Echoes in the Darkness (5 page)

Hie Reinert affair was something else altogether.

"By the time I realized he was involved with Susan Reinert, I thought I was getting numb to it," Sue recounted. "But Susan Reinert awakened something in me, or spawned new feelings. I wasn't just so much jealous or brokenhearted, I was outraged)."

Even when Sue Myers discussed it years later, a diagonal stress line popped across her brow: "I even hated her voice. That screechy whiny voice of hers was like fingernails on a chalkboard. It made me want to scream."

The little clues were there for her. Sue Myers could always detect provocative Bill Bradfield glances, and more tellingly the return looks he'd receive from women at school.

"Not her\" she yelled at him one day in the corridor of Upper Merion. "Damn it, not Susan Reinert!"

"What in the world are you talking about?"

"She's downright homely, for God's sake!" Sue Myers said, trying to check the tears. "She's got nothing to offer. Nothing!"

"Get hold of yourself," he told her. "Your imagination's out of control. We'll talk when we get home."

Sue Myers explained it at a later time by saying, "With the others, with all the others, I could see something in them, something that might've attracted him. But not with Susan Reinert. To me, she was an insult. The final personal insult. Maybe my spirit did go absolutely numb after her, I don't know."

Sue wanted to believe him when he told her how silly she was to think he would so much as entertain a thought about mousy Susan Reinert. But then Susan Reinert began to penetrate the Great Books "inner circle."

The Great Books Program, conceived by Mortimer J. Adler, was introduced to Upper Merion by Bill Bradfield. It was a program for self-education in the liberal arts, the concept being that a group of people from the community might educate themselves by meeting twice a month and discussing some two hundred of the Western worlds greatest books. They might all read a selection from Descartes or Aristotle or Voltaire and attempt for two hours to address a question posed by Bill Bradfield posing as Plato. It was seminar oriented and that appealed to Bill Bradfield, who was a seminar group leader.

The seminar was cost-free and could be accomplished with library books. Bill Bradfield devised a similar program for the advanced students at Upper Merion, and other teachers quickly became sold on it when they saw the kids discussing Rousseau, Kant, Aristotle.

"Whatever else he was," Sue Myers said, "Bill Bradfield was an inspiring teacher."

He allowed certain faculty members to become a part of the Great Books inner circle that administered the seminar for the advanced students. But there were some, outside of the circle, who tried to denigrate their accomplishments. One teacher claimed that an advanced student of Greek tutored by Bill Bradfield, and given straight As, was later discovered to know about as much Greek as the delivery boy at Spiro's Deli in Philadelphia.

Susan Reinert wanted to belong to the Great Books inner circle. Sue Myers wanted to strangle her with her own pantyhose. Sue found herself peering through campus windows, glaring at Susan Reinert with her quick hummingbird eyes.

One of Bill Bradfields lifelong idiosyncrasies was the need to save things. He'd rathole memos, notes, letters, bills, receipts, many of which Sue Myers would eventually locate and use against him. She sometimes thought that the goofy complexity of his methods and his pack rat collections were designed so that she would catch him. She thought it enhanced the risk and made his conquests sweeter. She wondered if he was building a Bill Bradfield Memorial Library.

One afternoon she crept by his empty classroom and saw the corner of a letter protruding from the pages of a book. Sue peeked around the corridor, and seeing that all was quiet, sneaked in and read the letter-and found herself gasping. She later described the note as "obscene" and said she'd never heard a woman describe portions of her body in such a way. She reeled back to her homeroom.

A letter by Susan Reinert would later surface that was either the one Sue read or a version of same:

Its eight o'clock. I'd like to go to bed so I could turn off my head and body. I am miserable. I didn't hear from you for so long I actually lost most of my physical desire for you for the only time I can remember. But your visit with certain promises rekindles it, damn it. All day today I kept hearing you say that it's not as bad for you. That you can go for days putting me out of your mind! That you have no chance to call me! Knowing that you don't suffer like this is maddening. By now I'm very short tempered. I yell at Karen and Michael and I hurt like hell.

This morning I awoke with aching pubic area and erect nipples as usual. My breasts yearned to brush up against your chest. My legs wanted to curve over yours. My arms wanted to be around you with my hand rubbing you, tracing your face, touching your hair. My wetness desires to cover your penis, and rub up and down against you, to pulsate with delight as we move together. Enough writing. Writing it down isn't working. I want you more not less, and I'm more upset at that.

Sue Myers staked out Susan Reinert's homeroom. When Susan arrived, Sue Myers took her aside and whispered through clenched little teeth, "You bitch! You whore! You leave Bill Bradfield alone or I'll ... Ill make public the contents of your filthy note!"

Now one might think that a grownup schoolteacher wouldn't get in a tizzy if Upper Merion discovered that she woke up with hard nipples and a yen for a Renaissance man. But Susan Reinert had a terrible fear that her former husband would seize any pretext to take her children away from her. The fear was unreasonable. Their relationship was affable. Ken had remarried and had never offered such a suggestion, but still it was preying on Susan's mind. Perhaps someone had planted the obsessive idea. Someone she trusted.

At about the same time that Susan Reinert was writing to Bill Bradfield, the prince of darkness was composing a love letter of his own. And Stephanie Smith, the wife of Dr. Jay, was almost as snoopy as Sue Myers. One evening when Jay Smith was not at home Stephanie managed to break into the locked basement apartment again and this time found a swingers' magazine with a certain page clipped. The swinging couple on that page were offering to share themselves with any other congenial couple who might write to their post office box. The man in the picture was wearing briefs and had his back to the camera. When Stephanie saw it, she was convinced the swinger in the picture was her husband.

She also found a letter and showed it to her best pal at the dry cleaners.

The friend nodded and clucked sympathetically when Stephanie said, "I work my buns off so he can get a doctorate degree! Where's he wanna work? Sodom and Gomorrah?"

Love wo man,

We've been working, loving, fucking, and smoking for over a year now and I thought on your graduation a status report is in order. As we agreed, our relationship is sexual. I love your blowjobs and get red hot seeing my cock in your mouth and my cum-you call it lovejuiceseeping from your lips and you licking up each drop.

Your lovecock, forever

P. S. Got some special cocoa butter cream for your asshole so it won't be sore.

Jay Smith just loved to talk dirty. In another letter he wrote:

No matter what we've done, I still love your blowjobs the best, and get red hot looking in the mirror watching my cock go in and out of your precious lips. When my juice drips down your chin and you lick it up and in that sweet Southern accent say, "Good to the last drop," I throb about ten extra times.

Even though I got your ass virginity and we'll do some fistfiicking this summer (Where did you get the idea of fistfucking?) I prefer your mouth to your cunt or your asshole.

We share sex only with ourselves. No two-timing. I don't count our spouses, but nobody else. I'm not like your husband so if you fuck around on me I'll beat your ass instead of fucking it. Really!

Now to some areas we disagree on. Marriage. I still don't want to marry you even tho I love you more than any woman (my love for my wife is special so it doesn't count). I like being with you even when its not fuck-suck.

But you still tend to fib a little and like to practice deception.

I'll raise this issue again: your husband. We should level with him. Even if you say he's a momma's boy, he should accept the situation. You told him about you and your brother and he still married you. Incidentally, if you go down South, don't go out alone with your brother. Your lust for him is not healthy. Tongue kissing sneaked into open bussing is okay, but if you dress up to cock-tease him you're going to get him hard again and have to suck it off again or at least jerk it off. Don't do it even if it gets you off big.

Your husband forgave you once. I won't. No brother sex. Period. Your husband accepts your stupid flirtations. The past indicates he could accept our fuck-suck. He might even join us in our work. Think it over again. I want to meet him. I don't mind sharing your pussynality with him so why can't we be open? My wife will accept it if it's open. From the way you describe his fucking we could help him. Don't spread your legs so wide and keep them high. It makes your cunt tighter, also . . . Shit, that's his problem for now. But we should include him in. Soon. Don't needle him. Love him good. Keep his balls empty. Well, that's a long report, but I thought I'd review some highlights. Lets take vacation days next week or so.

I love you. Always will.

Your lovecock, forever

Stephanie Smith jumped right out of her disco boots and dressed like an aggrieved wife and ran to a divorce lawyer. She was really steamed because "lovewoman" was the wife of a college professor and had always been described by Jay as a perfect lady.

Stephanie wasn't the only storm on Jay Smith's horizon. It seemed that he had a few compulsive habits. The local township police had been called on more than one occasion when a merchant spotted Dr. Jay shoplifting merchandise. Because he was a prominent educator, the shopkeepers on each occasion had decided not to prosecute, and the police had kept it quiet.

There's some evidence that the U.S. Army Reserve Command got the reports because Colonel Jay Smith took an early retirement before he could fulfill his life's ambition of becoming a general.

When Stephanie Smith started making those visits to the divorce lawyer, she had lots to say about her husband, and she didn't restrict her tales to her attorney. She told her friend down at the dry cleaner's that Jay Smith owned a devil costume and some weird dildos.

When that information became public, Jay Smith claimed the costume was a Chinese waiter's getup, but Stephanie knew they don't wear horns and a tail when they stir-fry your wontons.

So pretty soon, a lot of folks were hearing rumors that the old prince of darkness must be some special kind of party animal! As it turns out, they didn't know the half of it.

Chapter
4

The Courier

The Sears, Roebuck store in St. Davids is situated in a nice part of The Main Line. St. Davids' residents have a train station and live close to good schools. It's not far from the village shopping of Wayne, and Wayne looks like an American town from the Frank Capra movies of the 1940s.

Villanova University is close by St. Davids and a Villanova sophomore happened to be working as a part-time cashier in the Sears store on Saturday, August 27, 1977. She was at the Ticketron counter, selling tickets and money orders. When she returned from lunch at 1:50 P.M. she found a line of waiting customers, as well as a tall middle-aged armed courier who was standing one counter down. He wore what looked to her like the uniform of the Brinks security company.

"Just a minute," the student-clerk said to the courier, and hurried to the back to fetch the days receipts.

There was a deposit slip for a large amount in checks and there was another for $34,073 in cash. The young woman brought the bags as well as the Brinks logbook for the courier to sign. The courier signed the name "Carl S. Williams" and received the bag of checks and money.

Five minutes later, the young woman was interrupted by yet another Brinks courier who insisted that he had come for the day's deposits.

"But you were already here," the confused cashier informed him.

It was Vincent Valaitis who had hung the prince-of-darkness jacket on Dr. Jay. Vince believed in The Demon in a very real, Roman Catholic sense. And though he didn't truly think that Jay Smith was of The Legion, he realized that none of the teachers in the Catholic schools he'd attended all his life had prepared him for a principal like this one.

Vince was a tall lad with a firm jaw and wide shoulders. He looked like an athlete without being one. He wore eyeglasses and was called "Clark Kent" by the Upper Merion students because he bore a resemblance to the television superhero.

At twenty-four Vince Valaitis looked seventeen, and most of the teachers thought he was a new student. He was an avid trekkie, and besides Star Trek, he adored any TV show, film or book about fantasy, horror or science fiction. When he attained enough seniority he hoped to teach a course in film literature. Vince had a collection of old movies and encouraged the students to read Tolkien. He was crazy about Gothic movies like the silent classic Nosferatu.

Bill Bradfield was charmed by Vince Valaitis. He said that Vince reminded him of himself at that age, so enthusiastic and bubbling^with ideas and energy. Bill Bradfield did not add "naivetl," because it is doubtful that even as a child Bill Bradfield was ever as naive as Vince Valaitis.