The World's End Series Book One: Dymond's World (13 page)

She really was uptight.  "Look SeeBee, you don't have to sleep with him or anything.  We just need some wood chopped.  You want to do it?  I hope you know how, because I don't.  Besides, he was obviously taken with you, not me."

Sarabeth thought of his eyes on her chest.  She'd seen that look before - actually more than a few times.  "Well, I'm not asking him to chop wood.  I'll thank him for the groceries and you show him whatever parts of you that will make him do your bidding, but leave me out of it."

***

By the time he arrived over an hour later, Sarabeth had forgiven her friend.  She could never stay mad at her for long.  "Just think before you hop next time, okay?"

He brought a large box that must have weighed at least forty pounds.  It had a little bit of everything in it - bottled water, bread, deli meats, cans of soup, cookies - everything looked good.  There was another small box in the corner.  Ryan took it out and handed it to Sarabeth.

Inside was a beautiful bouquet of flowers, a bottle of amber liquor and a manual can opener.  "Old Mister Johnson at the grocery said the flowers would likely get tossed.  I thought you might like them."  He was talking to Sarabeth.

"Well, thanks Ryan," she said.  It might have been a sweet sentiment, but she wasn't sure.  "And the liquor?"

"Grandad said it might be a while before there's a good supply of that, so I like brought you a bottle."

Sarabeth looked at Hoppie who nodded almost imperceptibly.  "So Ryan, how much do we owe you?"

"It was like seventy dollars.  You don't have to pay now if you don't have it."

Hoppie gave him four twenties.  "I do appreciate you bringing up the groceries, Ryan.  We both do."

He looked at Sarabeth and she smiled on cue.

"Ah girls, ah . . . I don't have no change."

Hoppie led him to the door.  "No Ryan, that's for you.  I do wonder if you could do just one more little favor for us.  It's cold and we're low on wood.  I'm afraid neither of us girls is strong enough to use an ax - do you think you could chop a few pieces for us - to keep us warm?"

Sarabeth rolled her eyes, but recovered in time when he looked back at her.  She smiled again, sweetly.

"Ah sure, Miss Ingram.  It won't take me long."

***

They sat side by side on the edge of the bed and watched from a darkened window as he worked.  Chopping wood was hard - a series of violent actions where the blade plunged into the wood, splitting it evenly.  He took off his jacket and then, a couple of minutes later, his shirt.  Hoppie watched him work, muscles bulging in his tank style t-shirt, "If you put a bag over his head, he would be very much all right."

Sarabeth shook her head in wonder at her friend.  "He's got a body, I'll give him that.  But he's just a big hard muscle - there's not much else there."

"Sometimes that all a girl needs," said Hoppie.

They both laughed.

***

When he was done, Ryan carried the last armload of wood and put it on the pile.  He stood there with his back to them, seemingly admiring his work.

"What's he doing?" asked Sarabeth.  The light was deserting them.

"I don't know.  Maybe seeing if he chopped enough?"

A couple of minutes later, he walked to his truck and put on his shirt and jacket.  He walked back over and picked up the ax and, with a one handed swing, stuck it in a block of wood.

With a final look at the house, he got in his truck and drove off.

"I'll get some wood for the fire if you whip us up a fine dinner," said Hoppie.  "Maybe we'll have a taste of that liquor."

"Sounds good," said Sarabeth. "Especially the liquor part."  She and Hoppie had done their share of drinking at school, but it was always at parties.  Getting a buzz on here, alone with her, was intriguing.

Sarabeth lit two candles and opened a can of beef stew and poured it into a large pot they could hang over the fire.  She sliced some cheese and put it on a paper plate along with some bread.  As she heard Hoppie return, she took out two glasses and poured an ounce of the liquor in each.  She stared for a second and then added a second ounce to each glass.  She put everything on a tray and entered the living room just as Hoppie dropped an armload of wood in the holder beside the fireplace.

"Christ, that's heavy.  I should have told him to bring it in for us - flutter my eyes like some poor weak female who shouldn't have to do this type of work with such big strong men around."

Sarabeth laughed and handed her a glass.  It was almost half full.  "Planning on getting looped, are we?  Who knows what might happen," Hoppie said with her widest smile.

They each drank a sip and then Hoppie reached down to get a stick of wood to throw on the fire.  It had something shiny on it.  "Look at this SeeBee.  What is it, some kind of forest sap or goo or something?"

Sarabeth looked and then bent over and sniffed.  "Oh God, Hoppie.  It's semen."

Patti was crying again.  "Fuck, fuck, fuck, Fallon," she said as tears rolled down her cheeks.  "What am I going to do?"

He had just checked her cut and found that the bleeding had stopped.  He discovered that her panties matched her bra.  "I think we have to report this - to the cops.  It was self-defense.  I'll be a witness, tell them I saw the whole thing, that you didn't have any choice."

"They'll want to know why you didn't stop him."

Fallon hadn't thought of that.  "I guess . . . I'll tell them he knocked me down and kicked me and I was afraid to get up."

She wiped her eyes and tossed the tissue on the coffee table.  "You would do that for me, wouldn't you?"

"It's the best way, Patti.  You didn't do anything wrong.  We both know that."

She thought for only a minute and then pulled out her phone.  She started to dial, but then stopped.  "I've got no signal.  I forgot that the fucking phones are dead."

"I'll drive you to a police station then."

"Okay, do you know where one is?"

He looked surprised, "No, do you?"

"No, I don't.  I've lived here for over four years and I've seen cops many times, but they’re always out driving around or writing people tickets.  I have no idea where they go when they're done fucking with people - writing them up for going forty two in a thirty five.  Fucking them so that their insurance goes up through the son-of-a-bitching roof."

Fallon didn't ask why she was so passionate about this - life had provided its share of unjust fuckings to him as well.

"Well, Patti, I guess we'll have to wait until the lights come back on."  She reached for his hand.  Her skin was cool.  It was cool in the house.  That thought led him to think about the fact that, while it was cold in here, it wasn't
that
cold.

"Ah, Patti, if we can’t find a cop, I think I'd better take your husband's . . . take him outside, where it'll be, you know, where everything will be preserved.  I think I should take pictures first, of your face and your leg and of . . . the kitchen.  Then I should take him out."

His cheap phone didn't have a camera, so he used hers.  He got shots of the bruising on her face and had her stand to better show the cut on her thigh.  She pulled the slit on her pants even higher so he could get a good shot of the red slash on her upper thigh; it was almost shocking on her very pale skin.

"Patti, you go get changed and cleaned up now.  I'll take care of him."  She seemed happy to not have to witness Fallon dragging her dead husband through the mud room and into the back yard.  She left and didn't look back.

***

Fallon was a bit surprised that he didn't feel much when he looked at the body.  It was actually very gross; the lower jaw had been mostly disconnected by the bullet and hung off to the side.  There was a puddle of various colored liquids on the white tile floor, including a glob of stuff that looked some thick yellow mustard material; Fallon wondered where that came from.

Fallon took him by his feet and pulled.  He was immediately surprised just how heavy a dead body could be.  Plus, it appeared to be stuck on the floor, drying blood acting like glue.  He pulled harder until it finally let loose and slid quickly - the head snapped to the right and banged into the base of a cabinet, spilling even more liquids.

This was too much of a mess.  Fallon dropped the feet and looked under the counter.  There was a roll of large trash bags under there.  He again realized they were from the dollar store.

He opened one of the bags and managed to slide it under the torso of the body.  It came down about to the waist.  But when he tried to pull on the legs again, the bag didn't stay put and started to slide off.

"Damn," Fallon thought.  He tugged the bag down even further, tucking the bag into the pants and pulling the belt tight.  For good measure, he pulled it another notch and secured it.  Fallon heard a liquid bubbling sound and then smelled something that stunk.  He looked upwards, wondering if God had returned to again torment him, but there was no one there.

He took a second trash bag and slipped it around the feet and pulled until it almost met the other one.  The bags had a red plastic string that was used to close them.  Fallon tied the two bags together with their strings.

Now he was able to drag Patti's husband across the living room carpet without making a mess.  The entrance to the mud room was small and the body almost got stuck between the clothes washer and the wall, but Fallon finally managed to drag it out the back door.  As the head dropped to the concrete steps, it made a crunching sound with each step.  There were three steps.

Fallon dropped the feet and looked around.  The yard was fenced in so no one could see him.  He rested for a few seconds and then walked to a small shed that leaned against the house.  Inside was a lawn mower and a few boxes labeled "Christmas."

Fallon dragged the body inside, but the space was only about three feet wide.  With great difficulty, he lifted the legs until they just cleared the door and then he slammed it shut.  The upside down body was a weight on the other side trying to open it again, but Fallon made sure it was latched securely.  He had a momentary mental image of a cop opening this door and the body of Patti's husband falling down on him.  It would serve him right for fucking with people.

***

Fallon had thought about cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, but decided he'd better leave it as it was so the cops would be able to understand what had happened.  He pulled the kitchen door shut and was sitting on the couch when Patti returned.  She was wearing sweatpants and a loose fitting sweater.  She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

Fallon tried to remember when he'd ever seen her in anything other than her dollar store uniform.  He came up empty.

She sat beside him and he heard her sniff.  "God, Fallon.  I'm so scared.  I'm really screwed now.  The cops won't believe me.  I'm going to jail.  I ought to just get that gun and put an end to the whole fuckup that is my life."

Fallon put his arm around her and she leaned against him.  "Patti, they . . ."

She cut him off.  "He wasn't always this way.  When we got married, I liked him.  I guess maybe I loved him.  It's hard to remember."

Fallon let her talk.

"Some people just get worn down by life, you know?  Shit happens and it piles higher and higher and before you know it, you've changed into something you never planned for - something you don't even like.  I know at some level he was ashamed of himself, at what he had become, but he couldn't stop sliding downhill.  Neither of us could, I guess."

She turned to him and studied his face, her eyes staring directly into his.  "You know Fallon, I never used to curse.  Never said a bad word until things started to go downhill.  I can't fucking believe what I've become."

Slowly she moved towards him until she kissed him.  Her lips were soft; her kiss so gentle they barely touched his.

She sat up and looked away.  "I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have done that."

Something in Fallon realized that they had been thrown together by an incredibly emotional event.  They had shared something almost too horrible to think about, but they had done it together.  He realized that what he was feeling was a reaction to those events and the strong emotions they invoked.

But he didn't stop himself.  He put his hands on the bottom of her sweater and started to lift.

She raised her arms in the air.

***

They undressed each other hungrily so that it seemed to take only seconds before they were both naked.  Patti pushed him roughly into a sitting position.  She got on her knees beside him and took him in her mouth.  She slowly moved her lips up and down, while her tongue moved in circles.  Fallon heard moaning and realized it was coming from him.

He reached for her breasts and caressed them.  Patti moaned in pleasure.  He felt himself begin to lose control, so he pulled her to him, lifting her and sitting her on his lap so that she straddled him.  She scissored herself up using her knees and reached down and took him in her hand and guided him into her.  Slowly, she dropped until they were face to face.  She kissed him again, this time with passion.

She moved slowly up and down.  Each time she did, his view changed from her face to her small round breasts.  Fallon could feel nothing in the universe except the wet squeeze of her as she slowly raised and lowered herself.

Together, their motions became faster and faster until they were almost frantic.  Fallon could hear the slap of her thighs as she slammed down on him, again and again.  "Oh God!" she cried as he felt her spasm.  He could hold on no longer - he gave into his need.

***

"Oh God, Fallon.  I'm so sorry.  I should never have let that happen.  I just . . . I just couldn't stop."

They were sitting side by side on the couch.  Patti's tattoo just above her left breast was now clearly visible.  It was a single stylized word.  It read, "Hope."

She turned towards him, "Let's just forget it happened.  Just go on - start fresh.  You came over and helped me and that's it.  Nothing else . . . happened."

He looked deep into her eyes and said softly, "I can't forget, Patti."

Ever since he'd met Dy and God had decided to leave him alone, Fallon had been free of his shame at what his life had become, free of the pain of it all.  Now, out of the blue, a new unwanted feeling threatened to implant itself in his soul - it was guilt.  Fallon resolved that it would not take hold and live there inside him.  Plus, he could not leave Patti alone and vulnerable.

She nodded and said wistfully, “Well, we can keep it to ourselves.  And we can never let it happen again.  You know, Fallon, I used to brag about screwing various guys to the girls at work.  I told one of them I'd screwed your brains out in the back room.  None of them believed me, but the truth is that . . . other than my husband . . . this is the first time I actually did it.  I almost can't believe it.  It's like a dream."

He saw goosebumps on her breasts.  He realized just how cool the house was.  "I don't know, Patti.  I just don't know."

He took her hand.  "Look, you pack a bag for tonight.  You can't stay here in this house with . . . you're coming back with me."

She looked surprised.  "But, it'll be awkward.  What if your child bride suspects?"

He reached over and kissed her, gently.  "We're not married, Patti, but I do love her and we tell each other everything.  I'm probably going to tell her what happened here."

Patti frowned and kissed him back.  "But . . . won't she be angry?  She might toss you out."

Fallon thought of that guilt trying to entwine itself inside him.  He knew the only way to banish it was to be honest with Dy.  "I don't know, Patti.  But I think I have to find out."

He reached for her and they exchanged kisses until they were again warm.