Chapter 17
Cindy knew it was Paul. And so did Tony. As soon as he heard the scuffle outside he had raced out the back door of the cabin. Cindy started for the other door, but Pete had picked up an ax lying near the fireplace and told her to stay where she was.
And now silence! Oh God, what was happening out there? Paul! But she dared not move.
"Pete!" It was Tony.
"You just stay right where you are, sister," Pete warned her.
As Pete went outside, Cindy rushed over to the window. It was Paul. Oh no, no, no...he was lying on the ground and there was blood; and then she saw the dog lying a few feet away. She was about to run outside when she saw Tony and Pete lift Paul's limp body; they were carrying him inside. She stood back from the door and waited.
They dumped Paul's body on the floor. Cindy was crying as she bent over him.
"Paul?" She put her hand to his temple and looked up at Tony. "What did you do! You've killed him!"
Tony looked down at her, coldly, hate in his eyes.
"He's not dead...but he's going to wish he was," Tony said through clenched teeth. "Petey, you watch him...if he tries anything, kill him."
Tony walked quickly back outside and over to the dog. Cindy watched as he bent down over the lifeless body. He picked up the animal's head and cradled it in his hands. Then he picked up the dog and carried it a few yards and put in beneath a bush. He walked slowly back to the cabin. When she could see his face clearly, she saw that he was crying.
Tony walked inside and looked down at Paul.
Click! The long blade of his knife sprang open.
'"No, you can't,'" Cindy screamed.
"Get out of my way." There was murder in Tony's voice. "He killed my dog."
"For Chrissakes wait, forget about that dog," Pete said as he put his hand on Tony's arm--. "Mason's got the money...come on now, let's get it and get the fuck out of here."
"No, no, you don't understand," Tony said.
He was almost sobbing now. "You don't understand. He killed Blackie. Nobody liked Blackie except me...and now he's dead. Let go of me, Petey...Mason's going to get what he deserves."
"God damn it, Tony, you're going to queer this whole deal, you crazy idiot!"
Tony brought his knife up until it rested just under Pete's chin.
"Don't ever say that again, Petey."
"O.K., O.K., Tony, I'm sorry, I didn't mean you were crazy. But come on, let's get the money and get out."
Tony didn't answer. Holding the knife in his hand, he walked around the room, glancing every now and then at Paul. Finally he stopped, turned to look at the three of them and sighed.
"Yes, yes, let's get out of here. Let's get some water or something...wake him up." Tony looked at Paul. "You do it Petey."
Pete knelt down and slapped Paul hard. When he didn't come around, Cindy turned on Tony.
"You did kill him...you dirty, filthy pig...you murdered Katie...." But she couldn't go on; she covered her face with her hands and sobbed uncontrollably.
"Slap him again, Petey."
This time it had some effect; Paul's eyelids fluttered, then opened. He stared blankly at the three people, then closed his eyes again.
"Come on, Mason, wake up!" Tony demanded. "Where's the money?" he added, while opening and closing his knife.
Paul opened his eyes again and tried to focus on who was speaking; but he couldn't, everything remained blurry. He put his hand up to his head and groaned.
"Oh Paul! Paul! You're alive...oh, thank God!" Cindy sobbed as she knelt down beside him.
"Cindy," he mumbled weakly. But who were those other people and what was he doing here? He tried hard to think but the throbbing in his head was too painful.
"God damn it, you mother-fucker, where's the money?" Tony yelled.
"Money? What money?"
"The money! The money!" Tony screamed. "The money for keeping this cunt alive. Now come on, Mason, quit playing dumb."
"Leave him alone, can't you see he's hurt...he doesn't understand you," Cindy pleaded.
"He doesn't, huh? Well, maybe he will when he feels this," Tony said as he advanced towards Paul, the knife in his hand.
"Tony, he won't do us any good dead," Pete said as he stepped in front of Tony. "O.K., sister, you nurse him for a while, make him all comfy. And tell him it won't do no good to hold out; we'd just as soon kill you as not."
Tony and Pete walked away, leaving Cindy and Paul alone.
"Are you hurt bad, Paul?"
"No, I don't think so." His mind was clearing now. He remembered.
"Where's Al?" he asked.
"He's dead. They killed him, Paul...and Katie...." She couldn't help herself from sobbing as she remembered what they had done to Katie.
"Yes, I saw her."
Al was dead...but it didn't make any sense somehow...if Al was dead it seemed they should be able to get up and leave. His head was still spinning around and around as he tried to fit the pieces together.
His gun! He reached into his pocket. But it wasn't there, he must have lost it when he was hit on the head. He looked out through the half-open door...it was out there somewhere on the ground...but Tony was watching him.
"Oh, Paul!" Cindy suddenly began to sob. She looked up at him. "I'm sorry, I can't help it...it's so awful. Paul, I'm afraid, I'm afraid they're going to kill us."
"Cindy, I...."
"O.K., Mason, the money," Tony interrupted. "What money?"
"The money Al told you to bring with you...for the girl."
"He didn't mention any money."
"You're lying, Mason. Why? Why? Why?" Tony was shouting again.
"Here," Paul said as he reached into his pocket. "Here's the note he left."
Tony grabbed the piece of paper and read it quickly.
"Goddamn that mother-fucker...Petey, he was playing us for fools. There never was any money. I should have killed that son of a bitch a long time ago."
"So let's get the fuck out of here."
"No, no, I'm not through."
"Come on, Tony, I don't want to stay around here...what's the point?"
"You'll see. Tie him up, Petey."
As Pete approached with the rope, Paul stiffened as if he was going to resist. Tony grabbed Cindy and held the knife under her throat.
"Don't try it, Mason. She's dead if you do," Tony warned.
"If you hurt her I'm going to kill you." Paul winced as the rope cut into his wrists.
"You're such a big man! Well, let's see just how big you are," Tony sneered.
He looked over at Cindy; she was clad in her panties and a bra. "Come here," he ordered.
Cindy backed away. She glanced at Paul lying on the floor, the ropes securely around his wrists and ankles.
"I said come here."
"I'm warning you...if it's the last thing I do I'll get you," Paul growled.
But Tony ignored him. He walked over to
Cindy and dragged her into the middle of the room directly in front of Paul.
"She's nice, isn't she, Mason? Walk around a little, beautiful...let's have a look at you."
Cindy walked around the room, her full firm breasts jiggling enticingly beneath the skimpy bra.
"Strip!" Tony commanded.
Cindy hesitated, but she saw that it would do no good to resist. With another glance at Paul she slipped out of her bra and panties. Tony walked over and .ran his hand over her taut breasts; he buried-his fingers in the triangle of hair between her legs. Then, with a quick look at Paul, he took a piece of rope from his pocket and tied Cindy's hands in front of her. He forced her down onto her knees and with another push she fell forward onto her elbows, leaving her full white bottom fully exposed.
"Ever try it this way, Mason?" Tony said as he stepped up close behind Cindy's upraised ass. "She's real tight back here."
Tony spread the twin mounds of Cindy's behind. He undid his pants and rubbed his prick against her tightly clenched anus.
"You bastard!" Paul hissed.
Tony spread her cheeks even wider; he pushed hard against her and despite Cindy's attempts to escape his thrusts, he managed to screw the tip of his prick into her tightly contracted hole. He grabbed her hips and roughly pulled her back, impaling her on his rod of flesh. She groaned as she felt him enter her narrow channel. In and out he moved, widening her a little with each thrust.
Paul struggled with the ropes that were cutting into his wrists, but Pete had done a good job...he couldn't loosen them. Helpless, he watched Tony rape Cindy's backside.
Tony pulled her soft mounds apart even wider...he began to move faster. With a gasp he jerked violently against her, shooting his thick hot sperm deep into her narrow channel.
Tony closed his eyes for a moment. He pulled out of Cindy and turned to face Paul.
"Well, Mason, you should try that some time," he grinned. "Or maybe I'll fix you so you can't...maybe I'll fix you so you can't ever screw a woman...how would you like that...you wouldn't be a big man then, would you? You wouldn't be a man at all."
Paul struggled desperately, but it was no use. He looked into Tony's bright, gleaming eyes. He was crazy; Paul knew it now.
Tony had his knife out as he walked over to where Paul lay on the floor. He reached down and undid the buckle of Paul's pants.
Cindy watched in horror as, the knife in one hand, Tony pulled Paul's pants down over his knees. Pete was standing next to Tony, watching. Cindy looked around the room desperately.
The ax! It lay on the floor only a few feet away from her. Both Tony and Pete had their backs turned. She picked up the ax, and raising it high over her head, brought it down with all her strength. The sharp blade sliced through Pete's neck...his head flopped away, held to his body by only a few strands of muscle. Tony whirled, saw Cindy raise the bloody ax again, aiming this time at his own body, and lunged at her. He knocked her to the floor and the ax went flying out of her hands, almost hitting Paul. Tony grasped her throat and squeezed; she struggled violently but he was too strong for her and she could feel the black waves crash through her brain. With a last desperate effort she rolled over, breaking his grip, but instantly he was on her again and she was helpless to resist.
Paul struggled to free himself. There was only one chance now and that was to get to the ax and cut the ropes binding his wrists. He lunged. It was in his hands! Oh Jesus! Cindy wasn't moving! Desperately he moved the ax around until the blade was against the rope...he moved the blade and he could feel the strands giving way...just a few more. And then he was free! Tony was lying on top of Cindy. Paul swung down hard and the blade bit into Tony's back. He screamed and rolled over. With all the strength in his body Paul buried the ax in Tony's chest...Tony gurgled, the blood spurting from the huge gash in his chest. Then he was quiet.
Cindy! Paul bent down over her, listening for her breathing. She was still alive! Very slowly, she opened her eyes.
"Oh Paul...Paul, Paul!"
"I've waited a long time to do this," Paul whispered as he took her in his arms and kissed her. "Baby, baby, I love you."
Postscript
PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATION
Incredible as it may seem to orthodox Freudians, there is a difference between the pleasure of violence and what is commonly understood to be sadism. The small remnant of followers of Victor Adler will, of course, exclaim condescendingly :
"We have known this for fifty years! Violence does not necessarily spring from a repressed sex urge, but is more often than not a manifestation of the urge for power."
The unimpressed Freudians will counter with their avatar's dogma that the urge for power, per se, is a manifestation of a repressed sex urge.
The sad fact remains that the various theories about the causes of sadism and/or violence are not of much help when it comes to curing the disease-except in a few isolated cases. As soon as it reaches epidemic proportions, as at present, all over the world, neither clinical nor purely political action proves a sufficient remedy.
The foregoing novel provides us with standard examples of human specimens representing sadism that culminates in sex murder, but also pathological violence as the result of fierce hostility caused by an accumulation of frustrations. Tony stands for the former, Pete and Al for the latter. And what about Paul Mason, the oversexed hero who thinks he has discovered the difference between sex and love ? He serves as a classical example for the young males of our time who confuse the thrill of the orgasm-when experienced with a specific female-with "real love."
Norman Mailer describes in his "The White Negro" the compulsive drive to experience more and ever better orgasms as the only means of emotional escape from social frustration and defeat. He also mentions that the frequency of sexual pleasure cannot be endlessly increased and, therefore, results in a frustration caused by anatomical limitations. This is the point where the need to heighten naturally limited thrills creates the urge for violence. Neo-Freudians have been tempted to deduce from that symptom the postulate that physical violence stems from sexual impotence. The fallaciousness of this is clearly demonstrated in the lives of historically known persons whose cruelty went hand in hand with their vigorously potent sex life: Attila, Genghis Khan, several Roman emperors, the war lords of the Renaissance, and, in the last analysis, all invading armies. One Nero and one Robespierre are not enough to verify any connection between impotence and cruelty.
But, to return to the case of Paul Mason, we may explain the compulsive drive toward frequent orgasms as the growing incapacity of our younger generation to integrate the sexual experience within the gamut of emotional thrills. It could be argued that the hippies have been trying to contrast purely sexual thrills with serenity and peace of mind, but since "romantic love" is considered a bourgeois tradition, the more tender and serene emotions had to be achieved in a "new" way, that is, through drugs. On the other hand, the alleged need for metaphysical tranquility must be questioned if "being far out" and "becoming high" is compared to a "higher orgasm," as claimed by most hippies. Serenity is a steadily flowing river of joy in contrast with the spasmodic thrill of any orgasmic experience, be it physical or emotional.
The Paul Masons of our time believe they "love" their Cindys because the experience of complete, or almost complete, sexual compatibility imbues the sex partner with a value of rareness that may arouse in either of them a feeling of tenderness born of gratitude inherent in a maximum of sexual satisfaction.
For those who regard the romantic love of the Victorian era as an illusion, this tenderness felt for the ideal sex partner may, indeed, come close to what may be called love, although it will fade away with the diminishing attractiveness of the partner's physical appearance. Paul may think his love to be "real" because it arouses his sense of protectiveness when Cindy's life is threatened. On the other hand, this protectiveness can also be interpreted as an intense desire to preserve the availability of an ideal sex partner.
In summing up the arguments concerning the causes of violence, sexual or nonsexual, we are compelled to consider all theories advanced by most psychological schools. Eclecticism permits us to search for purely pathological motives as well as sociological ones. Both are represented in "Abducted."
John E. Wright, Ph.D