Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows (10 page)

She placed the open dictionary on the desk and continued to read from the notebook, laboriously looking up at least one word in every other sentence.

My name is Ida Jenkins. I have lived in Dot all my life except for four wonderful years spent at Woman's College in Greensboro, North Carolina. As a child I primed tobacco like everyone in Dot, tended the fires while the tobacco was cured and listened in awe to the auctioneer's chant as the golden leaves were sold. For over forty years I was a teacher at the Dot Elementary School. Many of my former students are still living in Dot and when I hear them speak, it pains me to realize how badly I failed to teach them proper English.

It may be an apocryphal story, but I have heard that a salesman named our community. In trying to explain to his boss where he was going, he called the community “just a dot on the map.” I have seen many changes in Dot over the years. I watched our community grow. I played in the rafters when they built the two tobacco auction warehouses. I watched a rabbit trail turn into Highway 13. I saw buildings built, businesses created, babies born and whole families moving to Dot.

Then things turned around. The community began to shrink. The warehouses went out of business, as did other enterprises. Young people moved away in search of jobs. Sometimes whole families left us. I watched Pete Harlow gobble up farms at a penny on the dollar and get rich on the backs of his neighbors. Up until a year ago, not many babies were being born in Dot anymore. Those of us still living in Dot were old. We started out as a dot on the map, and it looked as if we would return to being just a dot on the map. If things continued the way they were going, in twenty years we would not have been even a speck on the map. Most likely Dot would have become merely a bedroom neighborhood of Charlotte.

Now there's hope. The despicable Pete Harlow died and left his fortune to his nephew, Tim Dollar. Tim and his darling wife, Sandra, decided to stay in Dot and they seem to be instilling into the community a resurgence of vitality. I wish I could live long enough to see the result of their efforts, but I know I will not.

I am known as a respectable spinster who devoted her life to the nurture of children. As it turned out, I didn't have much choice. I wasn't exactly ugly as a teenager, but I wasn't pretty either. No man ever asked for my hand in marriage. My mother and father died just after my graduation from college. My, how proud they were of me, but they left the farm to my brother. Like everyone else, he eventually sold it to Pete Harlow. He moved to Savannah and died a short time later. I used what little money I saved to buy a four-room frame house located right behind the school.

Of course, the old schoolhouse has been closed for many years, but there's talk of remodeling and reopening it now that Dot has begun to grow again. I have willed my little estate to the Mecklenburg County School System. Perhaps they can sell it and use the proceeds towards the remodeling effort.

If I could live my life over again, knowing what I now know, I would do many things differently. First, I'd find a husband. In my day, girls waited for the men to notice them. Today they go and get what they want. I can think of at least five young men in Dot that I could have made my slave if I had taken them out behind the barn and showed them what a woman I was. I might have still been a schoolteacher, but I doubt it. Certainly I would never have been the traditional housewife. When I was young, I was strong and adventurous. Maybe I would have started a business or perhaps I would have explored the streams and the old Dot gold mines, looking for an undiscovered vein. (I have written about that fantasy in another notebook.) Certainly, I would have children.

I'm smiling as I write this drivel, but if I believed in reincarnation, I would not want to come back as some other species. I would want to be a homo sapien female, living in the same time frame as the woman I now wish I had been. I would live a life of constant joy and adventure. I would make some lucky man very happy, and I would have many children. Instead of spending old age waiting to die, I would be out spending the gold I dug from God's rock pile.

Greta was so engrossed in her unaccustomed attempt to read that she did not hear Eddie slip up behind her. “Boo,” he yelled as he grabbed her under her arms and propelled her face forward across the desk. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded as he slapped her fanny.

“I ... I've been cleaning up like you told me too,” she gasped. She heard the sound of the desk chair being pulled away and the zipper on his pants traveling south.

“Looks good,” he said, referring to her cleaning efforts.

She felt his erection against her buttocks, heard him spit into his hand, felt his penis push against her dry anus. She stifled a scream and moved her buttocks, as she knew he wanted.

“I got ’em all eating out of my hand,” he bragged. “That black bitch collapsed into my arms like I was a long lost lover. ‘Oh, Mr. Crow,’ she said. ‘It was so kind of you to come.’ Bitch has good tits. Nice ass, too. She didn't complain at all when I felt her up. No wonder Bobby married her. And the guys at the fire department welcomed me as if I was royalty or something. That gal that's working at the restaurant with me—Maggie Skinner—she joined up too. You know, she's one hell of a good-looking piece of ass. I eyeballed her good in church this morning. She must wear some kind of sports bra when she's at work, but this morning she had big knockers. I may wind up dumping you and fucking her before this is all over. She wants me bad. I can tell."

Greta felt him losing his erection. He became furious when that happened.

“Move your flabby ass,” he demanded.

Perspiration poured from her body, her breath came in gasps, but she made an effort to obey. She stretched her hand beneath her stomach, her searching fingers found his scrotum and she sighed in relief as she felt him stiffen inside her.

“What are you reading?” he asked as he stood perfectly still, making her do all the work.

She held her breath as she sensed him picking up the notebook. He read aloud from the point where she stopped.

Someone, if you exist and if the Creator allows me to come back to earth, I'll become your best friend. I'll share with you the knowledge I have accumulated and I'll help you turn my dreams into reality. Together we'll find adventure, excitement, joy, extreme happiness and wealth. We'll find the right man and he will fill us with ecstasy as we make him the luckiest man on earth. We'll have lots of children and they'll be our greatest joy. If anyone tries to harm you, I'll defend you. Watch for me, Someone. Listen. Use all your senses. If the Creator is kind and you are willing, we have a wonderful future together. Trust me, dear Someone.

Eddie laughed as he tossed the notebook at the trashcan. He missed and the book crumpled open on the spare room floor. “Words from the ghost, Greta?” he sneered. He twisted his hand in her hair and rhythmically began to tap her head into the desktop. “Don't you go getting any ideas, bitch. This is the only life you'll ever have.” He began to drive himself furiously against her torn and bleeding rectum.

Help me, Miss Jenkins, Greta prayed as her head continued to thump against the desktop. Suddenly she shivered.

Eddie's body instantly became motionless and he released his grip on her head. “My back,” he cried. “Oh, shit. I think my back is broken. Greta, help me."

Greta wiggled out from under him and heard a popping noise as his penis emerged from her anus.

“Help me, baby. Oh, God. Do something."

“Serves you right,” she said timidly. She looked at his swollen penis, now pointing at the ceiling. He looked like a statue. He did not dare move. Her eyes fell on the notebook, neatly closed and lying next to the trashcan. She picked it up and placed it carefully on the desk.

“Don't make fun of me or Miss Jenkins either,” she said softly.

“I was just kidding, baby. Do something."

“I don't know what to do, Eddie,” she said coldly as she squatted beside him. She lifted his underwear from his ankles and wiggled it back in place."

“Shit, Greta. That hurts. Be careful."

“You don't mind hurting me,” she mumbled as she pulled up his pants. She stood in front of him, zipped him up and fastened his belt.

“Oh, God, baby. It hurts so bad,” he whimpered.

“Put your arm around my shoulders,” she said as she lifted his right arm. “Let's try to get to the bedroom.” She placed her left arm around his waist. When he tried to take a step his scream momentarily deafened her. Miss Jenkins, she prayed, that's enough.

They both heard a crackling noise coming from his back. “Oh, man,” he said as he exhaled noisily. “That's better. I felt something pop in my back. I must have pulled a disk or something and it popped back in place. God, Greta,” he said as tears continued to cascade down his cheeks. “I've never felt such pain before."

“Pain ain't fun,” she said coldly. “Now that you know what it's like, don't never hurt me again."

“I won't, baby,” he sighed as he rubbed his back. “I swear to God I'll never hurt you again."

Eddie Crow's eyes popped open. He stared blankly at the ceiling of the bedroom, his body covered in a cold sweat. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! he admonished himself. He focused his eyes on the green numerals of the clock radio. It was seven minutes after two, Monday morning. He sat up and looked at Greta sleeping beside him.

“You awake?” he whispered. There was no response. He gently squeezed a nipple. She turned over without waking up.

He slid out of bed, dressed quickly, pulled on his coat and pulled the rifle from the bedroom closet. He went to the kitchen and checked to be sure that the magazine was fully loaded. He eased out the back door, circled the house and climbed into the pickup but did not close the door. He shifted to neutral and jerked his body forward repeatedly until the truck slowly began to coast down the driveway. He cranked the vehicle and pulled on the lights when he reached Schoolhouse Road.

“How could I have been so stupid?” he asked himself aloud. “It was Adele Elliott's black legs wrapped around my white ass when Bobby burst in taking pictures. It was Adele that Bobby and Sandra used to set me up. He must have married the whore after I left town. Well, it's payback time for her too. Maybe they'll put them both in the same casket."

He turned left onto Old Charlotte Road, illuminated by the Korner Kafe neon sign. He drove below the lumberyard and turned right onto the nearly invisible logging road. He drove slowly, remembering with pleasure the last time he was on this road. Fifteen minutes later he cut the engine and turned off the lights. He made his way through the pine trees until he reached the vantagepoint from which he could see the Elliott house, illuminated by the half moon that seemed to hover directly overhead.

There were no lights on in the house, but he was concerned. He expected to see Carl Elliott's truck or somebody else's vehicle. Surely, someone was staying with Adele on the first night after Bobby's death. He circled the tobacco field and his heart pounded each time he stepped on a dry twig or dead leaf.

He darted from the edge of the woods and pasted his back to the side of the house, listening intently for any sounds from within. Carefully he inched his way to the front porch and froze when a step creaked beneath his weight. His eyes fully adjusted to night vision, he peeked through the window on the far left of the porch and saw Adele, sleeping on her back. He went to the far right window and found the living room empty.

The screen on the window came off with little more than a tug. Using his pocketknife, he removed the putty from the windowpane in front of the window latch. The small rectangular piece of glass fell silently into his waiting hands. Within seconds, he was inside. After checking every room to be certain there was no one else in the house, he slipped through the open door of the master bedroom.

Holding the rifle in his right hand, he ripped back the sheet that was covering her. She did not stir. He sat on the bed and pressed the end of the barrel under her chin. She took a deep breath, but her eyes did not open. He squeezed her thick left breast, hidden only by her thin nightgown. She made a brief chewing motion with her mouth and turned her head away from him, but she did not awaken. It was then that he spotted the brown bottle of sleeping pills on the bedside table.

The pills zonked you out, didn't they, bitch? he thought as an evil grin creased his lips. He cut the gown from bottom to top, opened it and caressed her unresisting body. He lightly slapped her face and still there was no response. “We have some unfinished business, you black whore,” he said softly. “Wish I'd brought a rubber with me. I don't want to leave my cum inside your cunt for possible DNA matching.” He pulled open the drawer of the bedside table. “Bingo,” he said. “Thank you, Bobby."

He pushed off his pants and underwear and tore open the foil package. He rolled the condom on his penis and crawled between her legs, moving them obscenely apart. The lubrication on the condom allowed an easy entrance but as soon as he penetrated her, he began to lose his erection. He slapped her again. He pinched her nipples savagely. “Wake up, you damned whore. It's no fun fucking you if you don't know what's happening.” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently. Her head rolled from side to side but there was no breakthrough into consciousness.

“Shit,” he said as his flaccid penis slipped from her vagina. He yanked the pillow from beneath her head and pressed it over her face. She did not struggle, but when he removed the pillow ten minutes later, her eyes were wide open in a sightless stare.

After flushing the condom down the commode he left the same way he entered, pausing to wipe from the screen and windowpane any fingerprints he may have left. He retraced his steps around the tobacco field, but this time he moved quickly, not worrying about the small noises he might make.

When he was again in his own bedroom, dressed only in boxer shorts, he sat on the edge of the bed and turned the clock back an hour. He pulled the cover from Greta's nude body, grasped her right breast savagely and sucked hard on the left one.