The Last Days of Summer

by Vanessa Ronan

  A darkness passes over her uncle’s face as he watches.

  ‘It ain’t nice, is it,’ Eddie purrs, ‘watchin’ what you care ’bout suffer?’

  Jasper’s jeans are covered with sandy earth. He kneels still, watching them, his broken face twisted with some form of rage and sorrow. Dirt streaks his swollen cheek from where he wiped his hand. ‘What do you want from me?’

  Eddie’s grip tightens, bruising her arm.

  ‘You want me gone? OK, I’m gone. Just leave her outta it. This ain’t no place for little girls.’ He runs a dirty hand through his hair and it stands up wild.

  Eddie takes his time answering. ‘Would you say that it’s a place to bring a woman?’

  Her uncle opens his mouth, then shuts it. Ben laughs again, that nervous laugh, as he paces by the window. Eddie leans down low once more so that his breath’s upon her. ‘You wanna grow up, honey?’ he whispers right in her ear. ‘Want me to make you a woman?’

  She shuts her eyes tight, squeezing tears out. Wake up, wake up, wake up, she thinks. I’m ready to wake up now. Eddie’s lips feel warm against her cheek. Less sticky than his tongue.

  Jasper feels the rage boil up within him. Like it used to all those long years ago before prison, before he’d learned to push it down. He wants to snap Eddie like two fingers. Wants to grab his tongue and rip it out. He doesn’t like the other man’s hands on Joanne, let alone his lips, his tongue. She’s just a girl, he thinks, but even now, Eddie licking her face, he can see the woman she’s so quickly being forced to grow into. Jasper gets Eddie’s point. He can see why this is the other man’s chosen revenge. Can understand it. A part of Jasper even respects Eddie’s choice. Just a little. Respects the depraved cruelty of it. But Eddie never watched what Jasper did to Rose. And Jasper knows himself he’d rather die than watch the child in front of him be forced to grow up like that.

  ‘Wooo-weee!’ Eddie hollers, tilting his head back, like a wolf about to howl. ‘Tastes like peaches!’

  Jasper slowly rises to his feet, one leg, then the next. He starts forward. The butt of the Winchester hits the base of his skull and for a moment he sees stars before he falls back down. Chuck kicks him hard in the ribs, and Jasper doubles over, coughing. Joanne screams against her gag, barely making a sound. Eddie laughs, sips Bud from a can and twirls his pistol round and round his index finger. The young man Jasper does not recognize kicks a cloud of dirt into Jasper’s face as Jasper coughs. Then he grabs another bottle and pops the cap right off. The cap rolls when it hits the earth, drawing a spiral in the cool sand. The Hungerford points down into Jasper’s face as Roy stares down the barrel at him.

  ‘Do what you gotta do to me,’ Jasper gasps at length. ‘Get it over with. I won’ even fight back. You just let that girl go free.’

  The barrel in his face falters before once again being held steady. Empty beer cans and a few tequila bottles litter the dust floor. Long dark shadows bathe the shed in half-light. Outside the crickets fall silent, then start their song again.

  Though Eddie’s been drinking, his words do not slur. ‘You wanna go home, honey?’

  Silent tears stream down her cheeks. She nods. Her throat trembles as she hiccups ragged breaths into her gag.

  He draws his index finger down her face, wiping her tears away. ‘You know,’ he says, real quiet, ‘I bet my sister just wanted to go home, too.’ There is a coldness to Eddie’s gaze that Jasper knows too well. He has seen that look in the eyes of guards before a senseless beating. In the hollowed blank stares of inmates whose crimes make nightmares real. He has seen it in his own reflection. This is what Eddie’s waited for, he realizes. Eddie’s had ten years to form this plan …

  A cold chill runs down Jasper’s spine even though the night is warm. He wipes dust from his eyes. Rises up to kneel again, pain stabbing his ribs, then sits back on his heels a bit so that his weight is shared between his toes and knees. His swollen face throbs with its own pulse. He wipes his hands on his thighs and watches even in the half-light as his jeans go from blue to brown. Crickets call in the night. He closes his eyes to listen to their song. To stop the world spinning.

  Opens them.

  He doesn’t see stars any more, and counts that as one tiny blessing. Eddie sits the other side of the shed, on a wooden stool by an old workman’s table, Joanne held tight against him, sitting on his knee. His pistol rests beside them on top of an old can of paint. Jasper knows what will happen if he does not act soon. He knows what he did in this very shed so long yet not so very long ago. He knows just what darkness lies in Eddie’s heart. Has himself felt that same calling so many times before. It feels to Jasper like time is messing with his sense of now and then. ‘I’m sorry, Joanne,’ he says at length. His words hang suspended in the humid air between them. ‘I really never meant to bring you any trouble.’

  Doe Eyes blinks back tears. Her hiccuped sobs further choke the gag into her mouth.

  Eddie grins and licks her face again, temple down to chin, and her eyes get wider, wilder, truly a deer about to bolt. ‘Ummmm-hum.’ Eddie smacks his lips. ‘Just like I said, sure does taste like peaches.’

  ‘I didn’t sign up for this, Eddie!’ Roy’s face twists, distraught. ‘I ain’t standin’ by watchin’ no little girl get hurt.’ The cold barrel of the Hungerford lifts out of Jasper’s face. Roy thrusts the rifle at Chuck. A moment later, the shed door slams behind him as Roy steps into the darkness, cussing.

  The young man laughs and takes a long swig from his beer. Eddie doubles over, laughing so hard he leans into Joanne. His laughter shakes both their bodies. He slaps the knee that Joanne is not perched on. ‘I always knew that skinny fucker lacked a spine.’

  Chuck Ryan laughs too, but joins in late and seems a bit less certain. Still holding his Winchester, he sets the Hungerford down, propping it by the shed door.

  ‘Hey, Jasper!’ Eddie calls, still laughing. ‘Watch this.’ He reaches a hand up inside Joanne’s shirt. Real. Slow. He passes over her flat stomach, his fingertips just visible grazing the dark contour of her belly button. He moves his hand up further over the swell of her ribs. Her chest hammers in and out with short, shallow breaths. Her eyes widen. Eddie’s hand stops over her chest just inside her shirt where her tiny breasts have yet to form. He twists her nipple, there beneath her shirt. A slow grin casts light across his face despite the darkness in his eyes. ‘Would you look at that?’ he says, grinning. ‘Ain’t nothing there but mosquito bites!’

  Jasper’s world colours crimson.

  He does not care in that moment if he lives or dies.

  ‘Is this your great plan, Eddie? Rape a little girl while I watch?’ Jasper spits a wad of blood onto the earth beside him. His saliva catches and reflects the light cast by the kerosene lamps. He allows a smile to twist his battered face. ‘Must have taken you a real long time to think this one up.’ He scans the shed looking for something, anything, he can use.

  Eddie laughs. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘it ain’t my fault this girl’s your only weakness. I always thought it’d be her sister, but …’ he shakes his head ‘… guess you’re more perverted than we thought.’ He chuckles till his laughter’s spent and then his voice goes quiet. ‘See, I ain’t hurtin’ her, right now, Jasper. You are. I thought that when we beat you the other night you might finally get the message. Might realize finally where you’re not welcome. Might leave well enough alone. But old dogs don’ learn new tricks. Ain’t that what they say? And you’ve always been a selfish bastard. You’re “all done with trouble”. Ain’t that what I keep on hearin’? Shit, boy. You don’ know trouble. It’s time someone taught you just what trouble’s like. Your sister ain’t here to save you this time.’

  Jasper’s mouth goes dry. He does not rise to the insult. Eddie looks to his young friend and catches his eye. The young man grunts, nods and takes a long swig before he sets his bottle down. Cracks his knuckles as he rises. The dust stirred up by his boots as he steps forward swirls into Jasper’s face and makes him c
ough again.

  ‘Maybe you don’ recognize Ben, here,’ Eddie says. ‘Ten years can alter the appearance quite a bit when a boy becomes a man.’

  The young man looms over him now. Face deeply shadowed, blocking out the light from the kerosene lamp behind him, he is tall and lean and toned. Mid, maybe early twenties. Sandy brown hair cropped short. Jasper closes his eyes, then opens them. The resemblance is there. He knows who this must be.

  ‘I’m not sure we’ve formally met.’ Ben Saunders spits on the ground beside Jasper, just narrowly missing his thigh.

  Jasper opens his mouth to speak, but Ben’s right hook spins him round instead so that he’s on his hands and knees, facing the back of the shed.

  ‘I was just a boy,’ Ben says, ‘when you done what you done to our sister.’

  Jasper spits blood onto the sand before him. ‘Well, ain’t this sweet,’ he growls. ‘Y’all should have brought Rose down. Had a whole goddamned family reunion.’

  Ben kicks him in the ribs before he can rise and turn and for a moment all Jasper sees is white. Then the pain sets in, splitting his side, and the dark-cast shadows of the dimly lit shed again loom up around him. Another hard boot to his side knocks Jasper over, and he lies clutching his ribs, coughing in spite of his pain. It is a long moment till he is able to rise onto his hands and knees again. Frantically, but still trying not to be noticed, he paws through the sand, hoping for something, anything, he can use.

  Ben laughs and grabs his beer and takes a long swig. Eddie pops open another can, Joanne still pressed against him, perched there on his knee. A can of Bud hurtles through the air above them. ‘Here, Chuck!’ Eddie grins.

  Chuck catches the beer in one hand. He leans back against one of the supports holding the shed roof up. The Winchester still points down towards Jasper, but lowers slightly as Chuck pops the can open and swigs. The crisp click of the top popping somehow seems to linger in the air. Almost echo-like. Jasper feels a rusty nail beneath one fingertip, hidden in the sand. It will have to do. He glances quickly round the room, checking he is not watched. Masking his movement with another wave of doubled-over coughing that shoots long fingers of pain around his ribcage, Jasper palms the nail, keeping it cupped and hidden inside his hand. From its size, it feels like a roofing or maybe even a masonry nail. He struggles to conceal it in his single hand. Its large flat head presses into the soft flesh below his thumb.

  He rises to kneel, the pain of moving again colouring the world momentarily white. ‘So what’s this all about, Eddie?’ he hisses, through his pain. ‘Tit for tat? Revenge? Or tryin’ to show your little brother that you’re a real man now?’

  The laughter falls from Eddie’s face. ‘He was twelve when you raped Rose. You sick fuck. You took that boy’s innocence. You ruined our family. And now I’m gonna ruin yours.’ He turns Joanne’s face roughly to him and holds her in place by her jaw. She tries to scream. Tries to struggle. But the ropes that bind her won’t let her push him away. Her gag won’t let her scream. His tongue plays with her ear. Runs up and down her cheek. Fallen strands of dark blonde hair spill from her ponytail to fall round her face and shoulders. Tiny beads of sweat moisten her skin, run down her throat to pool in the nape of her neck. Eddie lifts her easily and lays her down on the workman’s table. She screams against her gag and tries to struggle, but he hits her hard across her temple, and after that she goes all quiet and her limbs are limp.

  Jasper struggles to hold his growl in. The rusted nail held in his palm presses into his skin lightly cutting it. There is something strangely comforting about the texture of its rust held against his skin. The length of its shaft. The large round circle of its rusted head. Nothing smooth there. Nothing polished. A feeling kin to pain.

  Eddie smirks. ‘I must say, I would have enjoyed this more if it was her sister, but she’s a fine little thing all the same.’ He takes a sip from a bottle of tequila before placing it down on the workman’s table, then chugs the last of his Bud and tosses the can aside. His belt buckle jingles as he pulls the leather through its clasp.

  Jasper has no time to think. He spins fast as he is able and faces the barrel of the Winchester full on. He shoves the rusted nail up the barrel a fraction of a second before Chuck Ryan pulls the trigger. Jasper rolls quickly and hides his face deep in the protection of the cool sand floor. The Winchester shatters as if made of glass. Its explosion fills the shed with a flash of orange and white light. Chuck falls back, clutching his eyes and throat, tiny fragments of the metal barrel lodged deep within his skin. The Winchester falls onto the floor beside him, its barrel cleanly split.

  Ben cusses loudly and drops his beer, jumping back. His eyes widen as he watches Chuck clutch his right hand where his index finger blew off. The finger lies in the dirt beside him, oozing blood. Blood runs down Chuck’s throat from where he first clutched it with his bleeding hand as he tried to get the metal fragments from his skin. As the realization of his missing finger sets in, Chuck’s screams split through the night with panicked horror, drowning out all cricket song.

  Ben fumbles with the Colt he’s held by his side, quickly raising it, but it’s too late. Jasper springs from the ground, Ben’s dropped beer bottle raised high above his head. Sticky, frothy beer spills out of its neck and down Jasper’s arm showering the sand with tiny drops of beer spray rain. The bottle comes down over Ben’s head just as he manages to pull the trigger. A loud crack echoes through the tiny shed as the bottle breaks over Ben’s head and as his skull cracks open. His body falls with a gangly sort of grace to slump down lifeless on the dirt floor. The blood from the crack in his skull slowly colours the sand bright red.

  The .22 just fired from Ben’s Colt grazes Jasper’s neck as he springs forward, leaving an angry gash in the skin between his shoulder and his collarbone.

  Eddie turns, his trousers just dropped down, resting on his boot tops between his knees and ankles. One hand fumbles to pull his trousers up, while the other reaches frantically for the pistol he’d discarded. Screaming like a man possessed, Jasper hurtles forward across the tiny shed, broken beer bottle held like a prison shank. He presses the jagged glass into Eddie’s jugular to the point where the skin just starts to bleed. The cool barrel of Eddie’s pistol presses against Jasper’s stomach.

  Their eyes meet.

  ‘You don’ deserve a happy life. Not after what you done.’ Eddie pulls the trigger and the bullet releases into Jasper’s gut with a loud crack. He feels where it tears into him. Feels the cool metal of the gun against his gut turn hot. Feels where the bullet again breaks free, ripping through his back.

  ‘Neither do you.’ Jasper’s eyes hold Eddie’s a split second longer. Then the jagged edges of the bottle twist as they sever Eddie’s jugular. His eyes pop open wider as the glass goes in, cutting and cutting, and Jasper would be lying if he said he didn’t like the surprise on the other man’s face as he chokes to death on his own blood.

  Crumpled in the corner, Chuck keeps screaming, holding his hand clutched tight to his chest. He is an oil man, Jasper muses, not cut out for blood and violence. For a moment, Jasper pities him, watching him writhe on the floor. He picks up the Colt .22 that just shot him, fallen from Eddie’s dead hand. The grip on it is still warm from the other man’s palm. Jasper limps across the shed, bent over as he clutches his bleeding stomach then straightens, forcing himself to stand tall over the screaming, crumpled man. He watches him for what seems like a great while, and yet no time at all.

  ‘You would have watched them hurt her,’ he says. And the gun sounds, leaving only silence after.

  She looks at Eddie Saunders with fearful eyes. Her heart slams in her chest. The smell of Eddie’s breath still lingers thick upon her. The feel of his lips and tongue still burns her cheek. His body lies next to her, slumped over the table; his blood pools under her, around her, and it smells bad and feels real hot and sticky. Uncle Jasper crosses the room to her quickly after the last gunshot fades. The silence after Mr Ryan’s screaming stops ri
ngs inside her head louder than any sound. She did not see what happened to him. But, inside, she knows. She had closed her eyes when the first loud bang sounded. Had only opened them and looked over once Mr Ryan started screaming, but she couldn’t see much, just Uncle Jasper rising up as Ben slumped down. The loud crack of Eddie’s gun as he struggled with her uncle echoed through her, as did the gurgles deep in Eddie’s throat. She turned her face away as blood sprayed from him. Squeezed her eyes shut even tighter as she heard his body fall. The bubbling noise in his throat had grown louder before it stopped. Then there was that last loud bang that took the screaming with it. And the roar of the silence that followed. Eddie’s blood felt warm as it seeped over to touch her skin. It was only then that Joanne had opened her eyes again.

  Uncle Jasper sits her up and unties the rope around her gag first. It burns as the ropes peel away. Her cheeks feel dry and raw. He pulls the oil rag from her mouth and she gasps the air in greedy mouthfuls. His hands are already busy untying the ropes that bind her ankles.

  She looks at Mr Ryan’s lifeless body at the far side of the shed. His face, unrecognizable. His blood, so much blood, staining the dirt floor red. The gash in Ben’s head opens like a canyon, and bits of his brains spill out. His eyes are open, wide and blue. The corner of his lip curls up, does not quite smile. She looks at Eddie’s bent-over body there on the table beside her. His trousers are still half down. His blood spills from his neck and pools all around her. Frightened, trembling, she asks, ‘Are you gonna kill me next?’