Chapter 12
In the morning I was put on the grave digging detail. I must admit it was only just. They thought I should help clean up the mess I had caused, and I had to agree, though the work was as severe a punishment as any I ever hope to get. They may not have meant it as such, but such it was, and I straightened from the trench with an aching back and blistered palms to watch the informal procession bearing Charley in his coffin and leading Carrie like a sacrificial lamb. My heart lightened in spite of my new aches, and I scrambled from the hole to stand eagerly awaiting them, shovel in hand.
While Kurt lowered the wooden coffin into the earth, Carrie stood nudely by, lightly held on either side, head bowed, face white with fear, as unattractive as the first time I saw her in her own room.
Unmoving from the spot, Kurt then swiveled toward her and stripped off his trousers, revealing his huge prick. As his gaze slowly traversed her wrinkled form, resting in turn on her pendulous breasts and withering nest of long past loves, he swelled and stiffened, taking on fantastic dimensions, enough to make a mare whinny with desire at the stalwart sight. His hands stretched out, reaching for his unwilling victim, and his eyes gleamed with the anticipation of his bloody pleasures.
I don't believe there is, or ever was, a woman who could possibly encompass his grotesque tool, but, still, he plainly hoped that one day he would find one. Till then, this was the only way he could ever plant his seed.
He approached, she stiffened, screamed, made one last effort to free herself, and rained curses on our heads, especially mine, but all was fruitless. Like an implacable Juggernaut, he came on. Like inflexible chains, her bailiffs held her for his onslaught.
He seized her, and she went limp, passively permitting the brutal spreading of her thighs. His great spear knocked dully at her door, pressed on, its bulbous tip spreading the folds of the entrance. We were all gathered where we could see, and we solemnly watched the enactment of our freedom. She had given up all secrets but one, and this was the last. This was the end of tyranny.
Kurt strove against mighty resistance, against the rigid props provided by the two that held her. He strained to get it in, pushed into the fear-blanched membranes till the folds distended to swallow just his tip, swathing it in a light pinkness of stretched tissue. He lurched and forced another inch, and the blood began to flow, accompanied by her first thin, wailing cry.
He lurched again, and burst all barriers asunder. He reached the natural end of her passage, drew back and thrust again with all his strength, seating all of his unbelievable length. She screamed again, a loud and hearty sound this time, the last she ever uttered, and fainted as the blood burst from her mouth in a gushing stream, staining Kurt's chest and reddening the ground.
He did not stop, but now began to pound against her inert body, as it fell to the ground, abandoned by its supports. He grunted and groaned, howled and pounded on. We could see the force of his conclusion, as he jolted to a sudden stop, clutched the bloody pulp to his loins, and sagged as his power was sapped.
He lay there for several minutes before sluggishly rolling from his victim, a bloody ruin which nearly turned my stomach, even though I was happy that she was gone, and gone in as miserable a way as she had permitted for others, gone in the misery she had fostered in others. Her death was ugly, sickening, but relief conquered all other feelings. My stomach soon settled, though some others did not.
He finally rose to hurl her body into the pit, atop the coffin. I hurled the first clod with the shovel I had kept and helped to fill in the hole, smooth the mound and place the marker. I thought its inscription was appropriate: "Charley and Carrie Mathews, R.I.P." Rot in Perdition.
Kurt silently and expressionlessly preceded us on the way back to the house. We stopped once while he stepped into the large pool in the brook to wash the congealing blood from his body and put his clothes back on. He was still silent when we walked on, but that was no surprise, really. He was usually quiet, with little to say, but now he seemed more relaxed, as if he were happy to have them both finally removed from his life. His dip in the cool waters had removed the last traces of their existence from his body, and I wished I could as easily remove them from mine.
I wondered what hold they had had over him, other than the promise of occasional gratification of his sexual needs. Murder had certainly been a threat, but that must still exist, even with no one threatening him with exposure. Perhaps someday someone would, but for now he seemed happy. We all were. The shadow was gone, though it lingered for me. How could I tell Rod of my escape? Would he understand?
It didn't take us long to dress and gather up our things from our rooms, and soon we were all gathered in the lounge, waiting for someone to make the first move toward leaving, waiting for someone to say something.
Our protracted silence was broken when Pig-eye cleared his throat to speak. "Anyone need a ride anywhere?"
No one answered. The situation was too new, too fraught with an unknown guilt. He repeated his question with a dull patience. He, too, was unsure of himself now.
One of the girls answered, and then several more, but he looked at me. "Penny, don't you want to go anywhere?"
"If you'd drop me off in Millinocket, I'd appreciate it."
I was the only one who wanted to go there, but Rod was waiting. I wanted to go to him, cleanse my soul in his love, and, even though I could never tell him why, feel forgiven.