grueling and he lay on his bunk, exhausted, but no more exhausted than he’d been many times as a young boy when Miss Hampton had worked him half to death. He accepted the sore aching muscles and blistered feet as a reward.
Two other recruits infuriated him with their complaining, and he’d yell, “Shi
itt! This ain’t nothing, you two pussies! You call yourselves soldiers? Ha! You need to go back home and suck your mama’s titties.”
He watched their expressions of loathing, and it gave him a thrill. He hadn’t enlisted to make friends with a bunch of pussies whom he thought should strap on a Kotex instead of a gun. He was a real soldier. He was a warrior!
Suddenly, he was engaged in a poker game. He kept losing and he knew the G.I. who won every pot was cheating. Lance grabbed him by the throat and began to choke with all his strength. It took three other G.I.’s to pull Lance off before he killed the guy.
First Sergeant summoned the military police who hauled him off and threw him in the brig. When lights were out, Lance lay on a cot and spiders and mice began to roam his body. He slapped and slapped, but they seemed to multiply. Lance jumped from the cot, grabbed the steel bars and banged his head against them until he knocked himself unconscious. Thirty days later he was released and handed his discharge papers. Section Eight. Deemed insane.
Lance sat up in bed. He wasn’t sure where he was for a minute. Then he realized he wasn’t in boot camp. He was in a shabby motel room. “Damn, I’ve read too many magazines. I don’t think I want any part of the Army, or going to Vietnam. I think I’ll keep my sexy ass here in California. I’ve got to get outta this flea bag. Tomorrow I’ll find something better.” He fell back against his pillow and hoped he didn’t have any more dreams. The last two were too real. Would he ever stop having nightmares about spiders and mice? Would he ever stop craving the thrill of a kill?
Lance wandered around his room, running his hand through his thick, black hair. He sat on the bedside, dropped his head into his hands, feeling a headache coming on. It was the kind of headache that made him go insane, the kind that caused an overwhelming urge to kill.
He flopped backward across the bed, enjoying the breeze coming through the open window. Then he decided to take a stroll on the beach. One never knew when a beautiful girl with a long slender neck would come along. His palms itched.