Rot (4 page)

Kyle stood, grunting from the pain in his ribs, and climbed into the camper. An icy finger of dread probed at his insides.

Kyle followed the tall man up into the camper. His nose switched at the acrid smell, something like scorched vinegar. A veil of smoke hung in layers under the weak light from the battery lamp. With no ventilation inside it was hard to breathe.

Dorando the Gypsy backed away and gave him room to approach Marianne, who lay where he had left her, eyes closed, hands down at her sides. The cut on her arm was open but not bleeding. The skin of her face was pale, her expression composed. A thread of dark liquid trickled from a corner of her mouth. Kyle looked up at the Gypsy.

“What? What am I supposed to see?”

“Look.”

As Kyle turned back to the girl her body gave a convulsive jerk, as though an electric shock had gone through her. He jumped back, banging his head on the overhead panel.

“Ouch! Jesus!”

Marianne sat up suddenly, jerkily, as though a spring had been activated in her back. Her eyes popped open and blinked.

“Look out, that tree — ” she began, then gasped and looked around her. “Where are we? What happened?”

Kyle turned to the Gypsy in open-mouthed disbelief. “You … you did it!”

“It is what you asked of me.”

“Will somebody tell me what’s going on?” Marianne said.

In an agony of relief Kyle fell to his knees beside her. “We had an accident. You were out, unconscious, I guess. Jesus, I thought you were … were …”

“Dead?”

“You sure looked like it. I couldn’t get any pulse. You didn’t seem to be breathing.”

“Well I feel fine. Where are we?” She looked past him at the Gypsy. “Who’s that?”

“His name is Dorando.” Kyle turned to the dark man for confirmation, but got no reply. “He helped us. He revived you.”

He turned again to the Gypsy, who watched impassively. “How did you — ”

He broke off as Marianne coughed and swung her feet to the floor. “Can we get out of here?” she said. “I can’t stand the smell.”

“Sure. I-I think the car will still drive. There’s a tree across the road.”

“Well, let’s move the tree and get going.”

“It’s a good size tree.”

“Let’s try, okay?” Her voice was tinged with annoyance.

Moving apparently without pain, Marianne stepped out the back of the camper and down to the road. Kyle and the Gypsy followed her. While Marianne walked briskly to the fallen tree Kyle turned to the dark man.

“Listen, I don’t know how I can thank you — ”

“Don’t. My debt to you is not fully paid.”

“But — ”

“Goodbye.”

Before Kyle could say more the Gypsy walked to the cab of his truck and climbed in. He started the engine, jockeyed it around in the road, and drove back toward Elkhorn City. Kyle looked after him. A nibble of apprehension started around the nape of his neck.

Marianne was tugging at a branch of the fallen tree, dragging it a few inches at a time to the side of the road. “Are you going to help, or do I have to do this by myself?”

Kyle shook away the cobwebs and walked over to join her. With both of them pulling, it was surprisingly easy to drag the heavy tree far enough to one side to allow the passage of the car.

Marianne climbed into the passenger seat, and by throwing his weight against her door Kyle managed to close it. Kyle got in on the other side and keyed the ignition. The starter growled tiredly, drained by the headlights, but the engine caught at last. He backed up and out of the ditch, cranked the wheel, and maneuvered past the fallen tree. The car wanted to pull to the right, but otherwise ran without trouble.

With time at last to collect his thoughts, Kyle had to believe he had gotten off a lot luckier tonight than he had any right to expect. In the back of his mind had been a possible charge of manslaughter. Uncle Bob would not be happy about the damage to the car, but he could handle that.

“You’re quiet,” Marianne said.

“I’m still in a little bit of shock. It’ll take me a while to get over tonight.”

“Let’s don’t let it spoil everything, okay?”

Kyle glanced over at her. In the soft glow from the instrument panel her face was animated, her eyes bright. A remarkable recovery for a girl who had been dragged into a van, thrice raped, rolled in a car and knocked senseless, and revived less than an hour ago by a sinister looking Gypsy.

He said, “I’m just glad it wasn’t worse.”

“It’s over,” she said. “Let’s forget about it.”

“If you can, I guess I can.”

She moved over closer to him and lay her head on his shoulder. Her hair retained a faint burnt vinegar smell and she had not wiped the dark trickle, now dried, from the corner of her mouth.

“Maybe you ought to buckle up,” he said.

“A little late for that, isn’t it?”

Was there, he wondered, an implied accusation in her comment?

“Besides, this way I can sit closer to you.”

She touched the back of his neck, making him shudder.

“My, aren’t we jumpy.”

He forced a laugh. “Ticklish.”

“I wonder where else you’re ticklish.”

The teasing banter seemed jarringly out of place after the dark events of the evening, and he was glad to roll past the dark Standard station that marked the edge of Bischoff. He found Marianne’s street and slowed down the limping Plymouth as they neared her house.

“Park up there at the end,” she said. “By the fence under the last elm tree.”

“What for?”

“I’m going to sneak in the back way and I don’t want Daddy waking up with a car out front.” She peered up at him through matted bangs. “Besides, I want to talk to you.”

Reluctantly, Kyle drove on as directed. He desperately wanted to get this girl out of the car and get back to his own clean bed.

He stopped under the elm. Marianne reached over and punched off the headlights.

“I’d better keep the motor running,” he said. “It might not start again.”

“My motor’s running,” she said, and reached into his crotch.

Kyle jerked back against the seat as the girl took hold of his limp penis.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it feel like? This is what you’ve been wanting all night, isn’t it? What’s the matter, you chickening out?”

“Jesus, Marianne, you can’t expect me to be in the mood now. Not after everything that happened tonight.”

She unzipped his fly and reached inside to squeeze him through the thin material of his briefs. “I’ll bet I can put you in the mood.”

“Stop it.” He grasped her wrist and pulled her hand away.

She looked at him coquettishly from under her matted red bangs. “What’s the matter, Mr. California Stud? A little Wisconsin girl too much for you?”

“Cut it out.”

“You’re not a fag, are you?”

“No. And I’m not a sex freak either. I got beat up tonight, watched you get raped, rolled my uncle’s car, and thought for a minute I’d killed you. No way I’m going to get it up after all that. All I want to do is go to bed. Why don’t you go on in the house.”

Marianne smiled at him. She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. Her lips were caked with grit and blood. Her breath was sour. She said, “Nighty-night, lover. I’ll be talking to you.”

Not if I can help it
, Kyle thought. He reached across to shove open the passenger door and Marianne got out. Then he turned the battered Plymouth around and headed toward Uncle Bob’s farm without looking back at the girl.

She had to be in shock, he decided. Some kind of hysteria. Maybe that could make the cheerleader act like a slut. Maybe the accident brought out all the emotions she had repressed as Homecoming Queen and all that shit. Maybe … ah, the hell with it. He had his own problems. First and foremost was explaining to Uncle Bob about the car. He began rehearsing how he would tell his parents, since they would have to help him pay for it. Christ, was this a rotten summer or what?

He felt a chill and reached down to find he had forgotten to zip up his fly. Could that crazy female really have expected him to perform after tonight? Right now he doubted he would ever have the urge again. Celibacy sounded like a hell of a good idea. Well, at least for the rest of the summer.

He turned up the road leading to Uncle Bob’s farmhouse. There was a light in the kitchen window. He shuddered.

Explaining about the car turned out to be not the ordeal Kyle had feared. Uncle Bob was awake in his room when Kyle came in, and listened calmly to a somewhat modified story of the accident. Kyle omitted the strange business with the Gypsy and, naturally, the rape scene in the parking lot. He would deal with that if and when he had to. Nothing would be served by adding it to his present problem.

When his uncle had been assured that neither of the young couple was seriously hurt, he told Kyle they would work out something on the car. To Kyle’s vast relief, his uncle saw no reason why his parents had to be brought into it.

In the days that followed Kyle threw himself eagerly into the work around the farm. He mucked out the cow barn, serviced the feeders, gathered eggs from the hen house, spread manure, and pestered Amos Deerfoot to show him how to run the tractor mower.

The Indian watched uneasily as Kyle took over sole care of the vegetable garden. He sprayed insecticide, tended the young plants, picked the fattest tomatoes and leafiest lettuce, and yanked out weeds with a joyful anger. He even took to helping Mrs. Simms around the house. By nightfall he was exhausted, but his mind was clear, his muscles were alive, and he was feeling better than he had in a long time.

Ernie Laudermilk down at the Standard Station did what he could for the Caravelle. He pounded out the dents in the side panels and the roof, fixed the doors so they closed fairly well, and replaced the broken glass. The car still crabwalked and wanted to pull to the right, but it was serviceable for driving from the farm into town and back. Ernie’s bill was a fraction of what an L.A. body shop would have charged, and Kyle worked out a program with his uncle whereby he would work it off around the farm. Grateful for the kind treatment from the fates, Kyle renewed his efforts.

Uncle Bob’s health was improving too. One morning he felt like coming down to the kitchen for breakfast, and Kyle gladly helped him negotiate the stairs. Seeing the improvement in his uncle, Kyle began planning his escape to California. He was feeling great as he shoveled in the bacon and hotcakes Mrs. Simms had prepared. Then the real world returned with a jolt.

“Seems funny Marianne hasn’t been around,” his uncle said. “You two didn’t have a scrap or something?”

“No,” Kyle said, feeling a knot in his stomach. He had managed to avoid thinking about the girl since dropping her off that night. Having heard nothing, he assumed she had not told her parents about the sordid evening. “Everything was cool.”

“It’s not like her to stay away. You’re sure she wasn’t hurt in the accident?”

“She had a little cut on her arm. It didn’t amount to much. She seemed fine when I took her home.”

“You heard anything, Mrs. Simms?”

“Nope.” The housekeeper’s eyes snapped over at Kyle. He looked away quickly.

“Maybe you ought to ring her up, Kyle. Make sure she’s all right.”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

Uncle Bob’s therapist came and they went back up to his bedroom. Kyle helped Mrs. Simms clear away the breakfast dishes. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, waiting for her to say something. When she did not speak he could hold it in no longer.

“Mrs. Simms,
have
you heard anything?”

“Heard anything?”

“About Marianne.”

“Nothing I’d want to repeat in front of your uncle.”

“Well, what
is
it?”

“I didn’t know you were interested in town gossip.”

“Mrs. Simms — ”

“People say she’s been acting peculiar. Not like herself.”

“How peculiar? In what way?”

“Sure you want to hear this?”

Kyle’s throat tightened. He put down the stack of dishes he was carrying and stared at her.

“All right, if you got to know. For one thing, she hasn’t been back to work in the New Emporium since that night.”

“Maybe she’s just taking some time off.”

“Maybe. But there’s other things.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t like to listen to gossip, you understand, but people say she’s been fooling around.”

“Fooling around?”

“Aren’t I talking clear? Fooling around. Like hanging out with that bunch of bums at the Happy Otto. I wouldn’t repeat some of the stories about what she’s been doing. Not that I believe them. But people love to talk. Some have her even mixing in with the Indians.”

Mrs. Simms looked ready to amplify on the rumors, but Kyle had already heard more than he wanted. He left the kitchen and hurried out to the tool shed. There he got busy sharpening axes that did not need it. He remembered Marianne’s odd behavior in the car as they parked down the street from her house. Could the accident have done something to her brain? He recalled the bizarre story of a woman who had sued the city of San Francisco, claiming a cable car accident had turned her into a nymphomaniac. His good mood of recent days evaporated.

Two days later Marianne showed up in person. The sun was hot and Kyle had his shirt off. He was splitting wood to dry out for fireplace kindling, enjoying the pull of his muscles as he swung the axe. There was a sensual pleasure in seeing the chunks of wood part cleanly under the blade and topple to either side of the chopping block. He froze as a hand fell on his shoulder. Slowly he lowered the axe.

“Hi, lover.”

He returned reluctantly to see Marianne smiling at him. But it was a different smile and a different Marianne. A soiled T-shirt bore the logo of Bischoff High School. Her jeans were tight enough to squeak. Her strawberry hair was carelessly combed with straggling strands falling haphazardly. She wore dark eye makeup, and her lipstick was crooked.

“Glad to see me?”

“Oh, hi. Sure.”

“I was waiting for you to call.”

“Yeah, well, I was going to, but there was a lot of stuff to do around here.”

“You’re becoming quite the farmer.”

He forced a small laugh. “So … how are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Can’t you see?” She did a clumsy pirouette in front of him. He caught a whiff of heavy sweet perfume.

A bandage patched the forearm where she had been cut. The gauze was stained a dark yellow. Kyle pointed to it, being careful not to touch her.

“How’s your arm?”

“It’s nothing much. Want to see?” She started to pick at the bandage.

“No,” he said quickly. He looked off toward the house. “Uncle Bob will be glad to see you.”

“I didn’t come to see your uncle.”

“Well, he was asking about you.”

She put out a hand and stroked Kyle’s bare chest. He had to force himself not to flinch from her touch.

“I came to see you. You’re getting a nice tan.”

“Uh, thanks. You really ought to go up and talk to Uncle Bob. I know he’d like that.”

“Fuck Uncle Bob.” She giggled. “Better yet, fuck you. That’s what I came for, you know.”

“Jesus, Marianne, what’s with you?”

“I’m horny. Aren’t girls allowed to get horny?”

“Why do you want to talk that way?”

“Hey, haven’t you heard the words before? What do they say for fucking in California? Or don’t they fuck out there? Just suck cocks? I can do that too.”

He glanced nervously toward the open kitchen window. “Mrs. Simms might hear you.”

“What’s the matter, don’t you think she’s ever done it? She had a couple of kids, you know. Where do you think they came from, immaculate conception?”

“Cut it out.”

Marianne’s overbright smile crumbled into little pieces. “Don’t tell me to cut it out, Mr. California Stud. If you don’t like what you see, just remember you did it. You owe me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t tell Daddy half the things that happened Saturday night. I didn’t tell him how you tried to get in my pants, then sat by and let those three bastard Gerstners rape me.”

“Sat by?! Wait a minute — ”

“
You
wait a minute. You let those animals rape me and you didn’t even report it.”

“You’re the one who didn’t want to — ”

“Shut up. Then you wreck the car and while I’m unconscious or something you and that Gypsy do dirty things to me in his smelly old camper. You’re damn lucky I didn’t tell, or you’d be in a whole lot of trouble.”

Something cold clutched his insides as he began to understand the power this girl had over him. Working to keep his voice calm he said, “Hey, there’s no need to get all frosty with me. We had a bad night, but we came out of it pretty lucky, all things considered. Let’s call it even and be friends, okay?”

Her expression did not soften. “No, not okay. You owe me, Kyle. I’m horny, I told you, and I want you to do something about it. Now.”

“Be reasonable, Marianne. A man can’t just perform on demand, you know.”

“We’ll see about that. Come on.”

She seized his wrist and started to pull him away from the woodpile. Her grip was uncommonly strong. Kyle held back. He opened his mouth to protest.

Marianne put her face close to his. “Or do you want me to tell my father and your uncle and everybody else in town what you did to me?”

“I didn’t do anything to you, and we both know it.”

“The way I’ll tell it, you did. And in this town, who do you think people will believe, you or me?”

He turned his head to avoid her sour breath. He was beaten and he knew it. If he let her try whatever she had in mind maybe she would go away and forget him. He relaxed and let her lead him toward the out buildings.

“Did you ever do it in a barn?” she said.

“Amos is in there.”

“Maybe he’d like to watch. Or even join in. But maybe you’re not ready for that. Let’s go in the tool shed.”

With a last glance back toward the house, Kyle let himself be pulled along toward the tool shed. It was a rectangular unpainted wooden building with a corrugated roof. Inside it smelled of machine oil and sawdust.

“This will do,” she said. “Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”

Kyle recoiled as she went for his crotch.

“Don’t jump, lover. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I tell you there’s no way I can do anything.”

“We’ll see. Why don’t you relax and enjoy it.”

Feeling as though he was in some kind of nightmare, Kyle let her push him to the gritty floor of the shed. She undid his belt, opened his pants, and yanked them down to his knees, taking his briefs along. With one hand she milked his limp penis while her other fondled his testicles.

“You like that?” She smiled down at him, her lipsticked mouth garish in the dim light that filtered through the shed’s single window.

Kyle grunted. Incredibly, he started to get hard. The last thing in the world he wanted was to have sex with this suddenly weird girl. And yet, he could not deny it, she was exciting him. And she knew it.

“What did I tell you? You’re more of a man than you thought.”

She dipped her head suddenly and nibbled at the head of his cock. A shudder ripped through his body. He lay propped on his elbows as Marianne stood up skinned down her jeans. She wore no underwear. She pulled the jeans off one foot, then the other, balancing precariously as she did so. Naked from the waist down, she stood over him for a moment rubbing herself between the thighs.

“Ready to fill this hole for me? Yes, I can see you are.”

Kyle started to get up. She pushed him back down.

“You stay right there, lover. Let me do the work.”

She squatted over him, lowering the lips of her vagina over his rigid penis. She dropped suddenly, swallowing him, and began to ride.

There was not much lubrication, and the friction of her pumping chafed the tender skin of his penis. Yet, hating himself for it, Kyle responded, rising to meet her with a flat smack of flesh on each plunge. Marianne threw her head around wildly, the loose hair slashing across her face.

Finally he could hold back no more. He let himself go and spurted inside her. Marianne rode all the harder, whimpering in her need. When his erection collapsed and she could no longer hold him inside she toppled over with a moan and lay beside him.

“That’s all right, lover. We’ll do better next time.”

Next time?!
All he could think about was that he wanted to be away from this girl. And he wanted a bath. He felt dirtier than he ever had in his entire life.

She reached down and squeezed his limp member. “At least you had a good time. Didn’t I tell you?”

He rolled away from her touch. As he did so, the bandage on her forearm pulled free. Kyle stared at the still open wound. The raw edges of skin were crusted with a lichen like white growth. The grayish meat underneath oozed a viscous green liquid.

“Hey, that doesn’t look good,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it, lover.”

Kyle looked up into her face. As he did so he was aware of a faintly unpleasant odor under the heavy perfume. It triggered a childhood memory of a vacant house where he had played sometimes as a child, a house where a sick old dog had crawled under the floorboards and died. His mouth dropped open as he recognized the smell. It was rot.