Sintown Chronicles III: In Dark Corners

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

  He came up, sputtering and watched her climb onto the pier. He swam to its edge and extended his arm. “Give me a hand,” he said.

  She laughed. “You're a big boy. Climb aboard unassisted."

  He lifted himself effortless, stood, pulled off his shirt and wrung out the water. His eyes locked on her chest. “I thought you said you had small breasts."

  She pushed the hair from her eyes and glanced down. “My wet shirt leaves little to the imagination, does it? You don't think they're small?"

  For once, he did not drop his eyes. “They're beautiful."

  "You owe me a kiss."

  He pulled her close and greedily sucked her tongue into his mouth. She rested her head on his shoulder and shivered as he stroked the back of her head. “Spunky, some twenty years ago, right over there on the bank, I asked you to touch me. You refused. Please don't refuse me now."

  With his hands on her shoulders, he eased her back until their eyes met. He placed his hands gently on her cheeks. “Julie, I'll make you a solemn vow. Tomorrow night, if you're still interested, I'll touch you anywhere you like."

  Ally clutched Cliff's hand as they stood in the doorway watching a workman polish the newly installed gasoline pumps. “Looks good,” he said.

  "I like the canopy,” she replied.

  A white boxy vehicle favored by the United States Postal Service pulled into the parking lot. They watched an attractive, middle-aged woman reach behind her and then emerge, carrying a large box, open at the top. The workman smiled and lifted the little finger of his right hand.

  She returned the smile, pinned the box against her hip with her right hand and held up her left for him to see the wedding band.

  Cliff approached and took the carton from her. “You're going to have to put up a box if you want to continue to receive mail delivery,” she said.

  "Yes, ma'am,” Cliff acknowledged. “I rarely get mail and I just didn't think about it. I'll get to it first thing in the morning."

  As Cliff and Ally went back inside, Ally said, “Looks like Julie's mail, and mine, caught up with us. You can have the junk mail."

  They sat at a table in the restaurant area and Cliff watched her sort the envelopes. “You're covered in filth from head to toe."

  Without looking up, she replied, “That, Mr. Baker, is a classic case of the pot calling the kettle black. Damn!"

  "What is it?"

  "You open it,” she said, holding out the letter.

  Cliff scanned the return address. “Alcohol Beverage Control Board, Raleigh, NC."

  He took a deep breath, ripped open the envelope and grinned. “Good old Spunky.” He looked up, but she was not smiling.

  Her eyes were focused on another envelope. “It's from an attorney in Charleston."

  He watched her open the envelope and begin to read the two-paged letter. Her expression changed to a sweet smile as tears formed in her eyes. “We weren't legally married, you know."

  Cliff nodded.

  "It can't be much of an estate, but Frank left it all to me. The lawyer is the executor."

  Cliff continued to watch her read.

  "The lawyer says the house is worth just about what is owed on it. He recommends letting it go back to the bank."

  She dropped the first page and began reading the second. “He says it will take six months to a year to settle the estate. What little money Frank had in savings will cover the attorney fees."

  Cliff thought he should say something, but his mind was blank.

  "Oh, my God! Frank had a life insurance policy—$250,000. The lawyer says that once all Franks’ bills are settled, there should be about $200,000 left."

  "You're rich,” Cliff said.

  "Not rich, but it's more money than I ever dreamed of having. I wonder if a bank will loan me some money against the estate?"

  Cliff shrugged his shoulders.

  She looked at him. “I want to buy a car. I hate sponging off you and Julie."

  "Ally, the gun was in my hand when it went off. Do you blame me for ... you know."

  "Cliff, if Frank hadn't died that day, the rest of us would be dead right now."

  "Maybe."

  "What's eating you, Cliff?"

  "You said you loved him."

  "I did ... once."

  "Last night you said you love me."

  "Yes."

  "Do you love me as much as you loved Frank?"

  She leaned back in her chair and studied him. “That's a lousy question to ask."

  "Forget it."

  "There were times when I hated Frank and there were times I loved him dearly. I don't think I can answer your question, Cliff. What I felt for Frank and the way I feel about you are two different things. I don't think I can compare them."

  "You said you wanted to marry me."

  She snickered. “And scared the crap out of you in the process."

  He smiled and leaned forward. “Yeah. You did. But it made me think. Ally, do you want to have children?"

  Her smile disappeared. “I don't think I'd make a very good mother. Is it important to you?"

  "I think you'd make a great mother."

  She broke the resulting silence by gathering the now sorted mail. “We need to get cleaned up. Julie and Spunky will be wanting to go to the Korner Kafe soon."

  They put Julie's mail in the office and walked to Ally's room. As he stood behind her in the shower, soaping her back, he said, “Ally, will you go to church with me Sunday?"

  "You've got to be kidding.” She wiggled her buttocks against him and realized he was not aroused. “You're not kidding."

  "No. If you are seriously thinking of marrying me, we must both grow up."

  "What does going to church have to do with it?"

  "I don't know. Maybe nothing. I never had much to do with religion until I got into serious trouble. I did a lot of praying during the trial and my years in prison."

  She turned and placed her hands on his chest. She was no longer aroused.

  "I figure there are two kinds of weddings,” he said. “One makes it legal for two people to have sex. We don't need that. The other ... the other blends two souls into one."

  She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest. “I'll go to church with you, Cliff. May I ask one question?"

  "Sure."

  "Did you just propose to me?"

  "Yeah. I think I did."

  She squeezed him tightly. “I think my answer is yes."

  Chapter Sixteen

  "That was a pleasant flight,” Julie said when Roger joined her in the back seat of the taxi.

  Roger nodded and gave the driver their destination.

  "I know they say that flying is safer than driving, but I am always apprehensive when I get on an airplane."

  "I know what you mean. When you are behind the wheel of a car, you at least have the notion that if something goes wrong you might be able to work yourself out of it."

  "Thank you."

  He looked at her quizzically.

  "For finally saying something. You did nothing but grunt and nod during the entire flight."

  "I'm not much of a conversationalist."

  "You're going to have to tell me sometime, Spunky."

  He frowned as he motioned towards the driver.

  "How long since you've visited Kim?"

  "I go once a month."

  "Tell me about her."

  His eyes focused on the back of the driver's head.

  "What does she look like?"

  He leaned back and seemed to find something interesting on the headliner of the cab. “Short black hair with just a hint of gray beginning to emerge, dark complexion, haunting brown eyes, about five feet eight, athletic build..."

  Julie smiled and placed her hand on his thigh. “Does she have family?"

  "No."

  "Nobody?"

  "She was engaged once. She was nuts about the guy."

  "What happened?"

  "I did. I turned her
into a vegetable. The guy couldn't take it and turned his back on her."

  "Ouch! Does Kim know?"

  "I don't know. She's been told, but there's no way of knowing what registers in her mind."

  "What do you talk about when you visit Kimberly?"

  "Not much. Mostly I simply sit with her. Kim doesn't talk. She just stares into space."

  "Are you sure you're not in love with her, Spunky?"

  "I've already answered that question."

  Julie looked out the window at the passing pastoral scenery.

  "It's strange,” Roger continued. “When you try to talk with her, there is no indication of understanding, and yet..."

  Julie focused on his eyes.

  "She must have some level of awareness."

  "What do you mean?"

  "She takes care of her personal hygiene, dresses herself, goes to the cafeteria every day at the right times, feeds herself, finds her way to the dayroom and back to her room in the evening."

  "What is the prognosis?"

  "Dr. Seifret is not very hopeful."

  "Seifret is Kimberly's psychiatrist?"

  Roger nodded. “Mine too.” He turned towards Julie. “Each month when I visit Julie I also spend a few minutes with Dr. Seifret. He asks a few questions and checks my meds."

  The taxi slowed and Julie again looked out the window.

  "This is it,” Roger said. “Beautiful, isn't it?"

  Roger helped Julie from the cab, paid the driver and took her arm, steering her up the winding, pansy-lined walkway.

  As he held open the glass entrance door, Julie said, “Spunky, I need to find the ladies room."

  "There are restrooms in the coffee shop.” He guided her in the right direction.

  Roger was leaning against the wall when she came out of the restroom. “Spunky, let's, uh, have a Pepsi before we go up."

  He nodded and headed for the counter. Julie surveyed the room and selected a secluded booth in the far corner.

  "The time has come, Spunky,” she said when he slid into the booth opposite her.

  "I know.” He dropped his voice. “I can't tell you the details, Julie. It's bad enough that I have to carry those memories. I can't unload that baggage on you."

  "Tell me what you can."

  He fingered the side of his frosty paper cup. “It's going to be difficult for you to understand. FBI agents are a special breed."

  "Try me."

  He looked at her for a long moment, tears forming in his eyes. “They tortured her, Julie, and made me watch."

  She reached for his hand.

  "The first three days they interrogated us separately. They beat the hell out of me, but I told them nothing. I'm sure the same thing happened with Kim.” He sipped the Pepsi. “Those first three days, when they weren't questioning us, we were kept in dank, filthy, tiny cells. I couldn't stand up or lie down. I could sit, though, with my knees jammed against my face. They fed us once a day and it was slop."

  "You and Kim were in the, uh, same cell block?"

  He sipped his Pepsi and nodded as he set the cup back on the table. “She was in a cell across from me. Early on the morning of the fourth day, they came for me. I expected more of the same, but instead, they took me to a small, dormitory-like room. There was a bed, a table, a chair and a bathroom. There were clean clothes and they ordered me to take a shower. When I came out of the bathroom, the guards were gone and a delicious breakfast was on the table. From that day forward I slept in that room and they provided three good meals a day."

  "Thank God,” Julie whispered.

  Tears streamed down his cheeks. “It was the most diabolical torture ever invented."

  "I don't understand."

  "Not long after I finished breakfast, two guards showed up. They took me to a large room and strapped me into a heavy, wooden chair. Two inquisitors sat beside me as others dragged Kim into the room. She was naked and filthy. Julie, they made me watch as they did horrible things to her."

  He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, dried his eyes and blew his nose. “This went on for days. I don't know how many. At some point, Dr. Seifret says my mind refused to accept reality, but I know what they did to her poor, helpless body."

  "There was nothing you could do, Spunky."

  "Yes, there was, damn it,” he said as his hand crashed against the table. He again lowered his voice. “I could have told them what little I knew. Hell, they already knew the weapons we were providing had defects and the food staples were injected with viruses. The subterfuge was blown anyway."

  "If you had answered their questions, the torture would have ended?"

  "I don't honestly know, but at least there was a chance. I didn't take it."

  "You were an FBI agent. You were sworn to secrecy."

  He nodded and again dug for his handkerchief.

  "Spunky,” she said, squeezing his trembling hand, “I can't begin to empathize, but honey, I don't understand why you keep beating yourself up over this. There was nothing you could do."

  "Yes, there was,” he said softly. “I could have tried to overpower the guards when they came to my room. I could have refused to accept the luxuries they provided. I could have told them what I knew."

  "Kimberly didn't tell."

  "No. She was a brave little trooper. She endured the pain. I think her mind blanked out before mine did. There came a point when she no longer tried to resist, but her screams never stopped.” He clapped his hands over his ears. “They still haven't."

  "We have a problem, Spunky."

  "I know. I warned you."

  "The problem is not what you think. I believe you want me to forgive you for what you consider cowardice."

  "Yes,” he said, staring at the empty paper cup.

  "Look at me, Spunky."

  He raised his head.

  "How can I forgive you for something that never happened?"

  He again dropped his eyes. “I didn't think you could understand. Thank you for trying."

  "May I ask one question?"

  "Of course,” he said as he dabbed the damp handkerchief to his eyes.

  "You can't have an intimate relationship with me because of what they did to Kimberly?"

  He jerked his head up, terrified eyes wide open. “No. That's not it. The torture was physical, not sexual. I can't have an intimate relationship with you, Julie, because I don't deserve you. Can't you understand that?"

  "What I have gained from your experience is a greater respect for the FBI than I ever had before. Spunky, you're an unsung hero. How many more are there, whose stories will never be told?” She strained to hear his whispered reply.

  "I wish I could believe you."

  "Go wash your face, Spunky. It's time to visit Kim."

  He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. “I'm a wimp, Julie. There's nothing left of the Spunky you once knew."

  "What?"

  "Grown men don't cry."

  "Real men do."

  When he emerged from the bathroom, Julie took his arm and allowed him to lead the way up the elevator and down the long corridor towards the solid double doors.

  "Dayroom,” he explained as he reached for the handle. “This is where we will find Kimberly."

  "Spunky, wait,” she said.

  He hesitated.

  "Do you feel you somehow need to be punished for real or imagined transgressions?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "Do you?"

  The hint of a smile creased his lips. “I've never admitted that to anyone, not even Dr. Seifret."

  She returned the facial expression. “I'm the judge and jury. I've heard your confession and I sentence you to spend the rest of your life making me the happiest woman on earth."

  "Punishment is not supposed to provide the condemned with pleasure.” Roger opened the door and ushered her inside.

  Julie's eyes swept the brightly lighted, large room. In one corner, a group of people watched a big-screen television. Others sat at sc
attered tables, reading, writing, working puzzles or playing board games. In another area, people seemed engaged in friendly conversation. Julie smiled when she spotted a group of women sewing a quilt. Since none of the attendants wore uniforms, she could not distinguish patients from professional caregivers. Even if Roger had not provided a description, Julie would have recognized Kimberly Ring. She sat on a sofa alone, hands folded in her lap and eyes focused on the unknown.

  Roger squatted in front of the motionless woman and took her hands in his. “Hi, Partner. How's it going?” He did not wait for a response. “I want you to meet my friend, Julie Wilson."

  Julie stood behind Roger and tried to smile. Following his lead, she sat on one side of Kimberly as Roger eased down on the other. She studied Roger's partner as he tried to carry on a meaningless conversation. Julie was not prepared for the woman's beauty. The light blue, long sleeved turtleneck jersey, dark blue sweat pants and sparkling clean sneakers Kim wore seemed perfect. There was no evidence of physical abuse on Kimberly's face or hands, the only parts of her anatomy not covered. Unlike Roger, Kimberly's eyes reflected no emotion.

  "I'm living in a little town in North Carolina called Dot. Do you remember me telling you about it?” Roger said. “I've changed jobs since I last saw you. Julie is now my boss."

  Julie tried not to fidget as Roger spent the next fifteen minutes telling Kimberly about Dad's Place. Somehow, she was relieved when he began to relate childhood experiences. She wished he would tell Kimberly about their romantic involvement, but he didn't.

  Roger shifted gears and talked about the weather and the pleasant flight. Then silence reigned.

  Julie vainly searched her mind for something to say and ultimately remained silent. She listened to the mixed sounds of music, television, laughter and private conversations and longed to hear Kimberly say just one word.

  Forty minutes into the visit, Roger pulled Kimberly's hand into his lap and stroked it. “Kim, I'm sorry. So very, very sorry.” Tears again erupted from his swollen eyes.

  Julie wanted to go to him, hug him, kiss away the tears, but she knew this was a private moment and she was not included.

  Minutes passed and Roger controlled his emotions once more. He looked up when a hand touched his shoulder.