by Peter Ponzo
sucked in my breath.
"Terrence. Please come in."
She knew my name. I couldn't say a thing, but there was no need. She took my hand and pulled me into a side room, led me to a couch, drew the drapes and sat across from me in a rocking chair.
"I knew you'd come, my knight and saviour," she said.
I was taken aback, just a little. Her knight and saviour? Was she really saying that? I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. "He's after me, but I knew if I waited you'd find me and -"
"Wait your horses," I said and it came out sounding stupid. "Why did you know I'd come?" Bloody stupid! I drew in a deep breath and began to speak very slowly, so it'd come out right. "I don't know how you knew my name ... we just met twice ... at the pond. I didn't know your name, not until it was in the newspaper. How could you possibly know I'd come to find you? How could you -"
She leaned over and put her finger to my lips and I held my breath. I didn't breathe again until she let her finger drop to her lap. She was still leaning toward me. Then she spoke, very softly.
"Father Pollicciano is the devil incarnate. He is after my immortal soul." Then her eyes rolled up into whites. "Lord of the World, Breath of Life, know you mine enemies."
Rita Bullas
When I finished work, I walked home and looked in on my aunt. She was okay, I guess. Then I walked to Cleaver's place. Old lady Harris was cutting some roses from a bloody bush that'd seen better days. She looked worried and as withered as the roses. She dropped the flowers when she saw me.
"Oh Rita. Where is Terry? He's been gone all day and I'm sick with worry."
"Don't worry ma'am. He's gone to Dunnborne. Lent him my car. Be back soon."
Actually, I was pretty surprised he wasn't back already. He'd left early in the morning and should've been home long ago; it only takes twenty minutes to get to Dunnborne by car. But the old dame was really in bad shape so I went in and she fed me some weird looking cookies with tiny red stuff poked in the middle, maybe cherries, and I kept tellin' her that Cleaver was okay. After a half hour I left again and took the bus to Dunnborne. All the way there I kept my eyes open for my old Chevy. Sure as fuckin' shootin' he'd pass me on his way back to Haversville and I'd have to take the goddamn bus back again. But there wasn't no traffic on the road except a Haversville police cruiser, and Cleaver didn't pass, and when we pulled into town I knew for sure he was still lookin' for that Fenton dame.
The ground was soakin' and the mud went from one end of town to the other. Must've been some storm. I went straight to Dunnborne Press but it was closed up tight as a bloody soup can. I went into the burger joint next door and asked about Clem what's-his-name.
"Clem Broden? He lives just behind the Press."
So I went around back and sure enough, the old geezer was there sittin' on the back porch chewin' a pipe.
"Hello sonny," he says. "Your pal was here. Gone now though."
Jerk. Calls me sonny. I shake my hair so he can see I'm a bloody woman.
"Where?" I says.
"Dunno, maybe back home."
"Nope. Not back home," I says. "He came lookin' for some dame." That's all I'd say. If he knew somethin', let him tell me.
"Fenton?" he says, yankin' the pipe outta his mouth.
"Yup, Fenton," I says. Seemed like I was talkin' like him. Maybe that was good. "Connie Fenton," I says, just so he'd know I knew somethin'.
"Dead, ain't she?" he says.
"Nope," I says. Then I waited, then he got up and opened the door and waved me in. The room looked like a fuckin' library with wall-to-wall books. There was maybe four or five tables and they were piled high with more books.
I sat at a chair by a table and old Clem stood by, sayin' nothin, just lookin' at me. Then he says: "Why you here? Lookin' for Connie Fenton?"
"Yeah, Connie Fenton," I says.
I didn't like this question-and-answer shit. I leaned back against the table, a book fell off and I bent over and picked it up. It was pretty fancy leather with writin' in gold:
Rural Information Distribution Systems.
Below the title was the author's name: Clemence Ridley Broden, PhD.
"Like it?" he says, seein' me readin' the cover. He had a bloody big grin on his chops. "Now young fella," he says, "your name Rita?"
"Yeah, Rita," I says. Jerk.
"Lookin' for Miss Fenton?" he says.
"Yeah, Fenton," I says.
"Lookin' fer a dead lass, are yuh? That's tough suckin' fer a square mouthed calf," he says, grinnin'. Jerk. Then he points with a crooked thumb. "Terry is up the road a ways. Grey house, edge o' town."
I got up and left right away. The guy gave me the creeps.
When I got to the grey house it was dark but I saw my old Chev outside so I walked around and looked in every window. One room had a candle burnin' and it looked like two bodies was makin' out on the couch. Then one got up and looked right at me and I beetled out in back and hid in the bushes which was soakin' wet and now I was soakin' wet! Shit.
In a minute or so the back door opened and some broad came out and looked around. She was naked as a jaybird. I could see that, soon as she stepped onto the porch. The moon was right up there and she wasn't tryin' to hide nothin'. I recognized the face from the photos in the paper: Fenton. Next thing you know, another dude came out and I could see it was Cleaver.
Shit! That bastard was screwing the Fenton bitch!
"C'mon," I could hear him say. "Come back inside." They both went inside and I felt like a turkey. I come all this way to Dunnborne and he's screwin' the same broad he's been lookin' for. I waited for a minute then headed out front. I'd take my bloody car and leave him there. Bastard. Then, just as I was opening the car door I heard a noise, turned around and got it right in the chops.
Everything went black.
Terry Cleaver
I've never felt like this before. She came on so quick, so sudden, I didn't have time to think about it. She was like a wild creature, tearing my shirt and running her nails across my shoulders and moaning Breath of Life and Lord of the World and who knows what else. A wild thing, she took charge of everything and I felt weak and could hardly breathe.
But it was good and I didn't say anything until she got up and went out back. Then I didn't want it to stop.
That's when she began to cry and I felt like I had done something wrong, but it was her that ran the show. I just went along for the ride, a wonderful, glorious ride.
But now she was crying, all in a heap on the floor.
"Connie, what's wrong?"
She looked up at me, her eyes glinting tears in the light of the candle.
"You took advantage of me," she moaned. "I am but a lamb and you have ravished me."
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. I had ravished her? Who was this girl? She'd changed. Before my eyes she had changed.
Then all hell broke loose.
The door caved in and two great bodies lurched forward and grabbed me and threw me to the floor. I could hear Connie crying out. Then something hit me, hard, in the side of the head and that's all I remember.
When I woke up I was alone in the middle of the floor - and my head was throbbing. I got up and wandered around for a bit, but the whole house was empty. I looked out a front window and saw my car was still there, so I headed for the door. It was bloody dark outside.
Then I saw the body, lying by the car. Jesus Murphy! A bloody corpse right by the car. I didn't know if I should run for help, or what. Then the corpse started groaning and I started shaking. Then I recognized her.
"Rita! Jesus Murphy, what are you doing here?"
She grabbed the fender and pulled herself up.
"Shit!" she screamed, coming at me with both fists. "You screwed that Fenton bitch!"
I backed away and we fell, together, Rita landing on my gut with both elbows. "Bastard! You bloody bastard!"
"No, no. It's not what you think," I pleaded. "She
just ... I didn't ..." But then she started pounding my chest and I was lucky to roll out from under without getting killed.
When we'd finished the burgers and chocolate shake it was about 8:30 p.m. and it was dark. We'd been at the burger shop next to the Press for maybe thirty minutes. Rita seemed quiet, like she didn't really give a damn anymore. I kept looking at her, but she just stared at her plate. I took her hand, but she pulled away. I really couldn't explain what had happened and I felt pretty stupid.
That's when this guy comes over and sits down at our table.
"Rita Bullas and Terry Cleaver, I presume," he says.
Ian Woolner
First I went to Gobles, to see Benjamin Fenton. He still didn't know anything, not where his daughter was, not where his sons were. I believed him.
"Then tell me about your wife. I understand that she was murdered. Could you tell me about it?"
Ben seemed nervous. He got up from the table and started wandering about the room, ending up staring at a photo on the wall. I knew what it was: his wife holding Connie in her arms.
"Work of the devil," he muttered. Then he came back to the table and opened the bible. I knew what was coming. I had had a reading before and I wasn't about to sit through another. I got up and left. Mr. Fenton didn't bother to see me out.
I drove to Dunnborne to see Clem. It had been raining and the town was a field of mud. I stopped by the Press and Clem seemed glad to see me. I asked him about Cleaver and Bullas; had he seen them?
"Yup, just today. First that young pup with freckles, then his boy friend, Rita." Clem grinned and his tooth slipped over