Back | Next
Contents

CHAPTER XVI

Sean entered the great hall with his shoulders slumped, the picture of a man who knows himself condemned. He went to sit on one of the chairs at the table.

"Don't sit on that side; I want you all on this side," Eric said to him. Eric was still dressed like a Sunday School-book Jesus. He took his seat at the center, and the rest of the troupe sat up and down from him.

"Let's get this show on the road," said Howie.

"Why the hurry?" asked Eric. "Have a drink, everyone."

They all dutifully sipped from the goblets set at their places.

"Water?" asked Bess. "Is this in memory of Peter?"

"Drink again."

"Wine," said Diane. "Cute."

Sean took the liquid down the wrong pipe, and Bess had to pound his back to stop him coughing.

"Why are you playing with me?" Sean asked Eric when his fit was over.

"Playing with you?"

"You're going to kill me for sentencing your father to death. Well do it, damn you to Hell, and get it over with. I'm a king. At least let me go with a little dignity."

"What makes you think I'm going to kill you?"

"You're trying to change the end of the play. I die at the very end in Shakespeare. Killing me now would break the play."

"Not killing you at all would do the same."

A little flame of hope lit in Sean's eyes. "That's true," he said.

"He wanted to kill me!" said Howie.

"Can't hardly blame him for that," said Eric.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I've wanted to kill you for a long time myself. I might still do it. Sean here hasn't done me any harm. But you have."

Howie went pale. "When did I ever do you any harm?"

Eric's eyes went soft for a moment. "Do you remember the day I smashed the dishes?"

"Yes . . ."

"Mom's good china, the ones she inherited from Grandma?"

"You were . . . very upset that day."

"I sure was. And you know why?"

"We were never sure."

"Because you didn't stop me."

"What?"

"I broke one plate by accident. Nothing happened. I broke another plate on purpose, just to see if anything would happen then.

"I wanted to know you'd protect me from myself. I wanted to know you wouldn't let me do everything I was able to do. I was afraid of what I was able to do. But you wouldn't stop me. I broke every dish and cup and saucer, one after another, praying all the time you'd do something about it. But you stood there like morons. It was then I knew I didn't have anybody to protect me. I knew I was all alone in the world."

"Did you want us to spank you?"

"It would have made me feel better."

"You're talking crap."

Eric's eyes blazed and thunder blasted somewhere outside. "You don't get to talk to me that way," he said. "You had your chance to pull me up short, but that's over now. Now I'm in charge."

"Of—of course. But you were joking. I know you were joking."

"Joking about what?"

"About killing me."

"Why do you think I'm joking? Didn't I kill Mom?"

Howie nearly fell off his chair. "Don't say that, Eric. Not even to be funny."

"Nothing funny about it. I killed her."

Howie sat with his mouth open.

"She was taking one of her vodka naps. I got one of those thin plastic bags—you know, the ones you're not supposed to let kids play with—and I put it over her head and sealed it down with duct tape around her neck. I thought I might have to tape her wrists, but no. She just lay there and suffocated real nice for me.

"Then I had to figure out what to do with the body. I remembered the Flattenbagger, that thing that sucks the air out of a bag so you can pack things small. I put her in the biggest size bag and attached the vacuum cleaner. I sealed it up good and stored her under my bed. She's still there."

"Under your bed . . ." said Howie.

"Yeah. Funny, ain't it? Everybody looking for the body all over the state, and she's under my bed all the time."

"But—why?"

"She was gonna leave us."

"Leave us? No, you're wrong—"

"What the hell did you know? You were never home. She had plane reservations. She was running to Mexico with her boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?"

"Do you know what a clue is? Ever have one?"

Howie sat staring at his hands in front of him. "I thought you loved your mother," he said tonelessly.

"I did. I loved her more than anybody. That's why I couldn't let her leave. If she'd left, I'd have had to hate her. But dead, I can still love her. Love's the important thing. You always told me that."

Howie said, "My god. My god."

"You're my father. You're supposed to be in charge and you're supposed to be smarter than me. You kind of screwed up, didn't you?"

Howie said nothing.

"I'm glad I didn't kill you. This is better."

Everyone was staring at Eric. "What you lookin' at?" he asked, and everyone looked away.

"Listen, I'm a pretty cool god," he said. "I'm not gonna lay a whole bunch of Ten Commandments on you. You want to have fun, have fun—it's cool by me. But you don't get to judge me either. I killed my mom—so what? Maybe that ain't right for you, that's cool. But don't go telling me what's right for me. Here's Rule One—I'm God."

"And if we don't please you, you'll do the same to us as you did to your mother," said Bess. Her face was pale but her voice didn't quiver.

In reply Eric stretched a hand out, palm down, fingers extended toward her. Bess's hands went around her throat in a choking gesture. She rose in the air, feet kicking like a person hanging.

She hung in the air a moment, then dropped as Eric opened his hand.

"I'll kill you later," he said as Bess got up from the floor, groaning. "Right now I've got other things planned.

"I've been thinking a lot about what kind of god I want to be.

"I saw a movie once about old religions. They had some really cool ones, where everybody screwed during church. That's the kind of god I want to be. I want to be a party god.

"You people ever try an orgy?"

They all looked at each other, and Diane went red in the face.

"I'd rather not," said Diane.

"I don't give a flying fart what you'd rather not," said Eric with a smile. "Rosey, mosey on over here by me."

When it was all over, Rosey Schmitt stumbled out of the castle and into the clean air. The sea smelled fresh and wholesome, and she thought she was polluting it all with her presence.

She tried to forget what had just happened. She had found herself the center of a lot of attention, and had vague recollections of various body parts rubbing on and in her—mostly male but not exclusively. She even thought that at one point she'd felt a tentacle along her leg.

She'd had bad sex before. She'd never had horrific sex. She had a sudden, vivid recollection of a boy named Georgie, a boy who'd loved her and touched her gently. She'd hurt Georgie, and her throat twisted in a sob to think of it.

As if in response to her memory, there was a soft touch on her shoulder and she turned to look into Georgie's face.

"It can't be," she said.

"It isn't," said the figure. "I'm one of the servants. But I pitied you, and took this form to give you comfort."

Almost without intending to, she threw herself into the familiar arms. "It's so horrible here!" she sobbed.

"I know, I know."

"Nobody cares about me here. I'm just a playtoy. And I'm next in line to die!"

"No, no, baby."

"Oh, Georgie, I need you so bad. Will you hold me awhile?"

Together they sank into the heather. It was soft and smelled fresh. "Georgie" held her awhile, then began to caress her. She responded hungrily. They coupled in the heather and she slept, comforted.

When she woke it was late in the afternoon. She looked at the face of the man who held her in his arms.

"Randy!" she said. "Where did you come from? Where is—"

"Sweet, sissy little Georgie? He was never here. It was me all the time."

"Why?"

"You're a stupid, ugly cow. And you're a lousy lay." He slapped her and vanished.

Rosey wailed as her soul hemorrhaged. She stumbled to her feet.

She took the path to the sea cliff.

Back | Next
Contents
Framed

Back | Next
Contents

CHAPTER XVI

Sean entered the great hall with his shoulders slumped, the picture of a man who knows himself condemned. He went to sit on one of the chairs at the table.

"Don't sit on that side; I want you all on this side," Eric said to him. Eric was still dressed like a Sunday School-book Jesus. He took his seat at the center, and the rest of the troupe sat up and down from him.

"Let's get this show on the road," said Howie.

"Why the hurry?" asked Eric. "Have a drink, everyone."

They all dutifully sipped from the goblets set at their places.

"Water?" asked Bess. "Is this in memory of Peter?"

"Drink again."

"Wine," said Diane. "Cute."

Sean took the liquid down the wrong pipe, and Bess had to pound his back to stop him coughing.

"Why are you playing with me?" Sean asked Eric when his fit was over.

"Playing with you?"

"You're going to kill me for sentencing your father to death. Well do it, damn you to Hell, and get it over with. I'm a king. At least let me go with a little dignity."

"What makes you think I'm going to kill you?"

"You're trying to change the end of the play. I die at the very end in Shakespeare. Killing me now would break the play."

"Not killing you at all would do the same."

A little flame of hope lit in Sean's eyes. "That's true," he said.

"He wanted to kill me!" said Howie.

"Can't hardly blame him for that," said Eric.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I've wanted to kill you for a long time myself. I might still do it. Sean here hasn't done me any harm. But you have."

Howie went pale. "When did I ever do you any harm?"

Eric's eyes went soft for a moment. "Do you remember the day I smashed the dishes?"

"Yes . . ."

"Mom's good china, the ones she inherited from Grandma?"

"You were . . . very upset that day."

"I sure was. And you know why?"

"We were never sure."

"Because you didn't stop me."

"What?"

"I broke one plate by accident. Nothing happened. I broke another plate on purpose, just to see if anything would happen then.

"I wanted to know you'd protect me from myself. I wanted to know you wouldn't let me do everything I was able to do. I was afraid of what I was able to do. But you wouldn't stop me. I broke every dish and cup and saucer, one after another, praying all the time you'd do something about it. But you stood there like morons. It was then I knew I didn't have anybody to protect me. I knew I was all alone in the world."

"Did you want us to spank you?"

"It would have made me feel better."

"You're talking crap."

Eric's eyes blazed and thunder blasted somewhere outside. "You don't get to talk to me that way," he said. "You had your chance to pull me up short, but that's over now. Now I'm in charge."

"Of—of course. But you were joking. I know you were joking."

"Joking about what?"

"About killing me."

"Why do you think I'm joking? Didn't I kill Mom?"

Howie nearly fell off his chair. "Don't say that, Eric. Not even to be funny."

"Nothing funny about it. I killed her."

Howie sat with his mouth open.

"She was taking one of her vodka naps. I got one of those thin plastic bags—you know, the ones you're not supposed to let kids play with—and I put it over her head and sealed it down with duct tape around her neck. I thought I might have to tape her wrists, but no. She just lay there and suffocated real nice for me.

"Then I had to figure out what to do with the body. I remembered the Flattenbagger, that thing that sucks the air out of a bag so you can pack things small. I put her in the biggest size bag and attached the vacuum cleaner. I sealed it up good and stored her under my bed. She's still there."

"Under your bed . . ." said Howie.

"Yeah. Funny, ain't it? Everybody looking for the body all over the state, and she's under my bed all the time."

"But—why?"

"She was gonna leave us."

"Leave us? No, you're wrong—"

"What the hell did you know? You were never home. She had plane reservations. She was running to Mexico with her boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?"

"Do you know what a clue is? Ever have one?"

Howie sat staring at his hands in front of him. "I thought you loved your mother," he said tonelessly.

"I did. I loved her more than anybody. That's why I couldn't let her leave. If she'd left, I'd have had to hate her. But dead, I can still love her. Love's the important thing. You always told me that."

Howie said, "My god. My god."

"You're my father. You're supposed to be in charge and you're supposed to be smarter than me. You kind of screwed up, didn't you?"

Howie said nothing.

"I'm glad I didn't kill you. This is better."

Everyone was staring at Eric. "What you lookin' at?" he asked, and everyone looked away.

"Listen, I'm a pretty cool god," he said. "I'm not gonna lay a whole bunch of Ten Commandments on you. You want to have fun, have fun—it's cool by me. But you don't get to judge me either. I killed my mom—so what? Maybe that ain't right for you, that's cool. But don't go telling me what's right for me. Here's Rule One—I'm God."

"And if we don't please you, you'll do the same to us as you did to your mother," said Bess. Her face was pale but her voice didn't quiver.

In reply Eric stretched a hand out, palm down, fingers extended toward her. Bess's hands went around her throat in a choking gesture. She rose in the air, feet kicking like a person hanging.

She hung in the air a moment, then dropped as Eric opened his hand.

"I'll kill you later," he said as Bess got up from the floor, groaning. "Right now I've got other things planned.

"I've been thinking a lot about what kind of god I want to be.

"I saw a movie once about old religions. They had some really cool ones, where everybody screwed during church. That's the kind of god I want to be. I want to be a party god.

"You people ever try an orgy?"

They all looked at each other, and Diane went red in the face.

"I'd rather not," said Diane.

"I don't give a flying fart what you'd rather not," said Eric with a smile. "Rosey, mosey on over here by me."

When it was all over, Rosey Schmitt stumbled out of the castle and into the clean air. The sea smelled fresh and wholesome, and she thought she was polluting it all with her presence.

She tried to forget what had just happened. She had found herself the center of a lot of attention, and had vague recollections of various body parts rubbing on and in her—mostly male but not exclusively. She even thought that at one point she'd felt a tentacle along her leg.

She'd had bad sex before. She'd never had horrific sex. She had a sudden, vivid recollection of a boy named Georgie, a boy who'd loved her and touched her gently. She'd hurt Georgie, and her throat twisted in a sob to think of it.

As if in response to her memory, there was a soft touch on her shoulder and she turned to look into Georgie's face.

"It can't be," she said.

"It isn't," said the figure. "I'm one of the servants. But I pitied you, and took this form to give you comfort."

Almost without intending to, she threw herself into the familiar arms. "It's so horrible here!" she sobbed.

"I know, I know."

"Nobody cares about me here. I'm just a playtoy. And I'm next in line to die!"

"No, no, baby."

"Oh, Georgie, I need you so bad. Will you hold me awhile?"

Together they sank into the heather. It was soft and smelled fresh. "Georgie" held her awhile, then began to caress her. She responded hungrily. They coupled in the heather and she slept, comforted.

When she woke it was late in the afternoon. She looked at the face of the man who held her in his arms.

"Randy!" she said. "Where did you come from? Where is—"

"Sweet, sissy little Georgie? He was never here. It was me all the time."

"Why?"

"You're a stupid, ugly cow. And you're a lousy lay." He slapped her and vanished.

Rosey wailed as her soul hemorrhaged. She stumbled to her feet.

She took the path to the sea cliff.

Back | Next
Contents
Framed