The Dream Virgin

by Don Quine

  Inside the den, walls were framed with pornography, posters of famous XXX-rated films, signed photos from porn stars like John Holmes and Jenna Jameson and Dildonna Trix who Randall said was hot, but dumber than her name.

  Leon explained to Randall that the reason they asked if they could talk in private was Reimer Gore, the criminal who abused Chip Bickford eight years ago, had escaped from prison and had video files that Perry Wilcox, the electrician-plumber who turned out to be a Peeping Tom captured on cameras that he installed in Randall’s bathrooms and the bathrooms of his friends, so he could watch them and jerk off until he died of cancer a long time ago.

  Jack told Randall the videos showed some kinky sex, but were blurry.

  It was the unblurry ones with dogs giving and receiving oral pleasure that Reimer would likely use.

  Randall sat down in shock, covered his face, bawled like a baby.

  It was down to a bed of embers when Elfri nodded to Chip who was in charge of tossing logs on the fire. Elfri wanted to turn in, Chip wanted to burn just one more. For the third time. Chip loved the dream circles.

  Leah and Didjano and Hunter and Josh had left the circle after the big fireworks show ended, so it was just the two of them, sitting and discussing Chip’s latest drawings, Elfri doing the talking which wasn’t all that much.

  Hunter had shared how he read that small dogs dream more often than large ones, how his little Tinker acted out in her dreams, dug imaginary holes and barked at burglars. He showed videos of her doing it in her sleep that made everyone crack up.

  Didjano told them about a recurring dream she had where gutter rats climbed under the bed blankets and tried to nibble her toes while she was sleeping. Figured it was because she knew this was happening for real to people who were starving and homeless.

  Chip showed her some of his nightmare art, which made Didjano think rats weren’t so bad.

  Elfri and Chip were alone for a while now and didn’t say anything. Just watched the fire until Oliver and Jack showed up, a pair of cargo pants now hiding Jack’s fig leaf.

  Chip was happy for the unexpected company.

  Elfri said it was getting late. Oliver still made her nervous. She felt some relief now that the Nestlings accepted the Sky connection, but she wished that her gut would stop knotting up whenever Oliver got near her.

  Jack was quite the character and if she let herself focus on him, the knot loosened.

  Jack told Elfri that he had sat in on circles with some Chippewa Indian buddies who sold handmade dream catchers to tourists and were linked to the Great Spirit. Jack said he’d honor Elfri’s dream circle circumference if she would let him sit in.

  Oliver thanked Elfri for taking Chip under her shoulder, setting up the dream circle at Leon’s near the Express so Chip could be a part of it.

  Jack told Elfri she was beautiful in more ways that the human heart could handle, turned to Chip and asked if he didn’t agree. Chip nodded. Jack talked more about dreams, said if you didn’t have one, you had nothing. Elfri liked that Jack flirted with her, not seriously, but enough to get Oliver to give Jack a watch-it look.

  Jack went on, invited Elfri to visit Ravens Rest, maybe they could get a circle going up there. She could ride over on one of Leon’s horses, or he could pick her up on his Harley.

  Suddenly, they all turned toward the kennels when the dogs barked in alarm. Then, almost immediately, the barking stopped.

  For some reason it made Chip smile.

  Oliver stood, said Elfri was right, it was getting late.

  Jack told Oliver, “Don’t get your panties in a wrinkle, Twist.”

  Elfri was about to ask Jack why he called Oliver, Twist. Was it his band name? Then thought it might be the book. Elfri hadn’t read Oliver Twist, but knew a librarian who was a Charles Dickens fan, who told her about the boy in the story being an orphan. So it was an obvious fit. She’d check it out with Leon or Molly to be sure. Jack wasn’t the literary type.

  Oliver said, “Big day tomorrow, I gotta go,” and headed for the driveway and his cart. Accepting it was late, Jack said, “Okay, I’m coming,” waved to Elfri and Chip and caught up to Oliver.

  Elfri stood up, “Ready to grab some shut eye?”

  Chip got up from the burned-out fire and took Elfri’s hand. When they got in the house, the stars were out and bright in the sky.

  It was darker out by the kennels. And quiet.

  But if you listened closely you could hear the dogs making whimpering sounds, like they were holding back howls out of fear.

  If you looked carefully at the kennels from where the dream circle was, let your eyes focus a while, you’d see a pair of eyes staring at you.

  Piercing orange eyes that were there and then gone.

  Shortly after they disappeared, the dogs stopped whimpering.

  “If I knew a gang of blackmailers had videos of me giving some pooch a blowjob, I’d cry my ass off, too,” Will said.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions, let me finish what I was saying. Besides, it’s his lady friends that gave the knobbies,” Leon said.

  He and Will were sitting at the Easy Does It, near midnight, the S2S bar loud and lively on the 4th. Leon and Will didn’t need to worry about being overheard.

  “So like I said, Randall starts crying, hoped Perry Wilcox was rotting in hell, how Randall’s life was ruined; had real tears in his eyes.”

  “Got that. Then what?”

  “So, then Randall stands up, looks at us thinking the blackmail news has buried him, points his fingers like pistols and shoots us with ‘Gotcha!’ and starts laughing his ass off.”

  Leon had Will’s full attention.

  “How’s that?”

  “When Randall finally stopped laughing he told us he could give a shit about blackmail videos of him and his pals making love with their pets.”

  “Making love?”

  “That’s what he said. In fact he said the videos would bring a lot of attention, give him and his pals a platform to inform people about the misconceptions of zoophilia, how it’s legal in civilized countries like Romania.”

  Will said, “Civilized?”

  “Randall also shared that there’s no federal law which prohibits sex between humans and animals, that it’s mostly a matter of state jurisdiction. Believe it or not, there’s more than a half-dozen that feel it’s just fine.”

  Will raised his hand. “Know I’m kidding myself, but I’m gonna pretend those states are ones I’ve not spent much time in. Only traveled through quickly.”

  Leon polished off his beer and said, “You’d be kidding yourself.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Except for Nicole and the rowdy youths who controlled the jukebox with endless electronic tunes, dancing in their booth, Molly’s Cafe was empty and close to closing.

  Nicole was not in a party mood. She’d told Oliver and Hunter to let everyone know she wasn’t up to celebrating the Fourth, going to the Gala, and she was going to stay home. She felt woozy.

  Then later in the night, she told herself to get up off her ass, climb down from the tree house and go talk to Molly.

  At midnight, Molly cleared the teenagers out, closed the Cafe door, and sat down with Nicole as the techno tune ended and Nicole’s selection finally played A Case Of You. Prince doing Joni.

  First Nicole and Molly talked about how Randall wanted the casino, how Oliver wanted to devote more time to his Obstickle project, how Reimer’s escape and blackmail plans could give Lake Meadows a bad rep.

  They talked about losing people. Friends and family. How we’re all alone together. How fulfilled we feel when we capture the rapture of life.

  Then Nicole looked at Molly and said, “I’m in love with Leon.”

  “Never would of guessed,” Molly said.

  Nicole knew that Molly knew a lot. Those in the know kne
w Molly was the go-to person in Lake Meadows for making sure anything that wasn’t right and justified got swift consequences. Even Leon deferred to her better judgment. And wisdom.

  Molly sipped her coffee, let Nicole take her time.

  Nicole went back and forth about how much she should share, tried quickly to recall what she knew about Molly.

  She knew that Molly’s parents, Osgar and Betty MacCallum, came from Seattle to see if Osgar could get work on the upper-class constructions going on in Lake Meadows back in the mid-1950s. Her father was a master mason and sculptor, and after the first year working for R&B Construction, Osgar bought a cabin and a parcel of land that was offered to a handful of the imported craftsmen who showed their worth and liked the idea of living in the mountains year round. Osgar was also a good card player and was invited to James Riverbottom’s Wednesday night poker games at Ravens Rest.

  Strikes To Spare was finished when Molly was twelve.

  Osgar crafted the Garden of Eden ceiling that was not supposed to have any fig leafs covering Adam and Eve until Simmons Haversfield gave in to his wife’s demand, reminded him that he was, after all, a clothing-optional Christian. Mr. Haversfield was one of the wealthiest founding members of the Nature Lovers Retreat and he had memberships in a dozen other nudist colonies around the world that he traveled to with his wife and seven children. He also loved to bowl and a year after he bought one of R&B Construction’s largest lakeside estates, nine bedrooms, not including the guest cottages, he asked Robert Bickford and James Riverbottom how they felt about building him a bowling alley for Lake Meadows, asked about the large parcel of land on the right as you enter town, across from the Nature Lovers motel.

  Robert and James told Simmons they were bowled over by his offer.

  Simmons laughed and wrote a fat check.

  A year and a few million later, Strikes To Spare had a grand summer opening which Molly and her folks attended, and where Molly told Mrs. Haversfield that she would love to learn how to bowl and asked if she could trade lessons for pin-spotting.

  Mrs. Haversfield said she’d talk with Mr. Haversfield, but it sounded fair if it didn’t interfere with Molly’s schoolwork. Education was important to Mrs. Haversfield whose children always walked around with books.

  Molly was taught how to bowl by Mr. Haversfield alongside his kids, and then she became Mr. Haversfield’s personal pin-spotter and learned a lot watching how, when, and where the ball broke as it approached the pins like Mr. Haversfield pointed out to her.

  When Molly turned fifteen she bowled a 264 average, knew every aspect of running the alley and how to market Strikes To Spare by sharing inside information that made the customers feel like family.

  Molly asked customers what their shoe sizes were, gave them their sheets and pencils, and then asked if they knew how Strikes To Spare got its name. A few customers did, but most didn’t, and Molly told them that Mr. Haversfield, who owned the alley was a pretty good bowler; but he never told anyone what he bowled; what his score was.

  Even if the customers weren’t that interested in knowing what he bowled, most everyone wanted to know how the alley got its name, so they’d ask Molly how that came about.

  She told them in a confidential tone that if anyone asked Mr. Haversfield what his bowling average was, or his score on a game he just finished, he’d just smile and say to them in his cultured Charlotte drawl that he had “strikes to spare.”

  Mrs. Haversfield thought her husband’s response was catchy so she told him to tell the builders to take down the Lake Meadows Bowling Alley sign, and put up one that said Strikes To Spare. Mr. Haversfield respected his wife’s opinion.

  The story behind how the alley got its name was one of many ways Molly endeared herself to its customers. Molly took over management of the alley when she was eighteen. Made it the go-to place in town, didn’t matter if you bowled or not.

  After Simmons Haversfield died of a stroke in Norway, Molly got a note from Mrs. Haversfield saying Mr. Haversfield thought highly of her, then a legal letter telling her Mr. Haversfield had left the bowling alley to her in his testament.

  Molly had just turned twenty.

  Two months later she took out a bank loan and added Molly’s Cafe featuring Mom’s Homemade Ice Cream to the alley because her mother wouldn’t do it. Everyone who ate Betty McCallum’s cooking said should she should open a restaurant, at the very least a soda parlor because her ice cream was to die for. But Betty liked being a stay-at-home mom, would take the compliments and say she wasn’t much for business like some folks; then she’d start talking about how Molly excelled at math.

  In 1986 Molly married Harry Riverbottom who was a Wallowa county deputy and an excellent bowler and boxer and came from Lake Meadows royalty. A year latter Molly’s mom and dad moved back to Seattle and died holding hands on a cruise to Alaska. An empty bottle of Nembutal on the nightstand of their cabin. Betty had terminal cancer; Osgar didn’t want to be without her. At least that’s what Nicole was told by Packy who knew a good deal about dying.

  “Felt this way about Leon a good while, right, kiddo?” Molly said.

  The question pulled Nicole back into the cafe booth. She looked at Molly and nodded.

  “From day one.”

  “You pregnant?”

  “What makes you think that?” Nicole asked defensively.

  “Your reaction when I asked you.”

  Nicole started to say something, then turned pale when she heard rapping on the Cafe door and saw Leon with Will standing outside.

  Molly gave Nicole’s hand a squeeze.

  “Continue this later?”

  Nicole said, “I’m screwed.”

  Molly leaned in close.

  “Listen to me. When is comes to women, Leon’s more reserved than the U.S. Mint. But know this. He’d never let you fall in love with him unless he loved you.”

  While Nicole tried to process that, Molly pointed to the restroom.

  “Go pretty up so we can hear what the guys have to say about things.”

  Nicole did what Molly said as the jukebox started playing another love song.

  Molly thought back on giving birth to Jack, the pain and the joy, then got up from the booth and let the guys in.

  CHAPTER 36

  Doing the speed limit, Porterville, Oregon, was about an hour from the Doctor’s place. Not that far for Fred if something came up that she needed to see him for, but far enough away for privacy.

  Fred’s fifteen-year-old Porterville home had three bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, a rose garden out front and a decent back yard with a high cinder block fence. The Stars and Stripes hung on a pole off the front porch.

  It was a nice family neighborhood with safe streets.

  No one living nearby could hear Sonny or the other dickheads scream because Fred soundproofed the rear guest bedroom where she did what pleasured her.

  Reimer was pleasured by tits.

  Fred by balls.

  The body parts were stimulants for the screams that the siblings got off on, having been raised on a regimen of sexual slavery, torture, and brainwashing that started when they were toddlers.

  Daddy-O began by showing little Reimer and Fred how to make animals scream. Taught his children that no matter who tries to tell you different, man over beast is the bottom-line and savagery takes practice.

  He taught them how to handle knives on puppies and kittens and bunny rabbits; and bear cubs if you could trap their mommas. You played with the cubs awhile, then sliced them seven ways to Sunday and listened to the different screams they made before they croaked.

  Daddy-O gave the girl animals to Reimer and taught him how to snip off their nipples. Fred got the boy animals and Daddy-O showed her how to clip their tiny testicles that made tasty treats when you deep-fried them.

  Daddy-O encouraged the children to eat a person
once in a while on special occasions. Not only was human flesh delicious when prepared right, it also increased your sexual potency. The fantastic Green Inferno wasn’t out yet or it would have been a great cannibal film to show the kids.

  To help them develop an ear for quality screams, Reimer and Fred got to see all the super slasher movies and they became familiar with all the horror honeys. Fred had posters of Sissy and Carrie on her bedroom walls. Reimer had a Jack the Ripper teddy bear and a cute Cereal Killer t-shirt.

  Truth be told, Daddy-O came up with the scream routine mostly to keep his slaves in line. Then it got to be one of Daddy-O’s preferred ways to get his rocks off. He’d listen to tortured screams and charmed the snake until he blew a wad.

  Daddy-O had dozens of young slaves that he kept continuously knocked up. Every so often Daddy-O would castrate the biggest boy from his baby slaves and turned him into a eunuch.

  Growing up without male hormone made the big boys less aggressive. They could relate to their feminine side. They didn’t fear Daddy-O like everyone else because he gave them toys and candy and fed them four meals a day. Hardly ever beat them.

  It made the eunuchs grow up incredibly loyal to Daddy-O, which is why he made them eunuchs. For their loyalty. He knew they could care less about fucking around and getting into trouble, but could use their high-pitched voices and soft looks to gain attention, to stand out in a non-threatening way, even though they were big and husky.

  Fellow heavies were curious about them and asked could they get a hard-on? The eunuchs showed select hoods how they could get a stiffy without balls. The grapes get plucked, but the twig remains. They’d show how cool dicks looked without balls hanging down and getting in the way.

  Plus you couldn’t get kicked in them if they weren’t there.

  The eunuchs kept their eye on Daddy-O’s business. They could shoot and stab and stomp, but Daddy-O also taught them how to observe things; see if things looked the way Daddy-O wanted them to be. See if the crooks Daddy-O worked with kept their part of the bargain on whatever deals they had going.