Laid & Crucified: Part-2

By John Aalborg

SETTING:
Florida panhandle, 50 miles north of the Gulf of Mexico to the Alabama line. The treasure trove of cultures normally unseen. Present century, pre smart-phone.
SHORT DESCRIPTION:
A drama/thriller which pairs tales of murder, kidnappings, and lust with stories of true love, and joins unusual perps with "good" citizens while sparing neither the religious nor the infidels. Unfolding events, however, allow a few from both sides to survive the resulting carnage.
MAJOR CHARACTERS:
THE MEN: 1. A serial killer whose favorite prey is the rare, attractive female he can snatch from an abortion clinic picket line. Ladies whom he forces to copy by hand the most lurid texts from their own Bibles before he rapes them. 2. A pimple-chested over-grown boy who believes the actresses in his X-rated video cassettes are real and worth saving at any cost, but couldn't care less whether his flesh-and-blood sex partners live or die. 3. A likable, preacher's kid who believes God helps him get laid. 4. An educated middle-aged kidnapper and murderer who is also a respected and honorable yard-man.
THE WOMEN: 1. A beautiful redhead, the unflappable antithesis of the female-as-victim, who dresses like the devil and shoots straighter than God. 2. A Jewish princess who killed her parents and believes she is the reincarnation of Elissa, Queen of ancient Carthage, and does her exotic best to prove it. 3. A young and sexy, bi-lateral short-stump amputee who walks on her hands and harbors wanted criminals in the enclave of her vast, dead husband's salvage yard. 4. And last but not least: a brace of lovely, virgin, black twins who pepper this bizarre, human porridge with their screams.
Other characters provide pithy comic relief in an edgy story which begins on page-1
Author's Rating: "All Ages"
Publisher's Rating: PG-14 (mild erotica, graphic violence)
Home Schooler Rating: MA
NB: The print version contains both Parts 1 & 2

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Aalborg
• Release date: Jul 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311971579

John Aalborg

Snap bio updated by Cheater:John Aalborg is an old unaccountable, traveling, card-carrying member of the working class who can write. Thanks to the invention of the portable laptop, he has been able to type his hard-boiled, originally handwritten crime (and other) novels into digital form. Bleep-Free Press is currently working to get his page-turners into print and e-book form, and eventually into the public eye.. Along with internationally published "over the road" articles (including NEWSWEEK and COSMOPOLITAN), which he did, he says, out of desperation, Aalborg wrote the Axel McKay radio-play series aired coast-to-coast on the WLAC Nashville network, numerous magazine publications of trucking experiences in foreign countries, and for 4 years wrote a monthly road column with me: "Don't Ask Us!" by Mo'hammer and Cheater. Never boring and often controversial, Aalborg's pithy and morally suspect characters, both male and female, bring the reader to places rarely seen.Aalborg has been able to elude punishment, jail, and notoriety for his entire life despite a long list of bizarre occupations, including a well-lived 3 years in the black market trade in Europe, when in Germany he was eventually deported back to the USA (his iconic, antique, Mercedes roadster confiscated). Soon after, with a young family in Miami, one of his less risky employments was writing under the pen-name Stephan Aalborg back when racy books and magazines were censored in the USA - "girlie books" - banned unless each edition contained new "literary content". When the courts ended this requirement the bottom dropped out of that writing market, and Aalborg ascended into psychedelic drugs while still writing on the side. During this time he wrote the beautiful and gamy novel : "ALL MEAT - A Redneck Meets LSD-25". This accurate counter-culture drama, featuring a page-turning dysfunctional family in 1970, was released just last year. The typewritten manuscript was misplaced and lost - as only a "head" can do - for 40 years. Around 1980 John began moving away from Miami, "The Magic City", to his present, undisclosed hidey-hole, where years later a dangerously-younger new girlfriend, me, prodded him to do something with the novels and essays which had been piling up on legal pads and in boxes in his RV. This, and with major encouragement from an Australian writer and editor, finally resulted in John allowing us to get his longer work into print while attempting to keep his whereabouts a secret. "I could stay invisible in Miami," he likes to say.Aalborg's history is a story-book in itself, much provided by job skills and experiences unrelated to each other. Like ten years as a state-licensed locksmith in Miami-Dade, where many of his less ethical assignments were for law enforcement; five years as an EMT for a backwoods hospital and ambulance crew; many more years driving OTR flatbeds (interstate) for long-haul trucking companies; and turning down that work during slow winter seasons. Keeping warm but barely making a living at times, Aalborg worked graveyard shifts at Florida fuel-stops on exits off I-10, where he packed a gun and took care of his own law enforcement.In other words, Aalborg can take the reader into worlds the average person would love to get an exciting and often scary look at, but preferably at a distance and in the comfort of an armchair.Update: Since retiring from driving big trucks, Aalborg has kept buried his social life as well but now writes full-time. He does his best to keep his location and contact numbers secret and has pulled himself from Facebook and the like. His next crimenovel, however, will be out in a big paperback in early Spring 2016 (if I still have any influence) and serialized as an e-Book in 2 book-length parts here at Smashwords and other e-book retailers, the first part free or close to it.-- Update by Cheater, Bleep-Free Press, 16.December.2015

Book preview

Chapter 1 - 39

Recap of Part-1

Chapters 1-39 of Laid & Crucified are the recommended read before accessing Part-2 of this big novel. That Part-1 e-book is available free of charge or close to it, and will not disappoint.

That said, Part-1 ends after Sophia, the sexy, bilateral above-knee amputee owner of a vast salvage yard, meets Rochelle, wanted for killing her own parents and is now Gus's slave. Gum-smacking delinquent Julie briefly helps her creepy half-brother Junior, and Sandy, a gorgeous redhead newcomer who is always armed to the teeth, rip off a larger team of pot farmers. Next door, Brenda has arrived in the dark at MayBelle and Leesa's cabin after a scary day on the wrong school bus. (Half-sisters Brenda and Leesa share mothers Peaches and MayBelle after having been switched as babies, but with the same father they look like twins). The girls are now bonded in terror with two diaries in their possession; incompleted diaries of violated white women whom they now determine have finally been butchered. Jamie, the preacher's kid, discovers that his new, older friend Gus, a fugitive for murder himself along with his kidnapped girlfriend, was still a dangerous and capable killer. In contrast, a sweet true-love story continues to unfold regarding Jamie, still a teenager, hopelessly in love with the wealthy but short-stump amputee Sophia, who controls the salvage yard hideout. Another love story (and soon becoming an obsession) develops over another kidnapped female, alive but bleeding when removed from her torture on a rigged crucifix hidden in the countless rows of the salvage yard. The diaries, however, while describing the horrors of the victims' captivity, also present some Bible-bashing which seems to point to the kidnapper responsible.

Chapter 40

A Sweet Time

Sweet-time entered the drab, single-story county hospital through the Emergency Room door and started down the corridor toward X-ray. When the aisle intersected the main hallway he could see the Nurses' Station. He had to stop to let two food carts go by, the stainless-steel racks loaded with covered, plastic serving trays – different colors – tomato-soup red, olive green, beige.... Sweet-time caught the eye of the girl who was pushing the second cart down the hall but when he winked she quickly looked away. He shrugged, and moved across the aisle to the charge nurse's desk. The lady was blond, middle-aged, and a fixture of the 2nd shift – the 3-11. She was bent over a large book which had ER LOG printed on the corner of the page.

Ma'am?

That's me. The lady did not look up. Sweet-time leaned forward and rested his elbows on the Dutch-door counter top. The bitch had been tuned-up with silicone, he thought, and he allowed his eyes to roam.

Ma'am, is John-B working tonight? It's important I see him. Just for a minute. Sweet-time slapped on his best, most humble smile just as she looked up.

He's supposed to be helping pass out supper trays. She glanced at her watch. In about five minutes. You'll have to wait.

Do you know where he is now?

The woman sighed. Her pale, blue eyes surveyed the ripple of muscles in Sweet-time's slick, brown arms. The muscled slope of his neck.

You're beautiful, he said.

The nurse sucked in a quick breath but her eyes never left him. I'm an old lady. I've got teenage kids. I'm white. And you're full of shit.

You're beautiful.

If he's not with a patient he's probably down at the far end of the hall watching the sun set with the door wide open letting in flies.

It's winter. No flies.

This is Florida.

Oh. Would you consider going out with me?

No. The end of the hallway faces west. John-B likes to take the non-ambulatory patients down there in a wheel chair if it's not too cold. One each evening. So they can watch the sun go down. The hospital's on the highest place in town. Does that explain it all?

That sounds like him. This way? Sweet-time pointed.

Yes, smart ass.

You're beautiful – and sweet.

You're cute, too. Just the wrong color.

Sweet-time had just begun to walk off but he turned back at that, just for a second. I'm not cute – I'm beautiful! Just picture the two of us together. Picture it!

Git!

John-B was where she told him, at the end of the long, main hall. The emergency exit door was propped open with a wheelchair parked in the opening. From the hallway the patient appeared to be surrounded with a halo of light. Sweet-time passed by the nurses and aides who were delivering the food trays to the various rooms, and made it down there. Hey, Bro!

John turned to look and his face broke into a smile. Sweet-time! He was wearing whites – a balding white guy with a gray, fringe beard. An EMT patch on his right shoulder and a name tag:

JOHN-B — EMT

Nursing Service

HOMER COUNTY HOSPITAL

I brought it, Sweet-time said.

Great! Hey, can you stay with my patient here for a minute? I'm supposed to be passing out trays.

Hey, man, I don't know what to do!"

Just make sure she doesn't fall out of her chair. She's almost a hundred years old. Oh! If she turns blue or gags or anything like that, grab the nearest nurse.

Oh, yeah, man. Like I got nothing else to do.

Thanks.

The patent in the chair said: Ga ga ga ga ga ga...

Sweet-time looked back and saw John-B. disappear into a room with a tray.

...ga ga ga ga ga...

Sweet-time squeezed around to the front of the chair and bent over. The lady seemed to be so tiny, and her small, wrinkled head was covered with only the faintest wisps of white hair. A blanket covered her lap and her wheelchair smelled like pee.

You okay?

You're in the road.

Sweet-time laughed. In the road?

I can't see the sunset.

Oh! Yeah, okay Granny! Sweet-time moved back behind the chair and looked out over her. The sun was not as glaring as it had been a minute ago. It had become a huge, egg-shaped orange glow now, sinking to the distant rooftops beyond the height of the hospital grounds. A cold draft licked past the wheelchair through the open doorway and Sweet-time shivered.

First time a nigger called me Granny was fifty years ago. It took them all afternoon to dig the shotgun pellets out of his ass.

Ohhhhh. That must've been the good old days, huh!

Boy – I mean, Sonny – there's no such thing as the good old days.

No?

No. I was there. I could tell you some things.

Tell me.

You're too young.

I'm twenty-five. You can tell me anything.

Uh - huh.

The sun was sinking out of sight. It was the first time that Sweet-time had ever seen the sun actually moving. As if she were reading his mind, the old lady said: That John-B, he says he can feel this old earth rolling away from the sun when he stands here. I never thought of it before. I'm ninety-eight years old and I learned something. The sun doesn't move but the world keeps on rolling. Can you feel it?

Yeah.... I can!

They watched together as the last sliver of fire winked out on the horizon.

An aide stopped by and tapped Sweet-time on the shoulder. I put her tray in her room.

Oh. Yeah, thanks.

Are you going to feed her? If you don't, one of us has to and we have a lot of totals tonight.

Totals?

Total-care patients.

Oh. Yeah. I mean...

The aide disappeared. Plain, young, no makeup.

I'm cold.

Sweet-time bent over the chair. Do you know which is your room? He tried to back the chair out of the doorway but it would not budge. What happened to John?

The brakes!

Hey, don't get your panties in a wad. Sweet-time squatted to figure out the brakes and found the little levers – so obvious. That's when he saw the tattoo, or part of it, a dark etching on the speckled and nearly transparent skin of her upper, right arm. He slid the hospital-gown sleeve up just enough to uncover it. A large, dark-blue heart with the name Henry Ford in the middle of it.

Classy! Sweet-time released the brakes and straightened up. Tell me about it.

I was drunk. My husband put that on me. I wanted it to say Model T. He died thirty years ago. If I wouldn't've stole that car I would've never made it to Florida and I would've never met him.

Oh, that's so cool!

He was an asshole.

You didn't love him?

Oh, yes.... He let me keep the car, too.

Sweet-time found the room – semi-private. The first bed was unoccupied and clean sheets were drawn tightly over it. He wheeled her around it and stopped her chair near the grimy windows. After lowering the height of her roll-away table, he pushed it close to her and uncovered the tray. The food had been neatly plopped into compartments, hot and steaming. Sweet-time unrolled the napkin with the white-plastic utensils. Mmmmmmm! A meat patty, I think, and mashed potatoes, and corn, and cranberry sauce. And it looks like banana pudding for desert! He leaned over to sniff the pudding but couldn't smell anything but pee, and his dark-brown nose wrinkled.

I piss myself, she said, tucking the paper napkin under her chin with trembling, bony hands. All the time. But I want to eat first before you change my diaper. My hands shake bad – you need to feed me.

Well – okay, but I'm not going to change you! We can't have a black male changing a white lady now, can we? Sweet-time scooped up a spoonful of mashed potatoes, dabbed it at the gravy, and began to aim it at her toothless mouth.

You must be new here. They do it all the time.

I don't work here. I was just visiting. Open!

Oh. Well, who are you then?

I'm just me. Now open up. It's mashed potatoes.

The mouth opened and the spoonful went in. He watched her gum at it for a moment, then swallow. He busied himself crumbling up the meat patty with the serrated, plastic knife. They don't purée this stuff for you?

I hate puréed food.

Oh. Open!

He watched her roll the meat around in her mouth. Stealing a car to drive to Florida! Her neck was so thin, and he could see the blue veins. Some of the chopped meat got onto the corner of her mouth and he putty-knifed it back in. It reminded him of when he used to have to feed his baby sister.

I can't see what your putting in.

That's okay. Open! This one is kernel corn.

I hate kernel corn.

So tell me about the good old days.

I can. I grew up then. Not many people can say that nowadays.

Open! Cranberry.

He turned and saw that John-B had been looking in but before Sweet-time could say anything the man disappeared again.

So what do you mean by then?

Back before anything was invented. There wasn't any plastic. You can't even imagine that, can you, no plastic.

You talk pretty good for a hundred and no teeth! My great aunt, she can barely...

There weren't any antibiotics. You got sick, you died. You cut a finger and it got infected, you died. No television. No radios. When I was a little girl, no cars. No refrigerators. My clothes were made out of wool and they itched. And we had lice and fleas. No spray cans. No electricity. No lights. You went to bed when it got dark. There were fleas in the bed. We didn't hardly ever get to eat meat. A couple days a month was lucky. We had to buy ice to keep our food cold. Big chunks of ice with hay stuck all over it. But you couldn't rinse it off, you had to pick it off. I watched two brothers and three sisters die when we were kids, one at a time. We all slept in the same bed. At Christmas we each got fifty cents and a handkerchief. When I was fifteen I saw my last brother die, Buddy, my favorite. He had Bright's disease. Kidneys failed. He blew up like a balloon and there were blisters all over his eyes and he was crying when he died. At home. He cried for two weeks before he died. Now they just give you a shot and send you to the drugstore. When I was sixteen I got polio. There wasn't any vaccine for Polio then. I was lucky. All I got was a fever of an-hundred-and-five for two days. My best friend died of it. My left arm's been near useless for over eighty years because of it. But now, oh, lord yes, I've got it made now!

John-B. came back to the room. Sorry, man. I can take over now.

Sweet-time put the plastic spoon back onto the tray.

I'm still hungry!

I'll be back in a minute, John said. You know I always take good care of you.

Sweet-time bent over and put his dark face in front of hers, and grinned. Bye! Thanks for telling me about the good old days!

Bye yourself!

The two men stood in the open doorway, Sweet-time making sure nobody was coming down the hall. He pulled out a fat sandwich bag full of reefer. John carefully unrolled the baggie and stuck his nose in it. Wow.... This is great! Everybody else is out right now. How much?

This one's a freebie.

Oh?

I need a favor.

Yeah? What kind?

The ER nurse. Was that the one at the nurses' station when I came in?

I don't know, I was down here. Blond? Stacked? About thirty-five? Her name's Smitty.

She got two kids? Girls?

Yeah.

Named Dorothy and, uh, Tina?

Yeah, that's her. The kids are snots.

Sweet-time lowered his voice. Smitty, huh? Okay. I need to know her days, you know what I'm saying? When she gets her period. When she's sure to get pregnant, in other words. You find that out and her duty schedule and there's another two-hundred-dollar bag in it for you. And not a word!

Two-hundred?

That's what I'm getting.

Okay.

Just like that? How are you going to find out?

John-B smiled. The nurses. They talk about everything.

Yeah? With you around?

Everything. They got used to me, like, I'm one of them. What do you need to know this stuff for, anyway?

It's not for me, it's for a bro. We don't need to know. Is that going to be a problem?

No. Not really....

Be sure.

Just give me a couple days. Maybe a week.

Done. I'll be back. Sweet-time looked back into the darkening room and turned to leave. And thanks for the sunset, and that earth rollin'.

She told you about that?

Yeah, she's a trip. Sweet-time leaned into the doorway. Bye, Henry Ford! Thanks for telling me about those good old days!

It was a Model T!

I won't forget! Ever!

Chapter 41

Both of Them

After Brenda finished her shower she had to poke through Leesa's closet and dresser to find something she could wear to bed. She ended up with a flannel nightshirt similar to the one Leesa had on, but instead of Garfield the cat on the front, this one had a picture of a large teddybear holding a lollipop.

Your mama sure pick you out some no'count stuff, Brenda said. How do I look?

"Like a K-Mart ad. And it's your mama."

Peaches take me to Wal-Mart.

Same thing!

No it ain't!

Same! That's why they have to put their name on top o' the store so you can tell 'em apart!

Brenda piled into the bed and propped the two pillows MayBelle had given her so that she could sit up to do homework. There ain' enough light on my side. Hand me that diary.

Leesa dug the book out from underneath the covers. I dog-ear it where you lef' off an' I doggied it where I lef' off so when you get to mine lemme know an' we can read together.

You could've waited.

Mmmm-hmmmm. Leesa had intended to finish her math assignment while Brenda caught up with Rachel's diary but now she was having trouble concentrating. She kept on looking over to see what page Brenda was on, well, in the morning Brenda could breeze through the same math assignment and Leesa would be able to copy – something she could only do when Brenda stayed over.

Sure wish she would describe this dude, Brenda murmured. I wanna be able to rec'nize that boy when I see 'im comin'!

I'm thinkin' he' sort of old. Maybe Daddy's age. White, of course.

Look. Brenda was pointing to a line in the diary. Rachel, she write thank you again. Can you b'lieve this shit?

Yeah, but – if it be me, well....

Brenda read in silence for a few more minutes. Then: Girl, he sure like them black Barbie dolls. Were you surprised at that?

I thought it was the bes' part!

They both laughed.

But.... Well, it's that Gus. That junkyard Gus.

Mmmmmm.... Maybe. I'm gonna write down these Bible passages later, too. Nail some of them churchy white folks at school wif' it.

Sure, Brenda. They's people need their Bible. They love it. They fight for it. You be endin' up at the end of a rope and buried if you want to make trouble over it, so.... An' no angel comin' on Sunday mornin' to roll your stone away, neither.

You got that right. Brenda laughed and adjusted her reading position in the bed. You know what I'm thinkin'? This here prove the man be Gus. He name that Barbie after you. L, for Leesa. Or he somebody from aroun' here an' he know you.

I thought about that. The L.... But I think the diary is old.

No it ain't! It jus' fingered up a lot.

No, 'cause if the napper be that Gus, he already have me chain to his bed.

Leesa? That man ain' gonna mess wif' no pillow-smudger like you when he got all this white meat doin' everything he tell 'em! Can't you read?

Read on, Smudgie! You don' know what's comin' an' I do!

Leesa worked out another math problem while she waited for her half-sister to get to the part where the man has his new victim, the black girl he chained to the cross. It didn't take long.

Lord? I see what you mean now, Leesa. Lord, Lord, Lord....

Leesa put aside her math textbook and slid closer. She whispered. 'Member, be ready to chuck it under the cover if Mama come.

Shhhhh! Oh, Lord, he cuts her, too!

Read!

There she go again, Rachel, she got to say thank you to this creep.

Turn the page.

After the most wonderful shower of my entire life, in my new camper-trailer (I shampooed my hair, too) I went through the stuff I found in the little closet and tried to find a proper nightie. There was a nice bathrobe but I didn't want to wear that in bed. The camper has a nice dresser, built in, and the top drawer has sleep stuff in it but all the things were too small because of my baby. It is all sexy sleepwear and I thought, well, this is what he wants me to have on. I tried out a few things and the lacey bras wouldn't fit, either. Then I wondered about who was here before me. What happened to her? But everything was clean and folded neatly. While I was doing this I had Little Benny sitting on top of my pillow after I made up the bed. I fixed it so he could look out the little window there. He looked so pretty and proud! But it was hard for me to forget that poor little colored girl out there in the rain bleeding. And up-side-down. I kept my ears cocked for the sound of the dog ___ mentioned but I didn't hear anything of him. Once, after I went to bed (naked)(the bed feels so good – thank you!) and turned out the lights (no more flashlight!) I thought, no, I did hear chains clanking or clinking, just barely. When I heard that I pulled myself up to the window at the head of the bed (Little Benny's window) and tried to see. It had stopped raining, well, it was still drizzling, and it was still pitch dark out. The way it sounded I guessed he was unlocking her chains and bringing her down from her up-side-down cross. I listened for water to see if he was going to hose the mud off her like he did me at first, before he put her in the shack. But I didn't hear anything after the chains so I guess he let her go to bed all dirty the way she was (like he did me that time I tried to escape) or maybe it was too far away to hear. I prayed for her. Then Little Benny and I fell asleep.

She think that stuff' raccoon be real, Brenda said.

Turn the page!

I woke up the next morning and had my first breakfast made by myself. There were frozen Eggos in the little freezer compartment, and butter and margarine in the refrigerator part, and some syrup. (We never put the syrup in there at home). (But I will here). There is a brand-new shiny toaster on the table, too.

I was wondering if the little black girl was still alive and if he was going to starve her like he did me. I didn't get anything to eat for days at first and at that time I was sure I was going to die. Well, later during the first morning in my new camper, he came and he stuck his head in and he said that at noon I should fix lunch for myself and Kathy, her name, he said, spelled with a K. He told me to make hers to go. I thanked him for letting her live and letting her have something to eat so soon but he just walked off. I noticed that he didn't lock me back in when he left, but there was no way I was going to see how far I could go with that! I also noticed that when he talked about Kathy he didn't sound mad or anything like he was the night before when he said she tried to escape. I tried to picture how a man could desire a negro woman but I couldn't. Maybe ___ has some other reason for kidnapping her or maybe I am just stupid.

Ohhhhhh.... Blond bitch!

Shush, Brenda! Read!

I couldn't find any jeans that would fit, or any maternity clothes, but I did find a nice, shorter, flannel robe, purple, and I put that on and hung the longer robe up. There is another, smaller closet in the kitchen and at the bottom I found this cute little vacuum cleaner with attachments and stuff so (even though it didn't need it) I did a good house-cleaning before it was time to make lunch. For lunch I made BLT sandwiches and I put Kathy's in a Ziploc bag. There was a small Thermos bottle in the cupboard and I made her some coffee, too, but I couldn't find any little packages of sugar or creamer and I hope she drinks it black. Well, in a couple days she'll want it black – that's all it takes to get a coffee drinker off cream and sugar. Put some in after drinking it black for a while and yeeech! That's what happened to me after I got married and my husband made me feel stupid for using it and I tried a couple days without.

Sure enough, at exactly twelve o'clock he came by and picked up her lunch. He looked happy. He must really like her because he didn't treat me that good at first! But I guess her not being pregnant and all makes a big difference in a man's mind.

Soun' like she truly enjoy that housewife shit, Brenda said. I never heard nobody call a vacuum cleaner cute before!

An' it soun' like he sure enjoy that black pussy!

Yeah.... Somethin's fishy, though, like all of a sudden all this luxury. For the white bitch, mind you.

Oh, Brenda, the new ones have to start out in the dynamite shack till they learn the rules. Like initiation. Like getting broke in.

Okay, so how come we foun' Rachel's diary in there an' not in this camper she talkin' about, huh?

If you turn the page we fin' out! I'm bettin' she fucks up somewhere an' gets bumped back to the shack. Or dies....

Oh. Yeah....

Turn the page!

Hey! I will! There ain' many pages lef'. I wants to enjoy this!

You enjoy this?

You ain't? Brenda thumbed through the remaining pages without stopping to read any of it. You sure you ain' read the end already?

Brenda, I swear.

Well.... Seem to me this book too short. My diary have three-hundred an' sixty-five page. One fo' each day! Course my diary don' contain all this kin'of juicy stuff...."

Can we turn the page now?

This ain' no real diary, neither. I mean, it don' say DIARY on the front. This really jus' a reg'lar notebook.

It's still a real diary!

Leesa, you're a dumb-ass. I meant tha's why it don' have enough pages for a year.

Brenda, you're ill.

I had a longer day than you, too, 'member? Brenda sighed and turned the page.

I did not see him again until supper. The rain stopped and the sun came out and I wanted so bad to go outside. I opened some of the windows and I kept my ears cocked for any sounds of Kathy but I didn't hear anything. This little camper has a tiny, tiny yard around it, with a little, white, picket fence, low enough to step right over. Just a little grass inside the fence but too small to even get a lawnmower in, so I guess it was cut with hand-clippers which would be a nice, relaxing job. Right outside the fence are these tire tracks in the mud (he's been walking here so far) and my little yard is in the middle of one of the junkyard rows, like a tiny oasis. There are tire tracks on the other side of the fence in the back, too, and as far as I can tell from what I can see from the windows, the tracks are all the same tread. Only one vehicle.

I thought if he is in a good mood next time I'll ask him if I could go outside if I promise to stay inside the fence. (It is not even two feet high). I wondered if he would be horny when he came back, too, but I guessed not since he has his little black play-toy now.

Brenda snorted. Little black play-toy!

Yeah. Firs' the man treat her like shit an' near starve her to death...

An' rape her.

...an' then she make out how she feel sorry for the new one, an' now she jealous!

White folks.

Yeah....

When he came by for Kathy's supper I was afraid to ask him if I could go out if I stayed inside the fence. I made hamburger and noodles and onions and bell-pepper all stir-fried together and I put Kathy's in a Tupperware thing. I had a pot of coffee ready, and he had brought her Thermos back in and I rinsed it out, but I filled it with ice-cold cranberry juice, which he thought was a good idea. He was treating her so nice! I had made enough dinner for three so I asked him if he wanted to eat here and he said no, he had another woman he always had supper with. Then he said I haven't met her yet but she would help with the baby when it came, if I was still alive. I said: Alive? and he said: If you don't fuck up. Then he said that she was his Number 1 girl for a long time but there were others that didn't last very long so I should keep on my toes. I wondered (later) how come his #1 as he called her didn't make Kathy's supper but then I realized that maybe they were like married or something like that and she didn't even know about Kathy probably. But if she was going to help me have my baby, she would have to know about me. What was she going to think? Unless he doesn't mind letting her know about me because I'm white. I had the feeling she was young, but older than Kathy, maybe my age. But I couldn't picture her except I was pretty sure she wasn't black. Anyway, he was horny for me at first so his #1 must not be that great. Or he's just like all the other men who crave variety even though they deny it. I remember it wasn't too long after we were married, way before I got pregnant, that my husband, every time he'd spot some half-way decent-looking woman his head would turn and how much that hurt my feelings at first. And I was pretty sure I was good looking! But now, thinking about him doing that, well, it doesn't seem to make much difference. Everything from that life seems unreal now. Like it was just something I watched once on TV. And I haven't even been gone all that long.

NEXT DAY

He did not come back after supper last night so I guess he is having a better time with his little under-age black devil.

Black devil – you b'lieve this shit?!

Shhhh! I'm readin'!

The refrigerator is loaded with food! I got up at dawn and figured I would make omelets for breakfast (I'm still hungry all the time) but I didn't know what time he would come by to get Kathy's so I chopped all the stuff I would need, whipped up some eggs, and set everything back in the fridge for until he got here. He sat around after he arrived and waited for me to finish the omelets. He even ate part of one. Then I put Kathy's on a nice plate with aluminum foil over it and rolled up a knife and fork into a napkin for her. I hope I didn't use to much salt and pepper for her taste. In any case it was a better breakfast than I ever got when I was in that place! He came back later with her dishes for me to wash – from the night before and from breakfast. He looked like he was still in a good mood so I asked him about going outside in my little yard if I promised I wouldn't step one foot outside that picket fence. Just like that he said: Okay. I ran up to him and hugged him. I was still wearing that shorty robe and I knew he could feel my bre tits through it, which were growing even bigger than before and tight as drums. I thought for sure he would be horny by now but he wasn't. Guess Kathy must really be taking care of business because ___ is a very horny man! She looked too young when I saw her to know very much but I'm sure there's not much in his conscience to stop him from teaching her everything. Then he sort of pushed me away and he said I was not to go outside with slippers on or my robe or any clothes at all! I thought that meant he still liked to look at me and I said: Okay and he said that if he sees me over that fence or with any clothes on out there inside the fence he will shoot me. Shoot me in the stomach. Without one word of warning first. He said there won't be any temptation for me to run for it naked and without shoes. He said he would shoot me with his high-powered 30.06 sniper rifle. He said it was so powerful that one hit in the stomach and my belly would explode like if I would swallow a hand-grenade. There would be pieces and bits of my baby all over me and I would taste it on my lips before I bled to death. He said to be sure to write this part down word-for-word so I don't forget it.

I have been writing everything down, anyway, per instructions. Now he says I can leave out all the menus. He said he doesn't want to read everything that everybody has for lunch. That's dumb! Sometimes the way he says things is funny and I have to fight back a smile. He knows he has a sense of humor, I am sure. ___ is a very smart man, besides being a bull.

She write that stuff to suck up, Brenda said. She know he gonna read it.

Well, she's scared of him!

Yeah, but she mus' know that he know she jus' kissin' ass writin' them comp'lents. An' look at this perfect penmanship. It look...

Penwomanship.

It look the same here as when she was writin' on her lap an' on the floor an' shit when she was in the dynamite shack. Know what I'm sayin'?

No. Turn the page?

I guess....

LATER

The next morning I got up early again but ___ must have gotten up before dawn because there was a cardboard box of stuff just inside my door. A bunch of science fiction magazines and a book by Mark Twain called Letters from the Earth. On the Mark Twain book he taped a little note. It said: READ FIRST! (I am and it is very interesting. It is a book that is so funny and interesting, and it makes you think at the same time. Thank you!)(I am on page 50 already!) In between some clothes was a small painting, wrapped very carefully, and a thumbtack in a little bag so I could hang the wire in back of the painting on the thumbtack (he didn't say where to hang it but I wanted it in the bedroom where it is now). It is an original Marshall Smith painting of this old-timey gas station on a country road with a dog sitting in the middle of the road and the dogs eyes are looking right at you, sad and all-knowing sort of. It is a wonderful painting and I never had an original before. I have to look at it all the time! Around the painting to protect it, were these two maternity outfits and some brand-new, long socks, and a pair of expensive-looking fur slippers. Thank you!

I made Kathy's breakfast and her lunch, did the dishes, and did my windows inside and out! It was cooler today than yesterday but even though I had to do the outside ones naked because of his rule, I didn't mind the chill. There was nobody around, and not a sound, and it was so great being out there! Of course my yard is surrounded by these old, wrecked road-graders and stuff, which block the view. I have to ask him for some collard seeds or Chinese cabbage plants so I can have a winter garden. Anything that can handle a brief cold snap or two because even in Florida it can freeze sometimes (North Florida)(but not for long). For some reason, Thanksgiving has been on my mind a lot. It should be any day now. Kathy has not been here very long and she should know. ___ still refuses to tell me what day it is and I don't have a radio or TV. No connection to the outside world. My baby is almost due and still no meeting with this woman, his #1, who will help me with the birth. If it wasn't my first I probably wouldn't be so scared.

And still no sex with ___ since I moved out of the shack into this nice camper. Poor Kathy! Well, maybe she is learning to get along with him. It sure seems that way!

The last time I saw him I asked him what happened to my Bible lesson notebook with the quiz questions and he said: Oh! I forgot! I would not think he could forget something like that. It sure was important to him at first! Anyway, I am actually curious about what the next lesson is, and it's not just because I'm bored and cut off from the world. I was shocked at the first Bible lessons and I'm sure the next one will be just as (can't think of a word)(not boring). But I also feel that doing them is a sin. Anything against the Bible is a sin.

I am also wondering how I will get more groceries and stuff when these run out.

There she go again, Leesa said.

No, no, I don' think she suckin' up about the Bible lessons. they was shockin' to me! You wouldn' know, livin' wif' MayBelle. But I be brought up on it. Peaches an' me we attend the premier nigger church in the panhandle! That be no less than The Bethel A.M.E. African Methodist Episcopal Church of Christ Ascended! An b'lieve me, the preacher he don' tell you nothin' about no shit in the Bible like Rachel got to read! Uh - unh! He a man of God! And we is all God's chirren!

Yeah....

Girl, you jus' don' know!

I'm curious about the nex' lesson myself.

So get your claw off the book so we can turn the page!

Today, after lunch, he brought back Kathy's dishes and he was very angry. He said to hurry up with them because he was coming right back. And next time to give her a plastic knife and fork like I did at first, if he decided to feed