The Light at the End of the Tunnel (17 page)

Then three strange men entered the cave, and
a woman! He reached for his lance, but too late, as one of the men
immediately held a lance’s tip to his throat. Another of the men
carried a brutal club and hit his woman with it, and spilled the
cooking pot. The wolf puppy barked and barked and growled. One of
the men stabbed it, then his little girl child screamed and tried
to run. The unknown woman grabbed her and held onto her and
presented her backside to the third man who lifted the skin
covering his middle…he grabbed the lance at his throat and would
have won it but the second man used his club and hit his arm, then
the first man used his lance, this time ramming it into his throat,
then out, then hard into his chest.

He felt his life blood leaving him and he
fell, but was able to raise enough to see both his woman and his
darling little girl child being brutally raped and then drug away.
His blood continued to flow from his body; his eyesight began to
dim as the campfire died. His last memory was the sound of his
little girl child screaming ‘Daddy!’ and so ended his first
life.

And as his essence entered that next sack of
sperm and eggs all in his brain was the plan to kill men, many,
many, men, for raping his woman and his darling little girl child,
and women! He would rape and then kill even more women because of
the act of that one woman who had betrayed even the concept of love
by causing the rape of his darling little girl child…

This one memory Les Paul hung onto even
though his mind was spinning, trying to deny the memory was his.
How many times had he denied these memories? Why did they keep
coming back? Intruding on his life? Why?...

In your life, and all your lives that have
followed, yes, you will have killed many, many, men, and many MORE
women after you raped them, and especially anyone who would hurt a
little girl child. As your endless parade of lives have gone on and
on and your endless killings have gone on and on, they have become
a constant battle between good and evil, with evil always before
winning out.

The thoughts came as if they were truly his,
like an inborn instinct, like an animal’s, like a special message
to him. He simply did not understand, except that no way would he
ever harm a little girl child. That one memory of his darling
little girl child that he loved beyond anything else he accepted as
his. Such was his saving grace.

Les Paul shook his head and forced the
memories and thoughts away. He
HATED
them yet he also was
beginning to sometimes
love
them. It all was so
confusing…

The very pretty lady in the black dress with
the blonde hair lightly patted his head.

What was left of the memories dissipated.
This woman’s touch he did not mind.

“Hello there, young man,” she said, “How are
you?”

Instantly she became clothed again. “I’m
fine,” he answered, and continued looking at her. She maybe was the
most beautiful woman he yet had seen in his very short life.

He still hadn’t looked up those words
‘reap’
and
‘rape.’
Dictionaries were always available
in the schools he went to but at age nine—and the very limited
amount of education he was willing to absorb—he had not yet learned
to use a dictionary, efficiently. But somehow he felt to
‘rape’
or
‘reap’
had something to do with this very
pretty woman’s body reduced to panties and bra, and then nothing.
Maybe with this woman he would find out.

The woman leaned slightly and held out her
hand to Les Paul, and glanced at his handler, “Baby Boy-Doe9? Such
a strange name.” Her smiling face went sober, then smiled again
when Les Paul grasped her hand, and shook it.

She squeezed his hand then released and stood
straight again, “Why such a strange name?” she asked his
handler.

“He was abandoned as an infant at St. Winston
Hospital at Wayne Ridge, Nebraska, Ma’am, without a name attached
to his basket, and—“ Les Paul felt a tremor move through his
handler “—I guess, nobody has just ever given him a real name.”

“Nebraska?’” the woman asked, “What—“

“Actually this is a request from Nebraska,
Ma’am.” Les Paul’s handler said, “We are at the moment overrun with
children. We simply don’t have enough foster parent volunteers,
so—and I don’t have all the details—but I guess my state got in
touch with yours…surely you’ve received that special paperwork….”
His handler didn’t finish, just hunched his shoulders. Les Paul
didn’t actually see that but felt it, and the thought ran through
him, Did that guy tell the truth? But he didn’t care. One foster
family was the same as another.

“Fine. No problem,” the woman said, “Well,
Baby Boy-Doe9, we are going to find a name for you.” The woman
placed her hand on his back to encourage him to come in. And he did
not mind her touch at all. He liked it, and knew right then he
would soon find out what
‘rape’
and
‘reap’
meant. He
entered the woman’s nice house and didn’t look back. His handlers
never entered with him. They just handed over the paperwork, shoved
his belongings inside, thanked his new foster parents, and
left.

Good riddance!

The woman picked up his suitcase and kept her
hand on his back as she escorted him through the house. He began
feeling a sensation brand new to him, which he liked, at least he
was pretty sure he liked it, and also was pretty sure the sensation
was being caused by this pretty woman’s hand on his back.

They stopped at a door. The woman pushed the
door open, “This is your room, Baby Boy.” She removed her hand, and
his new physical sensation immediately stopped, but he was pretty
sure it was not stopped forever. That sensation was a good thing,
and, strangely, he felt, it probably could get even better.

The woman pushed his belongings-suitcase into
the room, “Well, you get settled, Baby Boy. I’ll be back later to
see how you’re doing. In the meantime I’m going to check out my
book of names. For a good-looking boy like you
‘Baby Boy’
just does not work for me.”

Yes, I really like this woman!

She smiled, touched him once more on the
shoulder, and closed the door.

****

Les Paul began to discover the first room he
had been given to be by himself. First, he wondered why a curtain
stretched across part of the middle of the room. Oh well, he kept
looking around. The floor was carpeted, indoor/outdoor, though, but
that was okay. He had a window facing east, he thought. Looked like
the backyard. A mobile of the solar system hung from the ceiling. A
large poster of all the main predatory animals graced the wall
between the dresser and the closet door. Another poster displayed
all the known largest dinosaurs. Dinosaurs and predators he really
liked. Finally he reached the bed, and the curtain, and made a
discovery!

On the other side of the curtain was a second
bed!

How could this very pretty lady
do
that to him?

The hall door opened, “Hey, who the hell are
you?”

Furiously, he spun, and faced another young
boy, but about six inches taller and maybe twenty pounds heavier.
Les Paul was big for his age, but not
that
big. He swallowed
his fury. Time to be meek, “They call me Baby Boy-Doe9”

“What a stupid mouthful! Well, I’m Jasper,
and I’m in charge of this room. If you want something you ask me
first. Understand?”

Jasper was a new kind of kid, something he
had yet not experienced, somebody, he felt, that he could
learn
from. First in his mind was asking what the words
‘reap’
and
‘rape’
meant, but maybe should wait.
Maybe, eventually it would come up, and he would find out without
having to ask. No use looking really stupid.

“I asked if you understood!” Jasper
snarled.

“Yes.” He tried to look shy and weak, “I do.”
With each new foster household he was learning more and more about
manipulating people to get what he wanted, usually without asking
at all.

“Good.” Jasper smiled, or at least his face
changed…maybe to a smiling sneer. Les Paul felt intrigued by what
might be coming next, “Got us a plan for tonight, Baby Boy, the
lady of the house is gonna be alone.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, her old man travels a lot, all over the
world—stupid bitch.”

“Why…do you say that?”

“Because she totally trusts me—stupid
bitch—but tonight she’s gonna find out.”

“Find out what…?”

“I’ve never had a partner before—oh, I had a
little four-year-old for a while, snotty-ass little shithead!
He
didn’t last long.”

“What did you
do
to him?” It sounded
like Jasper had hurt the little shithead, something Les Paul could
wrap his head around quite easily.

“What makes you think I did
anything
to him?”

“I don’t know.” Obviously wrong about that.
He knew it was always very wrong to jump to conclusions. “It…just
sounded like you did.”

“I did.” The smiley sneer increased, “I just
made sure he got in trouble for stuff, and he was never very smart
about getting away with stuff—stupid little dumbass!”

“So what’s on for tonight?”

“You don’t need to know yet.” Jasper’s face
sobered, “Just you make damn sure you’re ready to do exactly what I
tell you.” Jasper’s brow raised, “Are you? Will you do exactly what
I tell you? No matter what, or how gross?”

“Yes.” Les Paul knew he had finally found a
teacher, and he would use him.

****

“Okay, when we go in,” Jasper said, “You grab
her right arm and hold on tight. I’ll get the cuffs on her left
wrist, then I’ll take over her right arm and you get her feet.
She’s a heavy sleeper, so she won’t wake up right away. We’ll have
time.”

“Where’d you get the cuffs?” Les Paul
asked.

“That’s more shit you don’t need to
know!”

“What’re we gonna do to her?”

“
We
are gonna to do nothin’!
You
are gonna to help tie her down, then I am going to rape
the hell out of her! You are going to stand guard! If we have time
you can rape her too!”

“What’s
‘rape?’
”

“Oh you are a dumbass, aren’t you,
dumbass?”

“I can’t help what I don’t know!” he cried,
maybe for the first time realizing that his feelings could be hurt.
Here he was thinking of Jasper as becoming his teacher and here his
future teacher was mocking him for not knowing something.

“Do you at least get a clue as to what
we’re—that is
I
—what
I’m
going to do to her by us
putting handcuffs on her hands and feet?”

“Not really.” He felt so stupid. He was
pretty sure that what was going to happen would be similar to what
happened to that little seven-year-old girl who got
‘reaped,’
as she called it, but suddenly it occurred to him
that she maybe just mispronounced it—and he didn’t even
see
what happened to her!—into his mind crashed that memory of his own
darling little girl child—
I’m beginning to HATE that
memory!

He doubled his fists and clenched his teeth
and forced that memory away, and came back to what he
really
was thinking of: the real word must truly be
‘rape.’
Yet it
would also be somewhat different. Two words that sound so different
could not mean the same thing. He had finally gotten to a
dictionary, but the word
‘reap’
that he found, had something
to do with cutting grain and harvest, so that couldn’t be right. He
didn’t know much about those things because his life had been so
controlled, and, yes, sheltered, so he had not yet learned about
life at all. But he didn’t care. All he cared about was to someday
get to
‘rape’
a woman.

“Well, class over, dumbass.”

“You haven’t
told
me anything
yet!”

“And I’m not going to. Tonight I’m going to
rape our foster mother. If we have time you can too, and tomorrow
I’ll tell you about it—now let’s go. She should be sleeping sound
by now. Remember, you get her right arm.”

“I will.”

****

The subjugation of the lady of the house went
off like clockwork. Les Paul felt really proud of himself. He had
grabbed her right arm, held it till Jasper came, then he had
grabbed both her feet and held on. The woman barely had moved until
just her left leg remained free. She must have come awake then,
partially at least, because she had kicked out and caught Jasper
right in the face, which knocked him down.

But Les Paul had grabbed the cuffs, and that
leg, and soon had her locked down. He had then watched as Jasper
bound up a wash cloth and stuffed it into her mouth. That’s when he
noticed her eyes. They were wide open and full of fear. For one or
two seconds he actually wondered if he had done the right thing by
helping Jasper, as this woman had been nothing but kind to him…

He was running, and running, and running. He
knew his pursuers were close. He knew what they would do if they
caught him. They would kill him. It was the law of the clans: if
one took another man’s woman by force, and did not kill her to
silence her he would be caught and put to death.

He had already faced the clan council. The
woman had identified him. He was to be clubbed to death at sunrise,
but he had tricked his guard and used the man’s knife to free his
bonds, and then killed the guard, and then he had run, but was seen
running. And much shouting had ensued and then the chase.

He had run straight out onto the grassland.
There was no hiding place. All he could do was keep running, but he
knew they were catching him. His legs were weak from hunger, and
growing so tired, and he was so hungry…he collapsed.

They caught him. The last thing he saw was
the first man raising his club and bringing it down—