clean off.” He turned among his stunned peers. “And put it on a fucking spit.” More shocked grumbles gained momentum as wave upon wave passed over their heads.
A woman yelled, “Goddammit, Earl, there are kids in the room!”
“I’m not Earl ,” he yelled back and then warned, “It’s happening again, I tell ya!”
The murmurs grew louder.
The mayor’s voice filled the room. “Eva’s right, Roland—edit yourself. There’re families here. And you’re wrong—her head was not removed from her body. Please, leave the past where it belongs. Now, I want everyone to remember—”
Another woman jumped up. “I heard she got raped by a tree!”
The mayor’s hand slapped the sweat against his forehead. “Oh, dear God,” he mumbled, shaking his head. He covered the mic, leaning back toward Roscoe. “John, I think we might need to have you stand at the back of the room. Things are getting ridicu—”
The doors blew open with a room-shuddering bam . The rabid howl of rage that flew through the doors ignited the townspeople, and Sheriff Roscoe drew his gun too late.
Twelve
Vicki’s eyes flew open, expelling her from her dark dream. She sat up, shivering, and again her thin white T-shirt clung wet and translucent to her sweat—blankets tossed to the floor. The backs of her naked thighs trembled against the soaked bedsheet. She struggled to catch her breath as tears streamed down her face.
Recurring violent thoughts churned as her mind struggled to process the level of torment Ivy had endured before death. How much had she been forced to bear, mentally and physically, before her body blessed her with its final release?
Vicki had to remain objective—but the brutality of it. How could she—how could anyone? Vicki fought off the cruel thoughts, floating like cobwebs sticking to her mind. He truly hated women—a black hate, devoid of light.
The dim sixty-nine on her thermostat claimed her body was mistaken. She shivered. Liar . And could she trust the clock’s assertion that it was already 5:55 a.m.? She trembled as she peered through the window’s curtain, catching the first wink of the rising sun as it bloomed against the eastern horizon. “Okay, I believe you,” she whispered, hugging herself tight as she shuddered all the way to the bathroom.
She sealed the door and turned the shower on full hot, allowing the steam to build as she hung over her sink. The visions of live mutilation, flashing with every blink, didn’t fade with the icy splashes of water against her face.
Stripping off her sticky shirt and panties, she approached the steam as her gooseflesh tightened with anticipation. She stepped in and slid herself beneath the hot spray, letting it douse her quivering skin. Pain lanced her horrific thoughts as she winced against the burn. She began swaying slowly beneath the steaming shower, warming each side a small measure before returning to the other, longing for the wide, luxurious mouth of her own shower. The wet heat warmed her flesh to the core, but she continued to tremble. Shake it, Vicki.
The spray retreated with a twist of the knob. Burning hot, she stepped out of the steam, through the bathroom door and into the cool bedroom. She stood naked, dripping on the hardwood, basking in the breezy blessing. Soft wisps of silvery steam snaked up the length of her body and into an invisible vapor as she drew the cool air deep into her—cleansing her of her terrors. Her glistening coat quickly slipped away into the ether, leaving only the need for a towel for her hair.
Enough steam had escaped the bathroom to clear a small reflection in the mirror. She stared into herself. “Make this one count, Vicki.”
She flossed, brushed and gargled. When she had finished rubbing the last circle of the coconut butter over her body, she began her ritual of sparse but enticing makeup and expertly drawn hair.
Her sufficiently distracting outfit hung on the back of the door. After squeezing into her
A woman yelled, “Goddammit, Earl, there are kids in the room!”
“I’m not Earl ,” he yelled back and then warned, “It’s happening again, I tell ya!”
The murmurs grew louder.
The mayor’s voice filled the room. “Eva’s right, Roland—edit yourself. There’re families here. And you’re wrong—her head was not removed from her body. Please, leave the past where it belongs. Now, I want everyone to remember—”
Another woman jumped up. “I heard she got raped by a tree!”
The mayor’s hand slapped the sweat against his forehead. “Oh, dear God,” he mumbled, shaking his head. He covered the mic, leaning back toward Roscoe. “John, I think we might need to have you stand at the back of the room. Things are getting ridicu—”
The doors blew open with a room-shuddering bam . The rabid howl of rage that flew through the doors ignited the townspeople, and Sheriff Roscoe drew his gun too late.
Twelve
Vicki’s eyes flew open, expelling her from her dark dream. She sat up, shivering, and again her thin white T-shirt clung wet and translucent to her sweat—blankets tossed to the floor. The backs of her naked thighs trembled against the soaked bedsheet. She struggled to catch her breath as tears streamed down her face.
Recurring violent thoughts churned as her mind struggled to process the level of torment Ivy had endured before death. How much had she been forced to bear, mentally and physically, before her body blessed her with its final release?
Vicki had to remain objective—but the brutality of it. How could she—how could anyone? Vicki fought off the cruel thoughts, floating like cobwebs sticking to her mind. He truly hated women—a black hate, devoid of light.
The dim sixty-nine on her thermostat claimed her body was mistaken. She shivered. Liar . And could she trust the clock’s assertion that it was already 5:55 a.m.? She trembled as she peered through the window’s curtain, catching the first wink of the rising sun as it bloomed against the eastern horizon. “Okay, I believe you,” she whispered, hugging herself tight as she shuddered all the way to the bathroom.
She sealed the door and turned the shower on full hot, allowing the steam to build as she hung over her sink. The visions of live mutilation, flashing with every blink, didn’t fade with the icy splashes of water against her face.
Stripping off her sticky shirt and panties, she approached the steam as her gooseflesh tightened with anticipation. She stepped in and slid herself beneath the hot spray, letting it douse her quivering skin. Pain lanced her horrific thoughts as she winced against the burn. She began swaying slowly beneath the steaming shower, warming each side a small measure before returning to the other, longing for the wide, luxurious mouth of her own shower. The wet heat warmed her flesh to the core, but she continued to tremble. Shake it, Vicki.
The spray retreated with a twist of the knob. Burning hot, she stepped out of the steam, through the bathroom door and into the cool bedroom. She stood naked, dripping on the hardwood, basking in the breezy blessing. Soft wisps of silvery steam snaked up the length of her body and into an invisible vapor as she drew the cool air deep into her—cleansing her of her terrors. Her glistening coat quickly slipped away into the ether, leaving only the need for a towel for her hair.
Enough steam had escaped the bathroom to clear a small reflection in the mirror. She stared into herself. “Make this one count, Vicki.”
She flossed, brushed and gargled. When she had finished rubbing the last circle of the coconut butter over her body, she began her ritual of sparse but enticing makeup and expertly drawn hair.
Her sufficiently distracting outfit hung on the back of the door. After squeezing into her
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