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For me, there is nothing sadder than old family photo’s.
In their images, their faces, their eyes, the way they are posing, can be seen a message between the lines. If one looks with a little imagination. Read More... The farm in the distance is boarded up. A foreclosure maybe. The wagon just in back of the group is rusty and well settled into the ground. A closer look reveals it’s an old tiller than had to be pushed or pulled to do its job. No motor.
The two daughters are standing close to their mother. One is holding on to the hem of mother’s well worn sundress. The other daughter, the youngest, is standing erect and responsible, lost in a land of her own. She has begun the task of availing herself to the duties on this farm. To modify her giggling with the new apron she is now showing off for the lens. where it is she who is the mom with the two children.
The son, standing closer to dad, it dressed in his best. Train for his future also.
Dad sees all this malarkey as a waste of time.
Mom is most curious. She’s wondering just how much of her this shot will capture.
She’s a little afraid it may pick up something that she has kept to herself most of her days on the farm, married to John and raising the little ones.
No wonder the picture man called this an exposure.
Just how much does that box see?
The sad part for me is not the tell tale expressions or the dilapidating backdrop.
It’s that these photos are over eighty years old. These people are no longer alive, and moreover, all the folks that knew who they were, are also dead.
There is no one left who really knew who these people were. Their wants, desires, disappointments and successes, their hobbies, their old loves and new loves and how things have gone for them down the road.
We will never know who they were.
And the same goes for us. All the things that keep us busy, our dreams and our nightmares will all be gone on the wayside. With nary a care by the generations to follow.
Rather dim, eh?
Well, there is a bright side to this.
You can go out with a flame of glory. Torch the neighborhood. Call the White House with a bomb threat, and while they’re tracing the call, threaten to kill the President with a hand-held Stinger Missile. Knock on the neighbor’s door and just start shooting. Call the police, tell them you are a maniac, and shoot as many of them as you can when they show up all macho.
Using your megaphone, tell them you wish to talk to a cop who has a family with lots of kids, and you will surrender if he shows himself.
And when they agree and bring him out in the open, you shoot him too.
What they don’t know is you have taken all your retirement money to a gun show in Robbinsdale and purchased a genuine twelve thousand dollar sniper rifle, with an infrared scope and a wooden crate of armor piercing bullets.
They think you’re just using a standard rifle, and they are being very cavalier about where they are standing.
One policeman is partially hiding behind his open car door. He doesn’t know he is being targeted. If only he would look down at his chest, he could see the glowing red dot, move a little to the right and his day may continue. But the maniac sniper delivers a bullet that goes through his reinforced car door like butter. He never had time to utter a single word.
The other officers see the hole in his door, and they decide to hightail it out of there.
They return a short time later with armored SWAT teams and a lovely selection of helicopters.
Within minutes, the entire neighborhood has been taped off.
What are you going to do now? This is most exciting. Much excitingness. Mos jubaleetos. What a merry way of things. Why did I not think of this before? I am now Rock Star the Great.
Just look at me, he says. As he’s trying to fine tune CARE 11 Live Report, from his Lexus All Terrain Vehicle well north of Forest Lake on 35, and getting more northerly every minute.
Meanwhile, a ways away.
“Down down! Cunt face little bitch. Oh you are so fucking high (Smack!) and (smack!) mighty! Cunt!... come here... come here!!!!! Oh no you don’t (smack!....smack smack!)
The man reaches her crawl space and grabs by what’s left of her choke collar and yanks as hard as he can. Which proves to be a little too much.
You don’t have to be a professional listener to hear her neck has snapped. And now she is far far too obedient. And a bit of a bore. But what a pussy. Look at that. He pulls on the hairs. Then he grabs hair on one side and some on the other and pulls apart her labia pretending it’s the talking pussy. He purses his lips “Hi kids! Wanna come and play with me?” “Ha-ha-ha. I have an ‘inny’. But I need an ‘outy’.” which happens to be the car she drives. An Audi. Three giggles for that one, he says.
Still yanking the hairs, “Cu-hunting we will go. Cu-hunting we will go. Hi-ho a cherry-o. Cu-hunting we will go.”
He shoves in his tongue as far as he can, and blows, making her tummy rise.
And then backs away and dances to the music.
He can’t believe she fell for all this anyway. Coming in here to engage in this kind of dementia. Sicko. With a perfect stranger, no less. It took him better part of the day to discover just what kind of place this was. An S & M parlor, he concluded. Well, I’ll be.
She knocked on the door, I said Sally will be back shortly, and that was all there was to it. Like taking candy from a baby.
He had just robbed the place and killed a 14 year old girl doing it. A note he found on the refrigerator said Mom wouldn’t be back for eight days. So he had at least a week to hang out as long as he kept his runs to the liquor store few, and as late in the day as possible.
This true blue is R&R. A lifeless little plaything off in the far bedroom, booze and plenty of food. All compliments of the house. Especially his new found financial freedom discovered in their wall safe.
He was happier now than he can ever remember. Even as a small boy. And he did this all himself. No asking for favors like he’d been doing. No pleading with his half brother. No thankless jobs with another fucking mop.
He also can’t believe this drop-dead gorgeous woman that now lies in the corner.
Had he not found this log journal of sorts in the roll top desk, he would have been clueless to why the woman showed up at all. In this neighborhood? A little out of her realm would be an understatement.
Truth is, she found this crappy trailer park the perfect spot for what she had in mind. The woman’s name is Angela Drexler. Yes, “Thee” Angela Drexler. Newest hot box sensation to hit the business section since Martha Stewart.
The Crepella DeVille of the Me-Me industry, Angela Drexler became the first ever woman CEO of Tyrell Corporation. Manufacturer and distributor of just about every vanity product out there, from soaps and colognes, to breast implants and Wonder Bra’s. If it’s meant to pump you up for a date, Tyrell will have its fingers there.
How Angela found her way to the top was seen as a scratch and claw job with a snatch that could almost speak French. Her tools were her hypnotic allure and outright killer instinct. She had no friends in her business. She was to be feared. And if you were thinking she had some feelings for you, by the way she let you watch her walk by, you were a fool soon to have another thing coming. Any attention she gave had a damn good reason. If she gave you a “blinky blinky”, you best sit down and reassess your department, and possibly your job. Because she was up to something.
In away, she kept a pretty tight ship by being the way she was. No one ever questioned her ways. Ever.
But in order to operate like this, the little requirement is that you treat your inferiors with a brutal disregard. It was nothing for her to threaten you, your spouse, the kids and the whole neighborhood you live in.
Fabricating scandals was her shining talent. From fraudulent child molestation charges to drugging your spouse at home, while you are out of town, and sending over an adult entertainment production crew to make some spectacular home movies. One’s that make your secret Polaroid’s look like a Sunday walk in the park. And, of course, putting the tapes next to all the children’s Disney tapes when they leave.
The woman treated those on the lower wrung with utter distain to the edge of physical brutality. Though she was very careful about the brutality part. Most of the abuse was verbal and bitterly humiliating. She knew how to use her tongue, wit and drive like a pair of pliers and a blow torch.
But she wasn’t all monster. No, not at all. In fact she was well aware of the toll her soul was paying to get where she was. It didn’t bother her at first, but later on, she found herself standing in the mirror longer than usual. Looking in those eyes, wondering if anyone ever saw the scared and poor little girl that grew up on the farm in the outskirts of Lincoln Nebraska. What she would do if someone actually saw her for who she really was. The doll house was made with a deck of cards, and the girl inside was an empty shell made of plastic. Nothing was real, and there stands a damn good chance someone may come along and look so deep in her eyes she would die right where she stood. A horrible vulnerability.
She looks in the mirror and wonders if there is something she can do to alleviate the pain that stirs in her belly. The pain of being so far removed from the rest of the human race and what it took to get there. The Bitch from Planet Fuck. It’s like the evil clown she once saw, and had those nightmares about. “Why would a clown want to look so evil?”, is what she wondered. This clown never left her thoughts. All her mom’s doctors and all her mom’s shrinks, couldn’t put Angela back together again. She knew in her heart of hearts this clown was always with her. Standing right behind her. She was absolutely sure if she could turn around fast enough, she could see him. Drilling his eyes in hers and laughing maniacally at all her silly little wishes and silly, silly ways.
Mr. Clown was her worst demon. She felt pale in comparison. Everything she did was a church-going joke compared to this guy.
One day her life took an unexpected turn. This was truly something out of the blue and unbecoming of her to find herself where she was. Which was at a Circle K in a dingy little hick town west of Mora, and having to run in and get a pack of Benson & Hedges Deluxe Ultra Light Menthol 100’s in the soft pack. Because her ditsy blond cunt of a secretary forgot to get her a carton. Which is her whole fucking duty. The cunt. “When I get back, she will get the attention she deserves.”
Standing in line her eyes got stuck on the cover of the February issue of Swank Magazine. She stepped up to the register, ordered the smokes and the magazine, jumped in her car and headed east.
Before she even checked her messages, she had the magazine open. Her fingers were whipping through it like they had a life of their own. She went past the articles, past the photo spread, past the cartoons, till her hands stopped on a page. It was a page of ads near the tail end. Small photographs of Asian women lying down with a phone up to their ears. And phone numbers.
And then there it was. Her eyes glued to an ad with a leather clad blonde holding chains and a whip. And a stunning pair of high heels. She called herself Sally Chainsaw. And Sally hates strong successful high-roller business executives. And she will make you pay for your nasty ways with the underlings. 1-900-BOW-Down. You will bow before me and lick my heel.
Thus began Angela’s new lease on life. A well deserved training in the violent underworld of Sado-Masochism, Bondage & Discipline, Domination & Obedience. All meant for her and other up-and-coming ruthless bitches just like her.
Which is what brought her to this quaint little trailer park. This was the official office chamber of Sally Chainsaw, Inc.
She came here for her weekly.
And from what the journal said, she paid well and paid cash.
He wonders if they’ll come looking for her. He hopes she was good at covering her tracks.
Meanwhile, a Lexus heading north on I-35 past Forest Lake.
Bang!—Bang!.........aim this time. Do-dah, do-dah. Bang!
Charlie’s never had so much fun in his life. He’s always been Charles. “Oh, Charles?” Pathetically English. But today? He is Charles Leo DeCaprio on the front of the Titanic. “Yippy Skippy!”
He’s wondering how something so fun, could be so illegal.
A simple goof up in the law books, is what he’s guessing.
Some of these judges should get off there fat ass and step out once in a while. Flex their teeth.
He can’t believe he’s gotten this far away. Hinkley. Next two exits.
Hinkley? Hinkley of the Grand Casino Hinkley? Has to be!
His attention goes back to the on-board TV, and he laughs hysterically.
Everybody’s still at his house. Trying to talk him out.
“It’s an SUV. Toyota maybe. He just crossed two lanes and a double line to take the Hinkley exit. I’m going to check him out.”
Word hadn’t gotten to Ranger Packwood of the Highway Patrol yet. He hasn’t a clue the vehicle in his sights has anything to do with what’s going down in South Minneapolis. He follows the car on the off-ramp and puts on the lights. The car takes a right and pulls to the shoulder and waits with the engine running.
Officer Packwood uses the intercom to tell the driver to “shut off your vehicle”, and one moment too many goes by before the engine shuts off along with the lights.
He figures the driver is either drunk or just nervous.
Not a single alarm goes off in his head. Twenty seven years on the force, he would have hoped would give him a better set of instincts than what he was using now.
He saw that it was a blond behind the wheel. Maybe that’s why.
He still dreams of telling a buxom blond babe to put their hands on the car and “spreadem’”.
But it hasn’t happened. The opportunity has never presented itself.
Actually, it’s because he likes his job too much to just throw it away on a silly comment.
But this one might be the one he’s been waiting for.
He steps out leaving the door open.
For some reason he smells the air. Woodsy. Moist.
And he likes it, and wonders why the old sniffer kicked in now.
It doesn’t occur to him it’s his latent Neanderthal on the lookout for intruders.
Our bodies can do some interesting things. Too bad the mind isn’t there half the time.
The blond has his “butt-sniffing thug” in submission.
He’s in his mind’s eye now. And his mind says “Huge tits and I might let her go.”
He remembers a pull-over he made shortly after he got his own patrol car.
Some dim-bulb brunette who said her license was in her purse in the back seat.
So she gets out of the car, wearing a short tight leather mini-skirt, bends over the back passenger door and starts riffling through her shit. Her ass, this big beautiful bulbous ass is now on display to every passing motorist. And there I am just standing there looking at it. Hypnotized. Only to be snapped out of it by a steady barrage of car horns.
I said “never mind lady”. Jumped in my car and got out of there.
So, to you ladies. Now you know how to get out of a ticket. Easy as pie.
Flashlight in hand he walks up to the driver window. A tinted window of a 2003 Lexus Off Road XTXL.
The window goes down.
“Hello officer. Did I do something wrong?”
O’ boy. What have we here. A man in drag. I see. Okay.
“Saw you make some fast lane changes without a signal, sir. That’s a little dangerous. Can I see your driver’s license and registration please?”
The moment quickly arrives with Officer Packwood. The moment he wonders why in hell he didn’t call in the plate number first. Then pull him over.
The last thing he sees is a very bright light.
He never heard a sound.
*
“Do you have a high-stakes blackjack section?”, he asks the security guard.
“Yes sir. Right over there.” he points.
He notices that the guard has a gun. Looks like a glock.
“I’m in the mood tonight for some high stakes.”
“Well, good luck sir.”
Thank you. You fat wanna’ be. Couldn’t pass the written at the academy? Even with the invasion a feminism? And the assault from the multicultural and diversity bullshit? Jesus.
I’ll see you again when I leave.
Charles seems to be on Cloud 9. He’s almost forgotten the shooting spree on the way up. Distant memories.
Truth is, he growing a little impatient. Everythings taking too long. He wants everything, and to do everything “Now! Now now now , damn it! Jesus.
He calms himself with some cold water from the Men’s Room sink.
Which gives him an opportunity to lift his head, and look at his eyes.
He doesn’t see the desperation he thought he would. No. Which is a little surprising for someone who just killed about thirty people in the last hour.
Hey! He thinks. That’s more than Ted Bundy. And a whole lot quicker too. Bundy, eat your heart out you pussy. Porn watching pervert.
Yah... Rock Sta’ the Great. Me-o, My-o. If he hollers, let him go-eee-oh. Go-eee-oh. OOh-EEeee- Oh...me-o my-....oh? Helloooo... Officer Bang Bang. Look Bang bang. It’s Bang Bang!.... Officer Bang Bang. me-o my-o.
Okay.
Time for Charles to rumble.
He takes a seat at a high stakes table, and plops down a thousand.
“How would you like that, sir.”
“Like what?” Charles is a little green behind the ears.
“What chips would you like? 50’s? 100’s? 500’s?
“Oh...... do you have a 1000 dollar chip?”
“We most certainly do sir.”
Charles’ play at the table is short lived. The dealers get Blackjack. A 10 and an ace.
Charles starts to tell the dealer his 10 has to be a face card. That it’s not a real blackjack. None of this 10 card stuff.
The pit boss comes over. Charles has two targets now.
The rampage begins when he removes the Colt 45 from his waist and pops the pit boss and the dealer. Boom boom. Never saw it coming.
Boom boom. There go the other dealers.
He calmly gets up and makes his way to the cashier window, shooting anything and everybody he sees. The casino lights begin to flicker for some reason. An alarm has sounded. Many alarms. And people are clawing there way to the doors. Not a single slot machine is being played now. It’s absolute mayhem. The dinging sounds have been replaced by screams.
He orders the cashier to fill a bag with as much money as she can. But she freezes. She knows the windows are bullet proof.
So does Charles. He installs these windows for a living.
He jumps on the ledge and points the gun at her through the six inch space at the top. This always made him laugh to himself. Every bank has these windows. And every bank has that six inch space between the window and the ceiling. Why? Nobody knows.
So if you want to rob a bank, just jump up there, stick the gun over, and tell everyone to snap to it.
The cashier is flabbergasted. She always wondered about that space at the top. She grabs a bag already filled with stacks of one hundred dollar bills, and hands it to him.
A shot rings out. But not from his gun. Someone else is doing the shooting now.
He turns, grabs a gorgeous big titted blonde and heads out to the parking lot.
She doesn’t put up much of a fight, he thinks to himself. No screaming. Nothing.
He commandeers a brand new Cadillac Eldorado because he’s sure it’s old people driving. Sure enough, with them out, he and Dolly jump in and speed away.
Robbing a casino is no easy task. That is, after all, where the money is. And generally they keep things tighter than Fort Knox. Security is always heavy, and mostly hidden.
The eyes in the sky that night were vacant. The dark little balls in the ceiling? This is the watchful eye and the heart of their whole security apparatus. But it was Sunday Night. Super Bowl Sunday night. And all the King’s men were in the Presidential Suite at the casino’s hotel across the highway. They had some serious money on the game and weren’t going to miss a minute of it. And a little too much room service made them not so fast to leave.
Nobody expects a maniac. A casino is prepared for a heist, not a runaway psychotic with guns a blazing. This takes even the best by surprise.
And that’s how you rob a casino.
“My name is Charles, and I would prefer you keep the seatbelt on.”
“What are you going to do?” she says.
“I’m going to sit here and look at you and watch you keep your mouth shut.”
She remains quiet for quite a few miles, which impresses Charles. He thought Mother Nature somehow made that impossible.
*
Charles is a former Enron executive, who jumped ship long before the shit hit the fan. His name never made it to the list of guys to get. He knew something was up but was never held privy to it. There was a click at the top of Enron. A click that Charles always harbored some hostilities for. Mainly because he was an odd man. He could never loosen up around this little group. He tried. He would join them for cocktails and the Black Angus, and try to shoot the shit. But it was a poorly played role for him. They respected his gift for unorthodox security measures, and that was it.
He saw these dogs for what they were. It wasn’t until the recent developments at Enron that had Charles thanking his lucky stars he never fit in with those thieves. He took his pension, a few other modest benefits and hit the road. He was free and clear of any charges brought down from the Justice Department. The heat was on, and it was dog eat dog over there. His oddness turned out to be a blessing.
His ride was a quiet and uneventful one. Dolly was a perfect angel. He tried to get WCCO on the AM dial but found nothing but static. Actually, quite a bit of static. Stations that should easily reach this far north were not there. Convinced it was a bad antenna he turned it off and pressed the play button. Slim Whitman’s Golden Hits. Things were turning for him in a very good way.
Anxious to hear how the stand off at his house was coming along, he exited the freeway and parked in a Hardee’s parking lot. Asked Dolly if she wanted a bite to eat and they went in.
A TV was hanging on chains in the corner tuned to the local news with everyone in the place glued to it. Which scared the hell out of Charles, thinking maybe his day might be over soon if anyone recognizes him.
He expected to see news clips of the casino robbery, but there wasn’t any yet.
Or at least the stand off in town. That had to be news up here. But that wasn’t on either.
It was a news team in a van capturing what looked like a riot.
Charles and Dolly sat down. The waitress came over and said half the stuff on the menu is unavailable because of the rioting. The food truck wasn’t able to get out of town. That they had all the roads, highways and freeways closed off to people coming in or going out. The entire city was apparently at a stand still for some reason.
They had coffee and toast and sat for a spell.
The news was becoming even more sporadic. The camera guy was obviously convulsive. Just a whole lot of tilty this and tilty that. Not much on the commentary.
Charles and Dolly left the cafe and stayed at the Edgewater Inn on the shore of Duluth Harbor. They even had cocktails on the balcony while they watched the moon rise over Lake Superior. A powerful crimson red, slowly turning copper.
It was the most beautiful moonrise Charles ever remembers seeing.
It was the most beautiful thing Dolly ever saw, which made her cry inside.
This was more than Dolly ever remembers feeling.
*
“Charles. Charles wake up.”
It was Dolly fully dressed having breakfast with coffee and the same for him was on a tray next to his head.
“What time is it?” he was all blinky blinky.
“It’s eight thirty. The news is on and you won’t believe your ears.”
“Let me guess. Psychotic Enron exec shoots people and goes to play cards.”
“No no no..... we have to talk about that, by the way. But the news said there was a terrorist act in Minneapolis. They’re not sure but they are saying the water supply was contaminated. Or poisoned. With LSD. Half the people in town went ape shit higher than a kite on acid. Can you believe that?”
Yes. Charles had no problem with that one. In fact it was now making all the sense in the world and would explain a lot. Before he got all gung-ho with the sniper rifle he spent almost an hour soaking in the bathtub. One of the most efficient ways to introduce drugs into the system. Fill your tub with cheap wine and soak in it for about ten minutes and you may find yourself dead from alcohol poisoning.
Charles was poisoned with LSD through an act of terrorism.
Saddam Hussein had a fleet of nuclear scientists. And one of these poindexters was a retired chemical research and development giant formerly employed by Sandoz Pharmaceutical Laboratories in Denver for the manufacture of Lysergic acid Dyethylamide. Commonly known as LSD-25 during the sixties, its initial purpose was for mind control experiments by the military. Its widespread use among the public for recreational purposes put an end to the testing. Why test when you got millions doing it anyway.
It wasn’t hard for a terrorist network to devise a contamination plan. They simply sailed a boat to the Canadian shore and drove the rest of the way. Entering the US via Grand Portage on the Minnesota border. Then driving down the same highway Charles and Dolly were on now. Highway 61.
They had people already in place that knew exactly where and when to dump the LSD. Many of them were city employees and here illegally. The state changed the language from illegal alien to undocumented person of nationality. And then proceeded to document them all and hired quite a few in the process.
All the terrorists had to do was make it past one check point on the border with some phony visa’s. The LSD it would take to knock out a large city could fit in an empty pack of cigarettes. Which is how they smuggled it in In an unopened pack of Bensen and Hedges Deluxe Ultra Light Menthol 100’s sitting on the dashboard in plain view.
*
“My name is Cheryl, by the way.”
“My name is Charles. Did you go through my wallet?”
“Yes. I didn’t take anything. I was just wondering who the man was who shot up the Grand Casino Hinkley and kidnapped me as a bonus. That’s all. You were calling me Dolly. It’s Cheryl. And thanks for not getting all grabby on me last night.”
“Cheryl. I killed a lot of people yesterday. I can’t go back to the cities. LSD or no LSD, I shot a shit-load of police officers. They’re not going to let that ride because I was high on something.”
“But the whole city did it. Everybody went nuts.”
“Yah, but I went nuts and shot almost anything that moved. They’ll at least lock me away in the psyche ward as a possible public menace. No. My life there is over. I can only hope they have plenty on their hands for now and not chase after me.”
“You want to be a fugitive like the show.”
“No Cheryl. I am a fugitive now.” My God, this woman is stunningly gorgeous. How in the world did I end up with this? I must abduct more often.
“How bout we sleep on it. I paid the guy for another night. I’m hoping to catch that moon again.”
So then they fucked and fucked and fucked and fucked and showered and fucked and ate and fucked and fucked and drank and drank and drank and ate and ate and fucked and fucked and fucked.
It was beautiful.
They also started falling for each other.
“Charles.........................”
“Cheryl.”
* * *
“I have an idea” Cheryl says, biting into a whole unpeeled grapefruit. “You can’t go back. Right? Okay. So how bout you come to my place? First of all, you don’t know me at all. I know that. You don’t know what I do. If I’m married. Am I a terrorist? Am I a psycho killer, whatever. But there is something about you I find irresistible. I can’t help it.
I saw it at the casino. You were a man well in control of himself. There was no hesitation in your look or your actions. You marched in there and just started shooting. You didn’t wince, you weren’t shaking, you weren’t running or hiding. You just calmly and methodically took charge of that entire place. You had a mission on your mind. you stood tall and walked tall and delivered with frightening precision. I’m sorry, but I’m getting wet just thinking about it. Jesus. I’ve never in my life seen such nerve. And I’ve had plenty of opportunity to walk out that door, steal the car and leave you high and dry. But I didn’t. Oh, I thought about. But my feet just weren’t listening.
Charles, this is entirely stupid, I know. But I find you the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. You pull more stunts like you did yesterday and you’ll have woman breaking down the door just to sniff your shorts. They love that macho stuff. If it’s real. Especially today with all this mushy new age sensitivity crap. Women don’t want Mr. Sensitive. Women will always go for the bad boy, leaving Mushy Marvin with his butterfly collection and conflict resolution tapes.”
“Jesus. And I’ve been Mr. Nice all my life.”
“Well, I didn’t see Mr. Nice at the casino.”
“I was on drugs.”
“Oh, come on. You’ve done acid before?”
“Yes. In high school. Strawberry Sunshine. That was some righteous shit.”
“Kill anybody?”
“No.”
“Alright then. We’ll do the AA thing. Today...you won’t kill anybody.”
*
They had quite a pleasant ride from there. On up 61 past Two Harbors. Stopping at every tourist attraction they found. Betty’s Pies. The cliffs of Palisade Head. A hike up the Temperence River where they found a beautiful little spot next to a little pond perfect for a picnic. So they stopped and fucked and fucked and fucked.
They never said this to one another, but they both felt like they were on a honeymoon of sorts. Everything seemed like a honeymoon. The whole world was a honeymoon. Charles would find himself listening to love songs on the radio like he was hearing them for the first time.
For Angela, she was beyond “beyond”. She had never felt this way about a man that she can remember. To her this was a living fairy tale. She cries when she thinks of the years that have gone by having never felt this way. Something deep inside her had been laying dormant. Something that was there all along, waiting to be set free to cut away the chains of doubt, of fear and of loneliness.
She still believed in magic. She believed in the White Knight in the land of far away hopes and dreams.
She felt like a little girl again.
And she felt like a woman. In a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.
She didn’t think this was possible anymore.
Or that she did not deserve to feel this way.
She cries when she thinks of how far she had taken herself. Taken herself to a world of forever alone because she thought she was so tough, and that she could handle it.
The longing when she would see couples walking and holding hands.
She always felt tales of love were meant for others.
And now, all that seems so far, far away. Like she was never a part of it. It was all a dream. A nightmare.
Now she has waken from that darkness and solitude. The dust has been blown away by a brand new wind.
The wind of change.
She has her heart again. And she can’t believe it’s still beats.
Now is the time for that the she has thought about but had never had reason to pursue with any vigor.
She had to rid her husband from her life. It could be a nasty ordeal. He had an explosive temper, and a gun to go with it. He had threatened her with it on a few occasions. And it scared the hell out of her. They were, afterall, in the midst of a heated battle in the courts. Of which she allowed herself to be intimidated. His attitudes with their daughter were beginning to change. He had no patience with her. And she knew at the bottom of her heart, one day he would do something stupid. It was time she grabbed the bull by the horns.
Dearest God in heaven, she says. It’s been a long time, I know. I have forsaken you in every way. I have cursed you and denied you even exist. But I need you now.
*
“Charles. I would like to take you to my house and meet my daughter. It’s not far from here. It’s a ways, but not far. I really don’t want to live there anymore, but that’s where I live now. And I very much want you to meet Mellisa. She is my everything.”
“Does this scare you?” she asks.
“No. Not at all Cheryl. It’s a great idea. Will my being there scare her?”
“No. She’s a tough cookie.”
“There is also something else I should tell you. Something I have to tell you.
It’s about what I do—or did, for a living.”
“Okay, lemme guess. You’re a hired killer. An assassin.”
“No.”
“You’re a male prostitute.”
“Well—no.”
“Hey. That was a long space between “Well” and “no.”
“I’m a dominatrix. I work out of my home. I’ve done it for years. Quite successfully I might add. It’s a booming business. And it’s not that bad. Nobody fucks me or anything. It’s mostly theatrical. And I pay very little in taxes. I’m on the internet and have ads in all the skin magazines.
My professional names is Sally Chainsaw. Owner and operator of Sally Chainsaw, Inc.
Heard of me?”
Later that evening in the outskirts of Mora.
“This is a ways out here. Doesn’t that scare you?”
“No. That’s the way I always thought I liked it.”
Charles takes the brand new Cadillac Ederado with the flame job onto there last turn. Heading deep into Trailor Park Country.
“Charles! Stop! Stop!”
They come to a squeeling halt. Engine running.
“What’s wrong?”
“My house is right there, with the blue fence. See it?
“Yes. Who’s that guy. Friend? An ex?”
“No! I have no idea who is. But he just went in like he owned the place. Dear God. Mellissa. Somethings wrong. That laundry’s was hanging out when I left. She would have brought it in. Something is terribly, terribly wrong , Charles. I’m going in.”she grabs the door handle.
“No! No, wait. Lets both go up there. But slowly. Let see if we can get a look inside from one of the windows. No sense in going in all half-cocked. This could be dangerous. There’s no tell ing what he’s done or going to do, so lets just keep our heads. Okay?”
“Allright.”
They each take a side of the house. And it’s dark. Dark where he can barely see in front of him.
He is the first to get a good view of the inside. And he can’t believe his eyes. How much death and destruction can a person handle in just a few short days, he wonders.
He sees the slumped female body in the corner. And she’s looking pretty darn dead. Either that or has some strange sleeping habits. She looks to be an older woman. The place looks trashed. Booze and beer bottles littered everywhere.
Where is her daughter?
He goes around back to see Cheryl trying to climb in a window, and he grabs her before she falls in.
In the room, is her daughter laying motionless on the bed.
“I’ll go in here, grab her and hand her out to you. She looks unconscious. Get ready.”
Charles goes in and a moment later brings Mellissa to the window, into the waiting arms.
Charles stays behind. He tells Cheryl to meet him at the front door only when he opens it. Which shouldn’t be too long from now.
Charles starts to feel dead-on tough again. A flashback?
He’s standing in the hallway now. Cool as ice. Listening.
He hears a TV, and that’s pretty much it.
Something has taken over Charles again. And he can’t blame the drugs this time. This is Charles in Charge. The new kid on the block. You lookin’ at me? Punk?
Fear is just a word in the dictionary for Charles at this moment. He know s what he is going to do, and he is full blooded rock & roll.
He walks in the living room where the man is sitting on the couch He walks in like there’s not a darn thing wrong. Like he lives there and he wants to know what you would like for dinner tonight.
“Hi. I’m Charles.”
“What th....” Smash!
Charles grabs a long glass ashtray and swings it across the mouth of the intruder, separating the jaw from the fellows face.
Charles grabs his head and shoves his fingers into the man’s eyes, popping them like party balloons, cutting his fingers across the man’s upper and only set of teeth.
His lifeless form falls to the floor with a thud. The man is dead three times over.
He stands and looks down at man for a moment. A relishing takes place. Viewing with approval the fruits of his labors.
He walks over and picks up a studded leather strap laying on the floor, rolls it up neatly and places in his pocket.
He then walks to the front door and opens it.
* *
Mellissa had been beaten badly. She was unconscious, almost comatose, but she was alive and recovered fully in the few short weeks that followed.
The poisoning of the city was now a memory with a slew of precautions put into place, ordered by our governor. Many changes were taking place.
The cities day of mayhem was over.
Many things were distroyed and many lives lost. Far to many for the authorities to investigate, let alone run down any of the killers.
After all, there wasn’t a jury in the world who would turn away a plea of temporary insanity. Very little if anything went to trial for what happened that day.
Nobody ever went after Charles for his deeds. And Angela never made mention of it again.
All three decided it was best to start all over again. Somewhere far, far away.
Where they are today, I couldn’t tell you. They covered their tracks pretty well.
It shocks me sometimes when I look around and see a miracle unfold. And it holds hope for me. I want to be like Charles. And I want to be like Angela. They did things most people only read about. How a full grown adult, set in their ways, can find themselves so far from where they started. And having what it takes to come home again.
The home of our heart, our wishes, and our dreams.
x. |
