Evangeline (13 page)

Yup, things were about to get complicated.  With my cover blown like a fart in a Kansas tornado, there would be no more sneaking up on Sister… no more skullduggery.  Our tactical situation was understood now-- the battle lines clearly drawn.  Angeline’s head wasn’t big enough for the two of us.  Someone had to go.

And it sure as shit wasn’t going to be me.

The moment Stepfather heade
d
off to the Alley Cat Lanes for Saturday bowling, Angeline hurried downstairs to the kitchen, fired up the stove and torched my reassembled pervie list-- determined to be rid of it once-and-for-all.  When it burned close to her fingers, she dropped it into the sink and ran the water. 

And that’s when Stumpy stepped back through the door.

“What are you doing there?” he said to Angeline, smelling smoke right away.  The man retrieved the wallet he’d left on the kitchen table and shoved it into his back pocket as he approached the sink.  “What’s that?” he said when he spotted the charred paper.  “What’d you burn?”

When Sister was slow answering, he grabbed her brusquely by the nape of the neck.  “I asked you a question, goddammit.  What’d you burn?” 

“Nothing,” she told him.

“Nothing, huh?”

He tried removing the blackened scrap but it crumbled between his fingers. 

“I don’t like you, Butt Ugly,” he hissed at Angeline, still squeezing the back of her neck.  “I don’t like the way you look, I don’t like your smart-ass attitude, and I don’t like the way you’ve been sneakin’ around this goddamn house at night.  Now get your scrawny butt back upstairs where it belongs… and don’t let me catch you trying a stunt like this again.  Because next time they’ll be hell to pay.”

That night Angeline pace
d
her bedroom, desperately trying to keep her eyes open and mind occupied.  The two of us were now locked tooth-and-nail in a cage match for control, and Sister was convinced the only way to pin me down was to stay awake.  Sleep, she believed, was the devil’s playground… with your devoted servant cast in the role of Satan. 

This feeble attempt at controlling me would have been laughable if it wasn’t so fucking annoying.  Not only that, but it was an exercise in utter futility.  That girl could have plunked her ass in a tub filled with ice water and kept her eyelids propped open with toothpicks and it still wouldn’t have mattered.  Eventually she had to sleep… and once she was out, well, I’d be right behind her. 

By four a.m., while Stumpy was jerking off to
Backdoor Sluts
and
I Love Juicy
, Angeline was upstairs and barely functioning, reduced to sticking her head out the window into the brisk night air and applying cold water facials in the bathroom sink.  Incredibly, the girl managed to hang on until morning, then spent all day Sunday ghosting about the house in a stuporous fog.  Her head bobbed through breakfast and she went about her chores like the walking dead-- at one point nodding off while polishing Stumpy’s golden pin.  The girl finally crashed around midnight as she sat slapping herself awake. 

Not until sunrise Monday morning was Angeline jolted back to consciousness by Stepfather’s call to breakfast.  Right away she felt heartsick wondering if the devil inside her had slipped out during the night and hacked off another weenie.  Breakfast was consumed in a sleep-deprived haze while Stepfather harangued Mother, telling her his lawyer friend was dropping by in the afternoon with the reworked deed.  That left the woman shaken and drove her straight to her bedroom for a snort of Kentucky bourbon.

By the time Sister drove to Willowdale High School she was borderline catatonic.  The commute was nerve-wracking; twice she nearly drifted off the road.  When sleep finally did overcome her, it happened in the middle of first period chemistry class and Mr. Kincaid had to kick the desk to wake her up. 

It was after the second period bell rang that Angeline first noticed an unusual amount of attention being paid her in the school corridors.  She was accustomed, of course, to abuse from The Asshole and his three ass-lickers (who performed a badly choreographed humpty dance whenever she passed by) but now other students seemed to be noticing her as well… and not in a good way. 

Angeline couldn’t fathom why, but she’d become the punch line to a cruel joke that everyone was in on but her; the unwitting target of behind-the-back whispers, smirking looks and crude asides.  At one point Brianna Dresner strolled past and muttered “slut” loud enough for my sister to hear… which I thought was pretty funny coming from the biggest ho-bag at Willowdale High.

Well, Angeline may have been clueless, but it was readily apparent to me where that vile joke had originated.  Word travels fast in that tightknit corner of Nebraska, and the high school was no different.  Thanks to Billy Quinn, every student knew by the end of the day that Angeline Gottschalk (yes, kids,
that
Angeline Gottschalk) was--in the immortal words of Kyle Brower--a “cock monster”.  

Meanwhile, Billy’s little brother shunned my sister altogether; ignoring her in the hallways and in the cafeteria, just like the old days before he discovered they shared DNA.  Angeline finally ran the boy down as he headed for his locker after lunch. 

“I need to t-talk to you.”

Caleb refused to look at her.  “Got your stutter back, I see.”

“Wuh-what?  

“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” he said as he stopped in front of the locker.

“Puh-puh-please, Caleb.  There’s something wrong with muh-me.”

“No shit,” he deadpanned, tugging on the locker door.  It stuck for a moment then jerked open with a loud rattle. 

“W-w-why are you buh-being so m-mean?”

The boy exchanged books and was about to close the locker when Sister grabbed his arm with sudden intensity.  “Caleb, I’m scared.  There’s someone in muh-my head.  Buh-but it’s not m-m-me.”

He slammed the locker shut and turned with a blistering look.  “Stay away from me, okay?  Just stay the fuck away.”

When Sister returned t
o
the farm at the end of that hellacious school day, she intended to head straight for bed-- so depressed that she no longer cared whether she fell asleep and set free the devil inside her.  But as she stepped through the front door, she encountered a gentleman wearing a dark suit and a bad comb-over sitting at the kitchen table.  The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed nervously as he greeted her with an awkward “Hello” from behind an open briefcase. 

That lawyer had good reason to feel ill-at-ease; his good buddy Deputy Gottschalk was up on the second floor howling and beating his fists against Mother’s locked bedroom door. 

“You will not do this to me again, goddammit!” he was bellowing as Angeline left the kitchen and climbed the staircase.  “Unlock this door or I swear I’ll kick it down!”  When his command was ignored, the deputy did as promised and put his boot to the wood. 

“Open it!” he huffed. “Open it!  Open it!” 

Angeline squeezed past him onto the landing and scooted to her bedroom, quietly pressing the door closed behind.  After a few more kicks and curses, Stumpy threw in the towel and retreated downstairs where Angeline heard him apologizing to his lawyer friend and pleading for another chance. 

“She just doesn’t seem keen on the idea,” the attorney was saying.   

“Don’t worry.  She’ll sign,” Ted assured him.  “I’m gonna take her goddamn door off the hinges.”  

Before Angeline could hear more, the scratched and crackling voice of Edith Piaf came drifting through the wall from Mother’s room…  

Quand il
me prend dans ses bras
Il me parle tout bas
Je vois la vie en rose.

Sister fell asleep to Piaf’s crooning on the old Victrola, and stayed that way right through ‘til morning when a loud banging jolted her awake.  She came out onto the landing to find Stumpy knocking the posts from the hinges of Mother’s door with a hammer and screwdriver.  

It was a rude awakening, but that extended nap was just what the doctor ordered.  Angeline’s batteries stayed charged through another brutal day at school, right until she came home to find Stepfather pacing the farmer’s porch in a particularly foul mood.  Apparently he’d returned from a dentist appointment to find his lawyer friend had blown him off.  Not only had the man failed to show for their follow-up meeting at the house, but he wasn’t returning phone calls either.   

“You see that lawyer on your way in?” Stumpy asked Angeline as she climbed the front steps.

She paused at the door.  “I didn’t see anyone.”

“Course you didn’t.  God forbid,” he sneered.  “Just get inside.  You’re still grounded.”

chapter eight

By the tail en
d
of the worst week in Angeline’s sixteen years on the planet, I’d grown tired of her silly little game of Katie bar the door.  With no pressing engagements, I’d been perfectly content to let the girl burn herself out.  But now that Friday had arrived, and with the after-football party at the Mohr’s just hours away, I needed to get rolling.  If Angeline wanted to be a pain-in-the-ass and stand in my way, well, I’d just have to show the bitch who was boss.

Friends, please understand that I loved my sister.  I did.  But your good and faithful servant wasn’t feeling so warm and fuzzy toward her during those difficult days.  Dark thoughts had begun creeping into my head, and for the first time I considered a life without dear Angeline.  It really wouldn’t be that hard.  I could play that girl with my eyes closed.  All I had to do was walk around with the weight of the world bending my shoulders and toss in a few sta-sta-stammers now and then. 

I mean, seriously.  Who would know? 

Nobody, that’s who.  I’d fool ‘em all.

Around seven p.m., with Deputy Gottschalk watching over Holt County’s nervous pervies, and Mother barricaded in her room, the time had come to send Angeline to bed.  I had a narrow window to drive over to the Cubby’s truck stop out on Highway 20, then hustle up to the Mohr’s and give the Brower boys a return engagement they’d never forget.  Problem was, Angeline was being uncooperative.

When the girl first felt one of her thudding migraines coming on she immediately grew suspicious.  There was none of the usual curling up in bed and seeking comfort in sleep.  Instead she fought back with aspirins and a bath, plunking her keister into a tub half-filled with hot water to draw the pounding blood from her brain to her buns-- a trick Mother had taught her years ago.

To be perfectly honest, the girl’s shenanigans were starting to annoy me.   

With my window of opportunity closing, I redoubled my efforts, jackhammering my way into her mind.  The vibrations seemed to shake Angeline to the core, because the girl suddenly sat bolt upright in the tub, grabbed her head in both hands and unleashed a primal scream that sounded a lot like…

“Mommmmaaaa!”

Within seconds the bathroom door flung open and Mother appeared in a frayed nightgown. 

“Something’s inside me, Momma!” Angeline cried out, reaching for Mother like a child fresh from a night terror.

As the woman knelt beside the tub, Sister lunged and wrapped her arms tight around her neck.  “I’m scared,” Angeline sobbed.  “I’m really scared.” 

Mother reached across and pulled a towel from the nearby rack, then wrapped it around Sister’s heaving shoulders.  “Stand up, child,” she said, “and let’s get you to bed.”

Angeline was towel dried, helped to the bedroom and tucked in.  As Mother pulled the quilt over her daughter’s trembling body, curled fetal-like and facing the wall, the shaken girl whimpered, “What’s wrong with m-m-me, Momma?”

Mother took a seat on the edge of the bed and gently stroked Sister’s hair.  “You have the sickness,” she told her.  “Best you sleep now, child.”

“But I don’t want to,” Angeline protested, trying to lift her head from the pillow.

Mother pressed it down again.  “You need to rest.”

“No,” came the weary reply.

“Rest easy, child… rest easy,” Mother cooed, stroking her daughter’s hair.  In a moment she began reciting one of their favorite bedtime psalms.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:

He leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul…”

Angeline’s eyes were fluttering.  “No, I… I don’t… I don’t wa-wa-wa…”  

“He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness

for his name’s sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the

shadow of death,

I will fear no evil; for thou art with me.

Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me…”

Before Psalm Twenty-three was finished, my sister had fallen into a deep and easy slumber.  Mother pulled the comforter up tight beneath her chin, caressed her head once more then quietly slipped from the room. 

I swear I could have kissed that woman.  Just when I feared Angeline had won our mental tug-of-war and screwed all my best-laid plans, crazy Momma had come charging in like the cavalry, rescued my ass, then rode right back out again. 

It was a Hunter’s Moo
n
that night.  A blood moon.  Hanging large and red on the horizon.  It’s been said that Native American Indians tracked and killed their prey by that autumn moonlight.  Tonight would be no different.  

On an unseasonably warm November evening, I drove south toward the Cubby’s truck stop, Elvira’s ensemble stuffed in a sack beside me.  Because time was short (thanks to my dear sister) I’d have to dress on the fly.  After breaking every speed limit from Hainesville to Highway 20, I arrived at the Cubby’s for gas.  The closer move would have been the mom and pop Texaco on County Highway 108, but Deputy Gottschalk patrolled that stretch--mostly because it included the all-night diner where he enjoyed harassing the waitresses--so it was best avoided. 

As I paid the cashier and headed for the pumps, an old trucker with a faded cap and an empty smile fell in beside me and asked, “Have you heard the good word?”  Then he tried pushing a pocket-sized Bible into my hand.

“No charge for salvation tonight, young lady.”

“Maybe later,” I responded curtly, ignoring the offer. 

I pulled a rusted metal gas can from the bed of the Ford and shoved in the nozzle.  As I began pumping, that born-again never left my side.  Christ’s soldier was determined to share his testimony and recruit my soul for the Jesus team.  It was a waste of good air.  In those madcap days I had zero interest in life everlasting-- or anyone who peddled it for that matter.  Your trusted servant followed but one creed:
Go ahead and screw yourself, but fuck with me and you’re dead.
 

Brothers and sisters, the gospel according to Evangeline.

Amen.

I set the gas can back into the bed of the pickup and was lifting myself into the cab when the trucker came at me once again, positioning his body between me and the door.  I snapped a quick look at Mother’s wristwatch.  “I’m in kind of a hurry, mister,” I told him, not bothering to mask my aggravation. 

“Too much of a hurry to save your soul?” the trucker retorted with a hint of foreboding.  He pushed the Bible into my hand.  “Inside you’ll find all the--”

“Back off, Moses!” I barked.  “I’ve got enough fruitcakes in my life, okay?  Go fuck up your own little world and stay out of mine.”

“God bless you,” the trucker replied, stepping out of the way.

“Same to you,” I shot back and slammed the door in his face. 

Yes, it was harsh, but the old fart deserved it.  He was wasting precious time and wouldn’t take a hint.  For thick skulls like that, sometimes you’ve got to drive the message home with the subtlety of a hand grenade.  

The Ford sat i
n
the hayfield across from the Mohr’s house with headlights off.  As the first partiers began trickling in, I switched on the dome light and leaned close to the rearview to check Elvira’s makeup.  Everything looked good and I was hot for the action. 

The hometown team must have won again because the kids arrived in full party mode, chattering happily as they headed into the house with their coolers and cases of beer.  More Willowdale students would continue drifting in for the next hour-or-so, including Caleb and Susan Weaver, but the sons of bitches I’d come to meet were still no-shows… so I cranked the heat and sat back to wait. 

Just before eleven o’clock, with the house a-rockin’, the Brower’s red pickup turned onto the property and parked.  Kyle, smoking a cigarette and wearing a down hunter’s vest, lifted a cooler from the truck bed and followed his cousin toward the fire pit where a handful of teens had gathered.  When they saw the Browers approaching the whole bunch headed straight for the house.  Good thing those skinheads had the personalities of cheese graters, because I needed some quality alone time. 

I sat in the truck, biding my time, and watched those Nazi goons chug can after can of beer.  When I figured they were primed and ready, I stepped from the cab and started across the oil road.  It wasn’t the coldest fall night, but it was still November, and goose bumps were popping on my exposed legs. 

Kyle finished chugging a can of Bud Light and was turning to fetch another when he first laid eyes on me.  I was standing on the edge of the firelight with their open cooler at my feet and an unopened can of beer in my hand. 

“Thirsty boy,” I greeted Kyle with a sultry voice, then flipped him the beer.  “I’m Evangeline.  Who are you?” 

“Name’s Kyle,” he said, squinting to get a better look at me.  “This here’s my cousin, Danny.”

Danny Brower swigged his beer as he looked me over.  “You go to Willowdale?”

“Yeah,” said Kyle, popping the tab.  “You look familiar.  Do we know you?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, slapping the cooler lid closed.  I sat on it with my legs spread and the black dress riding high on my thighs.  “Would you like to know me?” 

Judging by their hungry looks I knew the answer.  Those leering apes couldn’t think past their own dicks just like they couldn’t see the Big Bad Wolf sitting right in front of them-- and that made those lambs an easy meal.  By the time they knew what hit them, I’d have their pricks mounted and displayed like the bison on Stumpy’s wall.   

“Must be cold up there,” chuckled Danny, his eyes boring into my crotch.

“Cold as a well digger’s ass, as my daddy used to say.”  I leaned forward with my hands pressed between my thighs.  “I could use help warming up.  Either of you boys interested?”

The cousins looked at each other like they’d just hit the Powerball.

“Fuck yeah, girl,” said Danny.  “I’m up for it.”

“I’ll bet you are,” I said demurely, then nodded toward the Mohr’s house.  “There’s a mattress upstairs.  But I don’t do three ways.  I’m just an old fashioned, one-at-a-time kind of girl.”

“Works for me,” said Danny.

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely,” seconded Kyle.

Crossing through the crowde
d
great room trailed by those two lusting goons, I spotted Caleb in the far corner partying with Soup and some of their football pals.  As I snatched one of the lit candles near the staircase, Caleb noticed me, too.  Our eyes locked for just a brief moment before I continued upstairs with Kyle and Danny close on my heels-- just a couple of dead men walking. 

They followed me onto the second floor landing and down a hallway littered with crushed cans and broken glass.  I paused and knocked on a door that some failed artist had spray painted with an erect penis and the words FUCK PAD.  When no one answered I took a peek inside then turned to the Browers and asked, “So who goes first?”

Danny quickly threw up his hand. 

“I thought you might,” I smiled, then turned to his cousin and pointed at the floor.  “You wait here, stud.”

“I’ll be waiting,” answered Kyle, tapping a cigarette from a pack of Marlboros.  “Just don’t take too long.”

“You can lick my jizz when I’m through,” Danny said with a toothy grin as he trailed me into the room.  

The Fuck Pad wasn’t exactly five-star material, if you know what I mean.  There was a lone twin mattress in the middle of the floor, its grimy fabric ripped and stained by cum and beer.  I couldn’t imagine how many teens had fucked on that nasty thing.  Hundreds maybe.  And the rest of the décor was just as revolting, with used condoms and wrappers scattered amongst the requisite bottles and cans. 

“Alright,” grinned Danny, unbuckling his belt.  “Let’s do this.”

“Patience, sugar,” I told him, setting the candle upon the rotted window sill.  “Patience.”

I really hated to lay my naked ass on that disgusting mattress, but for my plan to work, I had to work the plan.  So I tugged my panties down, hiked the dress up around my waist and laid back with legs spread.   

The sight of my coochie made that skinheaded bastard go plumb apeshit.  Without taking his eyes off me, Danny yanked off his boots then wrestled with his jeans.  At one point they hung up around his ankles and the boy nearly fell on his face-- which I enjoyed immensely.  He finally kicked them free, along with his boxers, and scrambled aboard like a hungry dog to the dish.

There was no foreplay.  That eager brute tried penetrating me from the get-go, but I was dry as the Sahara down there and he couldn’t get his prick through the tent flaps.

“Trouble?” I asked.

“Suck my dick,” he commanded, rolling onto his back like a dog. 

Just to get things moving, I went down on Danny boy.  It didn’t take long to get his pump primed, and I crawled back aboard and squatted down on his cock, guiding it in with my hand.