by Penn Gates
She feels the tension leaving her body, like a puppet master dropped the strings of a marionette. She wants to collapse gently into the soft mist and disappear. Instead she feels Cash's arm around her shoulders for the second time today. She knows she should shrug him off, struggle against the implication that she's weak and needs his help, but it's still intermission, reality is busy with other things at the moment—and it feels so good.
“Lightning bugs,” he breathes.
“We always called them fire flies,” she breathes just as softly.
They stand watching for a long time in silence.
When they've recrossed the pond and pulled the boat along the sandy bottom to shore, Cash says, “You can crash at my shack tonight. I'll go bunk with the guys in the coop.”
Nix can't think of anything she'd rather do, but she shakes her head. She can hear reality raising the damn curtain again, and she's got to go play her part, whether she wants to or not.
“Margaret will be sitting up with that girl. I need to go spell her." She climbs the bank toward the path back to the farm and calls down to Cash, “That was special—what you showed me tonight.”
“It's yours forever now. All you gotta do is think of it when you need a little peace. Try it—it works.”
Nix tries to recapture that magic at 3 AM when the second girl dies in her arms, but she can't find it. She tries it the next day and the next, while she talks to each of the young women and listens to details that seem to burn images into her brain like battery acid. She finally realizes that it's not going to work as long as she's knee deep in shit. It's after the shit is over and she's trying to catch some z’s—that’s when she can lull herself to sleep by imagining she's back in the magic meadow.
Chapter 19
The day is overcast and hot, the air heavy with the threat of irrevocable change. And yet this is the day Nix has been waiting for – it's time to restore a sense of order. That infernal, festering camper might as well have been a bomb. It's shaken the belief that most of them grew up with—the world's a nice place, the bad guys are out there. You hear about them on cable news or watch brutal crime dramas, but you don't actually run into human monsters if you stay within the security of your well lit neighborhood. Only a few of them, like Nix, had spent any time in that no man's land beyond the streetlights and picket fences.
A trial, in the before Geezer sense of the word, is out of the question. While there are enough adults—in the after Geezer definition—none of them qualify as impartial. Everyone at the farm witnessed the condition of the captives first hand or has been involved in their recovery. And yet a public hearing is still needed. Nix wants to give the victims a chance to tell their story—and because this is still a version of America, the accused, too, will have an opportunity to confront his accusers and give whatever defense he can. He'll have his say, and then he'll get what he deserves. The fact that the outcome is a foregone conclusion bothers Nix more than she cares to admit.
The hearing—or whatever it is—will be held on the lawn across from the camper, which was the scene of two deaths. There's a table where Emma will sit to write out the testimony, word for word. It was her idea, one Nix tried to discourage, but the girl was adamant.
“It's important to have a record,” she'd said. “Some day we'll be the ancestors who left their story behind.”
People start gathering in twos and threes. Margaret, Mary, Brittany, and Doug walk slowly toward the area, each one providing a supportive arm to a girl who has chosen to be present. One victim is still too weak to walk, and Elizabeth has volunteered to sit by her bed and read to her so she won't feel alone. Nix wonders if the poor girl will find ‘Charlotte's Web’ soothing. She doubts it.
Nix paces nervously in front of the table as she waits for Cash and the others. Finally she catches sight of them coming from the barn. The accused is bound so thoroughly he looks like a mummy wrapped in rope. His mouth is covered with a piece of duct tape. They carry him like a log, three on each side.
They tie him to the same tree he'd been bound to that first day. The young men sit on the grass in a semi circle in front of him. He has zero chance of escape or of being understood, but he keeps twisting and making muffled sounds that can only be curses.
Nix pounds on the table and conversation trickles into silence. She's determined to make this short and to the point. Nobody is happy about being here, least of all the victims, who are visibly agitated by the noises coming from their former tormentor.
Cash is the first to testify. George holds the Bible and asks him to swear to tell the truth. The book is shaking and Cash doesn't just touch it, he grabs the edges and steadies it, while he looks George in the eye and says, “I do.”
Nix always hated testifying in court. Asking the questions instead of answering them isn't any better. She feels like she's playing the role of prosecutor—badly—in some little theater production.
She mentally squares her shoulders and says formally, “Please tell us about events the day of July—”
Nix glances at Emma who says softly, “The 8th." Another one of the girl's self-appointed duties has been to keep track of the actual calendar dates. Most of the time Nix isn't even sure of the day of the week. Except for Sundays, they all blur together in never-ending chores, punctuated by problems.
Cash clears his throat. It's obvious he doesn't relish public speaking, at least when it's formal. “We approached the camper, and George introduced himself to the driver. He didn't tell us his name—he wasn't interested in small talk. He was just lookin’ to make a deal. He said he could get us some, uh, female companionship for a little cash and food and a place to park for a couple of days while we transacted our—business.”
“How did you respond to this proposition?” Nix asks.
“I was startin' to get a bad feelin’ about the whole thing. I wanted to share what I thought might be goin' on with you—excuse me—with Nix and the others. Make sure I had back up.”
“Once the camper was parked on St Clair land, did you talk to this—to the driver again?”
“I already knew he was traffickin’ in women, but what I hoped to find out was—with who? I wanted to know if any of them were in our general area. All he'd say was that he had 'plenty of customers'." Cash sits silent for a second, then looks toward the girls. “I might have written it off as bullshit, but the young women he held against their will—they confirm there were a lot of men.”
Nix sees the muscles in Cash's jaw working as he keeps himself focused on his testimony.
“Only thing on his mind was gettin’ his hands on the money I'd promised him." Cash shifts uneasily in the kitchen chair provided for witnesses. “That son-of-a-bitch kidnapped and sold young girls—and he murdered two of them.” He stares into Nix's eyes for a second. “All of ‘em would have died sooner or later, and as God is my witness, he'd have gone lookin’ for others and treated 'em the same.”
Before Geezer, a defense attorney would have been screaming objection! at the top of his lungs by now. But this is after Geezer, and though millions have died, common sense is once again alive and well. To be true to the spirit of justice, Nix calls another witness who can testify to the truth of Cash's suppositions.
The girl’s skin is so pale it’s almost translucent. Her long red hair flickers over her shoulders like flame as she resolutely walks to where Nix waits for her and sits in the chair Cash has just vacated.
There is total silence. Finally, Nix turns to George. “Well? Aren't you going to swear her in?”
George reddens. “I didn't think—”
Nix stifles the impulse to snap at George. Legal proceedings are outside of his experience, and this is only a pale imitation of the real thing. “To conduct a fair hearing, all the witnesses have to be sworn in,” she says patiently.
She looks down at the girl. This one is going to survive, she thinks. It was she who had accompanied her dead friend out of the camper and into the unknown.
Aloud,
Nix asks, “You understand that, don't you?”
The girl nods and holds her hand out expectantly toward George, who places the Bible beneath it and administers the oath.
“Will you give your name, please?” Nix prompts her.
“Candice Elliot—but nobody calls me ‘Candy’—at least not more than once.”
Nix smiles at her. “When we talked before, you told me to call you Dicey, didn't you?”
“Yes, I did.”
“I like it,” Nix says. “It means unpredictable. My nickname means not gonna happen. Sounds like we have something in common, don't you think?”
It's clear that a conversation about nicknames isn't what Dicey is expecting, but she's relaxing visibly, and that's what Nix wants.
“Before we go any further, Dicey, I want to make one thing clear. Nobody pressured you into telling your story. You decided that for yourself. Is that right?”
The unruly red hair bounces vigorously as Dicey nods. The girl is tough and determined, but Nix notices her hands are shaking so badly she grips the sides of the chair to keep them still.
“I worked as a nurse's aide in an eldercare facility,” Dicey says so softly it’s almost inaudible. She stops and when she speaks again her voice is strong. “When Geezer hit, it was like—so sudden, so unstoppable—they died, one after another—but before they did they were running around, talking nonstop. They'd walk out the front door into traffic if you didn't watch them. It was, like, the most energy they'd had in years, but it wasn't really. It was Geezer cranking them up. And then burning them up—and then killing them."
She shudders and glances around herself, as if she’s waking from a dream and doesn’t know where she is. “Sorry. Everybody knows that story. I brought it up because, uh—I’d been working for thirty-six hours straight, and I could hardly stay on my feet any more. My supervisor was acting crazy—I knew she had it.” She sighs. “I just couldn't take any more.”
Nix is amazed to see that the girl who has refused to shed a tear over what was done to her is crying now because she feels she’d abandoned her post.
“I was sitting in my car out in the lot—kind of wondering if I could even drive, when this guy wrapped on the window. It made me jump but then I recognized him. He was a driver for the ambulance service that brought a lot of the old people from the hospital."
For the first time she looks in the perp's direction and points her finger at him like an avenging angel. “It was you, you scrawny little bastard! You acted all concerned. You said I shouldn’t try to drive and offered to take me home in the ambulance." Now she's spitting out the words like a snake spits venom. “But you took me down to Metro Park instead—and you raped me!"
She collapses back into the chair, breathing hard. “And he's held me prisoner since then. I'm sorry, I don't know how many months that is. I lost track a long time ago.”
Nix puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You don't have to go on if you’re too tired. You want a drink of water?”
Dicey straightens her shoulders. “I don't want to say any more about what happened to me. Everyone here knows he sold us to men. But I want to tell you what he did to my friend, Amber—because she isn’t here to speak for herself.”
“He hated Amber right from the beginning. She tried to protect the other girls from him. But I think it was more because she had this confidence about her. Like she was always sure about what she was doing. He slapped the rest of us or twisted our arms to make us do what he wanted. But he hit Amber with his fists, and when she fell, he'd kick her in the stomach." Dicey stares into the distance at something only she can see. “We all knew Amber was injured inside. We could see her body was closing down, a little bit at a time. But he never stopped beating her.” She holds up a hand to show she needs a second, before she chokes her next words out. “And he kept on raping her even after she was in a coma.”
Her blue eyes are blazing with hate as she screams at the pimp, “If they let me, I'd chop little pieces off you every day. I’d make sure it took you a year to die!” Dicey trembles violently with a rage Nix is afraid will end up killing her.
Before Nix can react, Brittany jumps up and rushes to the girl. “You did what you needed to do,” she murmurs. She places an arm around Dicey’s shaking shoulders and says, “Come with me now—let’s get away from here and find some place quiet.”
Dicey shakes her head fiercely. “Not until I hear what's going to happen to that piece of shit.”
“OK,” Brittany says agreeably. “But come sit with me now.”
Nix waits for the two girls to be seated among the others before she speaks again. “Because we still believe in the rule of law,” she forces herself to say, “We must listen to what this man has to say in response to the testimony describing his crimes.”
There's some grumbling, but no one actually voices any objections. Nix nods to George, who remains motionless. She sighs impatiently. He agreed, beforehand, to administer the oath and remove the duct tape so the accused can answer the charges.
“George,” she prompts. “Get on with it.”
The Mennonite youth approaches the heavily bound man as if Satan himself is tied to the tree. He gingerly pulls the tape from the prisoner's mouth, obviously trying not to come in contact with his skin.
He presses the Bible against the man's chest in the vicinity of his heart. “Do you swear to tell the truth—”
“Fuck off, you little piss ant,” the pimp sneers. “You really think it matters whether I lie or tell the truth? I'm already dead!" He glares at Cash and spits in his direction. “You found yourself a nice gig with a bunch of holy rollers who don't wanna get their own hands dirty,” he rants with spittle dripping from his chin. “And you'll shoot me like a dog if that’s what they want you to do."
“All I did was sell some pussy,” he sneers. “Those bitches woulda gotten gang banged sooner or later—if they didn't starve to death first. So I made a little profit before it caught up with 'em. Big, fuckin' deal!”
George hastily slaps the duct tape back in place. “This man is through with his talking,” he says unnecessarily. He looks a little unsteady on his feet.
Surprisingly, it's Doug who breaks the shocked silence. “You’re a fuckin’ animal!” he hisses and gives a thumbs down. “I vote the death penalty!”
Other voices murmur agreement. The young men sitting in front of the prisoner's tree chant, “Death! Death! Death!”
All the Shirks are pale and silent, even Michael, although his eyes are fierce beneath the dark brows.
Nix looks at Emma, white faced but still diligently taking notes. “I want every word I say on the record,” Nix whispers.
She looks at the group in front of her. They’re just kids, really, but their faces are contorted with hatred. She slams the table top, making Emma jump. “Enough already!”
They sit looking at her, wide-eyed, wondering why she’s yelling at them.
“Every one of us saw the condition of these girls when we took them from that camper.” Her own voice sounds strange to her, like someone else is speaking—someone giving a lecture in front of a classroom.
“We have eyewitness testimony that the accused killed one girl, and another young woman died just a few hours after being rescued. You heard Cash testify that this man sold these girls for sex against their will.” She stops for a moment, struggling against the emotion that’s making it hard to speak logically. “And finally, we listened to the man himself—who apparently sees nothing wrong in what he's done.”
“Some of us—maybe most of us—want revenge or retribution. But in the end, it shouldn’t be about that. All of us have a moral obligation to protect others out there from this predator. But in this world after Geezer, we don’t have prisons to lock away monsters for the rest of their lives.”
Nix looks directly at George when she says it. “The accused is found guilty and sentenced to death. Execution to be carried out immediately.”
She's looking at G
eorge, but she's thinking about Cash. He's the one who will do the actual executing. The increasing volume of excited voices reminds her that Cash had requested everyone to leave the area quickly after the trial. The big, fat drops of warm rain which suddenly begin to fall make it easier.
“Everybody into the house,” she yells over the din. “We need you out of here—now!”
A few of the guys remember the table and chairs and start carting them toward the house. Terry stays behind. “I can help,” he says to Cash.
“Don't need help,” Cash says tersely. “Go on—get out of here." He glances at Nix. “You, too.”
Nix shakes her head. “We're doing this together.”
“Damn it, Nix, we already agreed I'd be the one.”
“No, we didn't. You decided for me." She holds up a hand before he can speak. “We can stand here and argue all day. Not going to change a thing." She jerks a thumb in the direction of the condemned man. “And though it pains me to say so, even a pig deserves a quick death.”
He stares hard, trying to gauge her resolve, then nods his head. “Go get two shovels and the truck,” he says brusquely.
Figuring they'll head for the woods behind the farm, she backs the truck down the drive. Cash has cut the pimp loose from the tree and jerks him forward, casually stepping aside as the man falls forward. At the last second, he reaches out and tugs at him so that he lands on his side rather than full on his face.
“He could drown in his own blood if he gets a nose bleed,” he calls to Nix. “And I ain't takin' off the tape and listenin' to him blubber.”
Cash pulls the hogtied figure across the rain slick grass. “Help me throw him in the truck,” he grunts when he gets the guy to the edge of the drive.
They lift him like a log—a twisting, bucking log. Nix wonders how they're going to get him all the way into the woods. Maybe they'll need to shoot him first and drag his corpse deeper into the trees to bury it.
