The Bighead

by Edward Lee

  “Wells hurry up!” Balls called back. “And that coil’a rope too, the heavy stuff.”

  Whatever it was Tritt Balls Conner planned ta do, Dicky knew it wouldn’t be purdy. They’d been stakin’ the boarding house when they jacked the big kid out with Balls’ homemade jack, throwed him in the back’a the ’Mino, an’ drove here, the bluff on the other side’a Kohl’s Point. Boone River could be heard a-gushin’ a hunnert feet down.

  “And bring yer shitrag, too, Dicky!”

  My— “Aw,” Dicky moaned. Frownin’, he wiped his crack with an old oil rag, then jacked his jeans back up. Walkin’ back ta the dell, he complained, “Balls, what’n tarnations ya want my shitrag fer?”

  Balls cut a grin in the moonlight, pointed down. “Gag that cracker.”

  “Aw—”

  “Just do it! An’ git that other stuff I tolt ya.”

  They’d stripped the big kid nekit and hog-tied him. He were just comin’ to when Dicky, quite a look’a distaste on his face, stuffed that shitrag in the fella’s mouth an’ tied it in with some twine. Then he went back to the El Camino ta hunt down the rope and the strap-wrench. What he wanna strap-wrench fer anyway? he wondered. Gawd knew! Whiles rummagin’ through the tool box, though, he could hear Balls already gittin’ ta work on the kid, a real weird muffled sound as the poor kid got ta screamin’ beneath that shitrag gag. “Ooooo-doggie!” Balls celebrated. “An’ Dicky? Bring them loppin’ shears too.”

  Dicky rolled his eyes. Balls in another’a his crazy moods, he realized. Weren’t no talkin’ him out of it neither. Dicky found the strap-wrench and then the loppin’ shears, which he kept in the box fer when they needed ta cut the metal bands on the pallets’a moonshine. He alsa found the rope, fifty-foot worth problee.

  And that hog-tied kid were floppin’ fierce in the dirt when Dicky came back. “What’cha do, Balls?”

  “Dug his eyes out with my buck. Lookit!”

  Dicky winced. Two bloody eyeballs looked up at him from the ground, and it were a weird feelin’. “Hi, cracker!” Balls exclaimed, wavin’ at them eyeballs. A reglar comee-derian, he were. Then he stomped on the eyes hard with his boot. The eyeballs popped.

  Balls shook the kid’s head around by the hair. “I just stepped on yer eyeballs, cracker! How you like that?” In the moonlight, Dicky could barely make out the sight’a the kid’s gagged face, two holes where his eyes’d been. Balls grabbed the loppin’ shears then, and—

  snick! snick! snick!

  —took ta clippin’ off the kid’s toes’n fingers. Each snick of them shears caused the kid ta jerk against his tied wrists’n ankles.

  snick! snick! snick!

  “Lordy, this is fun!” After a lot more snickin’, all them fingers’n toes’d been clipped right off, an’ Dicky could see ’em sittin’ there on the ground. Weren’t much blood, though, on account’a how tight Balls’d tied the wrists’n ankles.

  “Lookit! The big dumb cracker’s passin’ out.”

  “Shee-it, Balls. Maybe he up’n died. Why not just cut his throat so’s we kin git outa here.”

  “Hail, Dicky, quit bein’ such a wuss all the time. He ain’t dead. This a big strong cracker. Got a lotta spark left in him. Nows gimme that there strap-wrench.”

  Dicky did so an’ watched, still not quite dee-duckter-ive enough to figger what Balls had in mind fer his fun. Balls were kneelin’ now, an’ what he done next was he wrapped that thick canvas strap right around the kid’s dick’n balls, and Balls hisself, he didn’t flinch ’bout handlin’ another fella’s privates, no sir. He slipped the end’a the canvas strap through the latch-slot, then started a’crankin’. “Balls?” Dicky asked, still kinda mystified. “What’choo doin’?” “You’ll see,” he were told through Tritt Balls’ grin. Soon he’d cranked that strap so hard, this big fella’s cock’n balls was locked so tight over that wrench strap they was stickin’ out and throbbin’, they was. Balls’d fixed that wrench ta the fella’s works so tight that nothin’ would be’s able ta pull it off. But then he took the end’a that rope an’ fed it through the hole on the wrench handle.

  And then—

  “Dicky, ties the other end’a the rope ta that there tree over yonder.”

  Now Dicky were beginnin’ ta see. He did as tolt, tyin’ a hard knot, the rope leadin’ back ta the strap-wrench clamped hard ta this big fella’s pecker. Balls were slappin’ him in the face.

  “Wakes up, cracker! Ya don’ts wanna miss the fun now, do’s ya?” He slapped harder, an’ then the fella’s eyeless head started ta move. “I dugs yer eyes out, ya dumbass ’Ginia cornhole, an’ I’se clipped off yer fingers’n toes. An’ it were fun!” Balls throwed his head back an’ laughed so hard Dicky coulda swored the trees shook overhead. “Nows it’s time fer ya ta be on yer way,” he said next, still shakin’ this poor kid’s head back’n forth, “I wants ya ta know that I’ll’se give that purdy city blondie yer regards when I’m’se yankin’ her guts out her cunt!”

  By now, with the bluff just a few yards away, Dicky knew full well what it were Balls had planned. He an’ Balls, then, picked the convulsin’ kid up on either end ands carried him ta the edge. Dicky looked down just once, he did, an’ could see the churnin’ river an’ rocks in the moonlight.

  “One!” Balls shouted. “Two! Three!”

  Ands right then’n there, they throwed that big cracker fella right off the edge’a the bluff. A coupla seconds passed, then—

  twang!

  —the rope sprung, drew real taut, then—

  snap!

  It broke, ands when it broke, there were no doubt that it did so on account’a the fella’s cock’n balls snappin’ off his body, wheres-upon he fell smack-dab onta them shaller rocks in the river a hunnert feet below.

  Balls wiped his hands, noddin’. “What ya think, Dicky? Ya thinks we done a good’nuff job on that fella?”

  Dicky reeled up the rope an’—shore enough—there were the fella’s cock’n balls still stuck ta the strap-wrench. “Ya shore strapped ’er down tight, Balls,” he commented.

  “‘Corse I did. Reals tight. Ands ya kin see I dids it so tight it didn’t pop out.”

  “But what we gonna do with it now?”

  Balls cackled. He grabbed the strap-wrench outa Dicky’s hands an’ yanked them there dick’n balls right out.

  “Feed the fish, that’s what we’se gonna do.”

  Then he throwed them severed geni-ter-als over the bluff where they ’ventually splashed inta the Boone River.

  — | — | —

  SEVENTEEN

  (I)

  “I’m going to the abbey now,” Alexander said in the foyer. “You wanna go with me?”

  Jerrica’s eyes cast down. “No, I—”

  “Come on. I could use your help.”

  “No, I shouldn’t, I—”

  The priest made a face. “Look, I said I was sorry about yesterday. We can talk about it, and I promise not to be an asshole this time. Come on. Don’t be a candyass.”

  Even Jerrica had to smile. “All right.”

  But it wasn’t all right, was it? I’m a drug addict. Father Alexander knew, and now, somehow, so did Goop.

  First thing was first. She had to talk to Goop.

  “I mean, I’ll go, but not right now,” she said. “I know how to get there; I’ll come in my own car a little later, okay?”

  “All right,” the priest conceded. “I guess you need some time to work on your article.”

  The very words made her struggle not to shrivel into herself. Who am I kidding? She’d barely worked at all on her article, and that was the reason she’d come here in the first place. Too busy fucking Goop and snorting coke and falling in love with a goddamn priest who’s probably twenty years older than me…

  “Anyway,” the priest went on. “I’ll see you a little later then.” He gently touched her shoulder. “‘Bye.”

  She gulped, watched him walk out the front door. Then she peeked through the front door’s sidelight windo
w and saw him pull off in the white Mercedes.

  She felt nervous, agitated. She walked back into the house and up the stairs, then, her mind rising with each step. Something in her psyche cringed; she had the new dope in the pocket of her shorts, but she refused to acknowledge it. She must try, she had to try!

  Only some things weren’t so easy.

  In fact, nothing was…

  Her hand came away from her pocket. I’ll talk to Goop, get things straightened out. Apologize for the things I said last night—

  But Goop…wasn’t there.

  His bedroom door stood open, but Goop wasn’t inside. Earlier, though, she’d looked around the house, to see if he was working on the trim or in the yard. But—

  No Goop.

  And his truck was still out front.

  Where is he?

  She stood in the middle of his room, dumbfounded. It was a spartan room—no surprise, as Goop was a simple person. Just a bed, a dresser, a chair, a small desk that looked untouched. And—

  The closet, she saw.

  Ordinarily there’d be no big deal about a closet in a handyman’s room, but this closet…

  “What the hell is that?” she muttered aloud.

  The closet door stood open, yes, but within the closet—

  She inched forward, peering.

  There seemed to be another door.

  Or, not so much a door but a panel out of place, as though the closet’s back wall were actually an exit.

  Jerrica stood still a moment, blinked, then walked in.

  (II)

  Charity slept late, and as usual, she had essentially the same dream that she’d been having since she arrived at the boarding house. Men fucking her, their faces suddenly collapsing in disappointment, then getting up and leaving. One hard cock after another, stroking into her vagina a few times, then wilting, then pulling out. She lay there like a hot starfish, looking tearily up as each of them left without a word.

  Always the same, always the same…

  When she awoke, the slats of sunlight from the blinds seemed to rake her eyes. But she still felt distant, wobbly. She wasn’t sure if she was actually awake or not…

  Am I awake? she wondered.

  A voice pounded in her head.

  COME, it said, or seemed to.

  Am I awake?

  COME.

  No, no.

  Charity leaned up, rubbed her face.

  Of course. It must have been a dream.

  (III)

  A…passageway…

  Yes, that’s exactly what it was. Behind that open door in Goop’s clothes closet was a passageway.

  Curiosity killed the cat, Jerrica surmised, but she went ahead anyway. The first leg of the passage was pitch-dark, but then she turned and saw…

  Dots.

  Bright white dots of light, like spires, like lances poking out into the darkness.

  Holes, she realized.

  She soft-footed up to the first hole, put her eye to it, and saw—

  Charity’s room…

  Goop was a goddamn peeping tom! Jerrica was gazing right in now, and looking at Charity as she leaned up in bed, rubbing her eyes. The next hole of light was even more tell-tale—

  My room!

  So that was how Goop knew about Jerrica’s cocaine-use. He was looking in at me the whole time. God knows what else he saw!

  All the other rooms were empty, she knew—no tenants, save for Father Alexander’s room, and he wasn’t even in now; she knew because she’d just seen him drive off for the abbey. She walked a bit further, though, and found…

  A ladder.

  Right there, at the end of the passage, a ladder descended. She could barely see but she could see enough, for all of the spiring holes of light.

  A ladder. Leading down.

  She placed her sandaled feet, began to descend, until she found yet another passageway on what was no doubt the first floor. One hole showed her the kitchen, another the den, and yet another—

  Annie’s room…

  And there she was: Annie.

  At first, what Jerrica saw shocked her to the extent of disbelief. My…God. What is she doing?

  Annie sat naked on the edge of her bed; another shock to Jerrica was how attractive the woman had remained for her years. Tan arms and legs, trim, large round breasts that hadn’t sagged much at all, with nipples as dark and pert as Jerrica’s own.

  But it was what Annie was doing that shocked Jerrica most.

  She’s…burning herself…

  Tears flowed down the old woman’s face. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she quietly wept, applying the flame of her cigarette lighter to the inside of her thigh. “Oh, Geraldine, I’m so sorry…”

  Geraldine? Jerrica wondered.

  But then she winced.

  “Not enough, I know!” Annie whispered her next exclamation. “Nothing can ever give me forgiveness…”

  Then—as Jerrica nearly shrieked behind the wall, Annie pinched her right nipple between thumb and index finger, distended it—

  “Forgive me…”

  —and then raised the lighter’s flame to the dark-pink tip.

  Jerrica’s teeth clacked shut at the sight. The lighter’s flame remained on the nipple-end for what seemed a full minute. Eventually the pain sent Annie reeling back on the bed.

  What is she doing! Why! Why!

  It was sick. It was demented. The woman was cooking her own nipple. Jerrica couldn’t imagine the pain. And now, as she looked closer, she could see that the old woman had been doing this for some time: both nipples were nothing but scar tissue.

  But the nipples weren’t the only things she was burning…

  “Not enough,” Annie whispered with a tear-drenched face. “I could never punish myself enough for what I did…”

  And next—

  No, no, no!

  —the old woman stood up, parted her legs—

  NO!

  —grit her teeth, bared her furred sex with her fingers, and squeezed her eyes closed as she held the flame of the lighter to her—

  FOR GOD’S SAKE, NO!

  —clitoris.

  (IV)

  The heat inside the abbey socked him in the face like a flying brick. Christ, Alexander thought. So much for the crossbreeze through the windows he’d broken open. Less than an hour after showering and changing into clean blacks, he felt enslimed with sweat. But he strode on, down the vacant main hall, his footsteps echoing. One hand hung free. The other hung heavily as it gasped the sledgehammer. He passed the admin office, recently unsealed, and proceeded to the end.

  The stairwell to the basement.

  Whatever’s behind that goddamn wall, I’m gonna find out what it is, he avowed.

  He lit several alcohol lamps, waited for his eyes to adjust. The long brick wall downstairs extended on. The bricks looked ancient they were so faded, save for the newer segment he’d seen the other day. Yeah, he realized. There’s a room behind this, and someone bricked it up.

  But why? To seal more records as they’d done upstairs? Not likely. Even in the poor artificial light, this brickwork was obviously much older but much better set. The brick job on the admin office had been half-assed; Alexander had busted through that stuff in a few minutes. And, again, he couldn’t help but notice the strike-marks already there. Inch-deep gouges, eye level or so. The implication couldn’t be dispelled.

  Someone, long ago, had already tried to break through these bricks.

  I ain’t no fuckin’ muscleman, the priest told himself, but I’m sure as shit gonna bust through this wall…

  He readied himself. As he raised the hammer, though, he inadvertently glanced aside, to the far end of the stuffy corridor, and what he saw was this:

  (V)

  “Goddamn it’s hot!”

  Jerrica parked her red Miata in front of the abbey. Father Alexander’s car sat parked to the side, like a waiting pet.

  The abbey loomed before her.

  So strange. Jerri
ca stared abstractedly, lighting a cigarette. The abbey’s cedar-shingled roof and old log walls seemed so out of place against the brick front. The odd bell-tower, without a bell. The gunslit windows.

  All stuck back here in the boondocks…

  She tried to shake off the infernal heat as she disembarked from the car. It was summer now, sure, and it was supposed to be hot. But this hot? It must be close to a hundred degrees! she guessed. She felt icky already, her scant clothing adhered to her. The vermillion halter had become a cotton sponge, soaking her perspiration, making the material cling to her breasts like second skin.

  Something kept fighting to regain her attention, a fist pounding on a door. She knew what it was. Annie.

  Jerrica shivered recounting the image. But what could she say? Nothing, she realized. What, admit that she’d been peeping at the old woman through a hole in the wall? Get Goop fired? No, she couldn’t do that. Geraldine, she remembered. The name Annie had been speaking during her self-punishment. But why had she been punishing herself in the first place? And who was Geraldine? She’d never mentioned that name before.

  One thing was obvious, though. Annie had a problem, a big problem. Self-effacement was a horrible thing, like people who cut themselves to relieve the stress of depression. It sickened her to see the fine, elderly woman put fire to her skin. But—

  There’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t possibly admit that I saw it. And it’s none of my business anyway…

  Hard as it was, she’d have to leave it at that…

  Dust swirled in a tiny dervish when she pulled open the abbey’s great front doors. No sign of Father Alexander when she glanced down, just a few alcohol lamps alighted. Maybe he’s in the administration office, she ventured. Her steps took her down the dusty hall. The building felt so empty. But when she turned into the office, whose bricked-up front the priest had knocked down just two days ago, she saw him sitting up on the desk, smoking. His black shirt, again, was off, his modest muscles lean and honed beneath his skin. But he looked up at her almost as if mystified.