Saturday morning I handed mr Jackson the 27 pages and he gave me a bag in return and told me to start packing. We were going away for the weekend and wouldnīt be back until Sunday evening. I scavenged my extensive wardrobe and packed most of it, and the bag wasnīt even half full. I sure hoped we wouldnīt have to walk around among other people dressed in that _f_u_c_k_ing Crowmill pyjamas. I remembered the day way back in Dream Time when I was brought here and could easily recall how I felt exposed to public eyes.
The other guys were curious like hell about where we were going. Both Dazzle and me played it cool, letting on we didnīt want to tell, but neither of us knew _s_h_i_t_ about what was on. At 9.15 mr Jackson finally came for us. We were cuffed and shackled and taken to the car waiting outside, a Toyota minibus. I hadnīt thought much about the trip, wondering mostly where weīd go, but when I saw the car I stopped dead. I couldnīt sit down in there, not even if he forced me to. Dazzle climbed the passenger seat up front with some help and mr Jackson fastened the shackles. Then he threw our bags in the back. I kept standing there, waiting for him to pay me any attention. I didnīt want to kneel because it had been raining all night. At last he strode over. He told me to lie down in the middle seat and I did. Had a hard time getting there but then it was allright. I even dozed off now and then, listening to the engine purring and the guys up front small talking. Yeah, they did. They even laughed a couple of times. I felt a pang of envy, then stifled it, thinking Dazzle was an even better con artist than me.
I saw nothing of where we were going, didnīt care much, either, once we were off. The last 20 minutes I could make out we were driving through a forest and the road was small and winding and full of pot holes. Maybe heīd put a gun to our heads and make us dig our own graves out here. Thatīs what you get from being too hooked on the Discovery Channel. Finally we stopped and mr Jackson hooted the car horn twice before he got out, opened the boot door, taking the bags with him. Dazzle leaned back.
"Itīs allright, Jenz", he said. "Iīve been here before. Youīll like it."
Donīt you _f_u_c_k_ing tell me what I like, I thought and immediately regretted being that grumpy, the guy was OK. Then the doors opened and first Dazzle got out, then me. The air was humid and smelled funny, like a mix of mould and cum. There was a cabin to our right, hunting trophies on the front wall and kind of an inhabited feel about it. A Willyīs jeep parked outside. You could see the silvery glimmering of a nearby lake between the tree trunks. There were no signs of any neighbours and it was dead silent except for creaking and crackling sounds from the woods and the wind whistling. _f_u_c_k_ing spooky. Mr Jackson was talking to a tall, sinewy man, around 50 yo, wearing sunglasses, dressed in a woolen lumberjack shirt and green army pants. Dazzle and me kept standing by the bus until mr Jackson beckoned to us to come over.
"Two rattle snakes approaching", the sinewy bloke said, smiling. "Cīmon, letīs get aquainted."
Dazzle stepped forward.
"Right here, sir", he said. The man put his hands on Dazzles face, feeling it, touching his hair, then letting his hands follow the outlines of Dazzles body down to his hips, finishing by grabbing his cuffed hands and shaking them. He had tattoos on both arms, showing below the shirt cuffs, and a dragon similar to mr Jacksonīs on his leftie.
"David, is it? David, Dazzle, right? Canīt remember your last name."
"Welsh, sir," Dazzle said, smiling back.
"Long time no see, eh? Howīve you been? Jack told me you screwed up."
"I did, sir, but Iīm back in business now."
"Were out for quite a while, werenīt you?"
"Five weeks and three days, sir. The Crowmill all time high." Dazzle smiled again. "How are you, sir?"
"Fine, lad, as always. Now, whereīs the other snake hiding?"
Dazzle made way for me, and I stepped in line. That guy was blind. Iīd never been that close to a blind man before.
"Here, sir", I said and involuntarily recoiled from his hands.
"Donīt be shy, I wonīt harm you." He carefully moved his fingers on my face and head. "Iīm Wesley Davenport. Who are you?"
"Thomas Jennings, sir", I said, feeling a bit strange talking to a guy who was like _f_u_c_k_ing caressing me.
"No nick?"
"No, sir."
"Want to keep it to yourself, that is. Allright by me. Iīll call you Thomas and you call me Wesley. None of the sir stuff, please. That goes for both of you. Right, Dazzle?"
"Right, Wesley. I forgot," Dazzle said.
"Dan will be here any moment. Had to go check on something. Remember Dan, Dazzle?"
"Yeah, I do."
Wesley Davenport turned back to me, feeling me over the same way as with Dazzle, finishing by grabbing my hands.
"Pleased to meet you, Thomas", he said. "Jack has told me about you. Iīm glad he took you here. Now, get inside all of you, weīll have some tea or coffee, or both."
It was pretty cramped for space inside. I moved myself into the corner beside the window, where the kitchen table was, leaning against the wall. Dazzle and mr Jackson sat down, and Wesley made tea and coffee, moving about like he wasnīt blind at all.
"Thomas, you donīt have to stand up. Go get the stool, itīs to the right in there", he said over his shoulder, gesturing towards the living room. "Danīll need the chair whe he gets back, anyway, just put it at the head of the table."
I thought it was a bit uncanny, him being blind as a bat but having everything well in hand, maybe even better than a sighted person. I moved the chair and got the stool, and it was low enough to kneel on and get a comfortable position at the table. The living room was as crammed with furniture and equipment as the kitchen, but just as homely and casual and inviting, too. Iīd scanned the place automatically, noticing the sporting guns and shotguns on the wall, the locked steel cupboard where they most certainly kept the ammo, the well filled _c_o_c_k_tail cabinet and the Bang & Olufsen hifi. A widescreen Grundig telly with a surround system, DVD and VHS players. A flat screen PC, no trademark on the box, telling me itīd been carefully put together from a quality selection of components. Youīd find valuables in the locked sideboard and probably a fortune in tools and stuff in the outhouse. Maybe they even had a safe. I knew without knowing, and it activated the old tingling down below.
"Jack, unchain the boys, will you?" Wesley said, setting the table with bread, cheese, smoked and dried meat and something that had to be smoked fish. "They wonīt go anywhere until theyīve finished their lunch." He chuckled some and punched Dazzleīs upper arm lightly. Mr Jackson removed the irons but in a way they were still on. I wouldnīt want to split from here on foot, getting lost in the _f_u_c_k_ing woods. In the darkest corner of my mind a calculator was already running, estimating risks, working out schemes, loading the Willyīs over and over again, planning my getaway. I tried to shut it off but it had a life of itīs own.
Wesley asked Dazzle to serve the tea and coffee, seating himself beside me. He was still wearing sunglasses. Dazzle looked quite at home, moving about the table.
"Well then, Dazzle. Made up your mind yet?" he said. Dazzle said most of the time, yeah, and smiled. Iīd never seen him smile as frequently as now. Silly _f_u_c_k_er, he canīt see it anyway. I focused on my steaming cup of coffee, adding four spoonfuls of sugar, stirring carefully. Mr Jackson sat right opposite me and I didnīt want to look at him or at Dazzle and Wesley, either. They were talking freely like theyīd known each other for ages and mr Jackson interfered now and then. Dazzle was telling about his plans for the future. _f_u_c_k_ing Prince Charming. Been shooting speed since he was 15. Heīd need a miracle to go straight.
"Why that hostile, Thomas? Is it because youīre out of focus?" Wesley turned his face at me. "Itīs _f_u_c_k_ing annoying. Cut it out or get out of here and calm down."
I was very startled and felt heat spreading on my face. I didnīt know what to say or do. Wesley waited for a couple of seconds, then he turned back to Dazzle and they continued where they left off. I looked out of the window to divert the embarrassment. I spotted a burly man, dressed like Wesley except his shirt was blue instead of red, checking out fishing rods by the outhouse. Had to be that fellow Dan. I watched him choosing reels and fitting them on the rods with a deft hand, then he disappeared from view for a while and came back with some bag nets and two big boxes. He arranged everything neatly against the wall, then lit a cig. While he was smoking he suddenly looked straight at the window, and I quickly turned my face away.
Moments later the man entered the kitchen. He shook hands with mr Jackson and Dazzle, then introduced himself to me as Dan Thatcher, pleased to meet you, holding out his hand. For a brief moment I just stared at him, ice running through my veins. Iīd recognize that voice anywhere. Then I forced myself to play along, shaking his hand, saying my name, trembling like Iīd come down with Parkinsonīs. I didnīt want Dazzle to know. Please, god, let it pass unnoticed. Dan sat down and joined the conversation, glancing at me every now and then and I could tell he recognized me, too. Heīd seen about everything there was to see of me. _f_u_c_k_ing creep. _f_u_c_k_ing bloody rapist.
"Jack", Wesley said, "take Thomas for a walk. Tell him to relax. Itīs like sitting next to a _f_u_c_k_ing generator. Is he always this tense?"
"More or less", mr Jackson said. "You heard him, Jennings. Move that ass of yours."
I got up and out, weaving my way around people and furnishing, relieved to get out of there fast. While putting on my jacket I saw mr Jackson talking to Dan. I felt sick, watching the two of them together. I couldnīt figure out how to handle this. To get some breathing space I went outside and walked over to the bus, leaning against it, wishing I could disappear or get myself pissed or just crumble and die. I wondered why the hell mr Jackson had brought me here. I wondered if I really wanted to know. What if theyīd jump me all over again? Maybe the whole _f_u_c_k_ing lot were into it. Even Dazzle. No, not Dazzle. Iīd hung around with him a lot and never noticed anything odd about him. He seemed to like being here. He wouldnīt if theyīd _f_u_c_k_ed him, too.
Mr Jackson appeared in the doorway and swiftly searched the surroundings, caught sight of me and strode over.
"Weīre going fishing", he said. "Get over there and pick two rods and bring me a box. Then just walk and shut up. Not one _f_u_c_k_ing word, you hear?"
He walked ahead and I tried to keep up with him, tripping over tree roots and stones and _s_h_i_t_ because I still couldnīt move allright, and it _f_u_c_k_ing hurt, too, but he wouldnīt care even if I told him. Iīd never gone fishing before. Pulling _f_u_c_k_ing slimy creatures out of the water seemed as stupid as bringing Gollum out of his cave. I wanted to go back to Crowmill. Yeah, I did. At least Iīd feel more secure there. If mr Jackson blew up on me out here and beat the _s_h_i_t_ out of me, then left me to rot nobodyīd care. Nobodyīd even know. He could say I ran off or jumped in the water or whatever. And back at the cabin were Dan the Rapist and that _f_u_c_k_ing Stevie Wonder. The whole bloody place was like a war zone. I kept on chewing like that inside my head, but I was dead scared, getting even more so the further we went, the cabin and the green Toyota disappearing behind the _f_u_c_k_ing trees and rubbish.
Finally we got down to the lake. There were a small boat and a canoe on the shore, but we went left until we came to a couple of rocks, halfway out in the water. Mr Jackson snatched one of the rods and opened the box.
"Pick one", he said. I looked at the mess inside and just chose something shiny with hooks, like a piece out of a goth girlīs jewelry box. I watched him release the reel catch, pull out the line and bring it through the loops all the way to the top of the rod, and I did, too, and then I carefully fastened the lure on the clasp at the end of the line.
He soon figured out I hadnīt done much fishing. I thought heīd go mad and run me right down, but he was as _f_u_c_k_ing unpredictable as always, patiently showing me how the reel worked, how to cast, where to cast, what to do if a slimer actually bit. He stood beside me for a while, making sure I could handle it, then he went over to the other rock, doing some casting of his own. I soon got the hang of it but it was _f_u_c_k_ing boring. Nothing happened. I was cold and miserable and still didnīt know how to go about the whole thing once we got back to the cabin, and I had this uneasy feeling in my guts all the time. Mr Jackson told me to change the lure, and I did. There were some _f_u_c_k_ing ugly worm imitations in neon colours and I put one of them online, thinking I wouldnīt want to meet anything sick enough to go for that kind of bait, and then something did bite and I jumped with surprise, suddenly feeling flushed and short of breath. I tried to remember what to do but my mind was a blank and the rod was bending as the fish pulled at the line.
"Release", mr Jackson called. "Let him think heīs getting away, then haul him back a bit and release again. Let him fight. Heīll get tired soon, then heīs all yours."
I half wondered if he was talking about the _f_u_c_k_ing fish or me, but I started working, excited like hell, hands trembling, knees shaking, and I finally hauled him in. I thought itīd be a real big one, but it wasnīt. Mr Jackson came over and showed me how to wet my hand before I grabbed the slimer, to avoid injuring it if Iīd decide to release it. A perch, he called it, and he told me to be careful not to get stung by the spines on the dorsal fin. I tried to grab it and failed, being a bit disgusted by the feel of it, and then tried again and almost fell into the water, and I started giggling because this was _f_u_c_k_ing absurd, that stupid slimer eluding me all the time, though I was an expert swiper and things usually just glued to my hands. Mr Jackson laughed, too, and he got a grip on it and got it out of the water. He said it was a fairly big one and that I should keep it, showing me how to break itīs neck by putting my thumb into itīs mouth and jerk the head back, and then he told me to cast out the lure again because perch always come in schools. We both did and he landed himself three and I had a second one, not as big as the first but struggling like crazy. We kept on fishing for maybe another two hours, moving along the lake, trying out some new spots, but that was it. The sun was sinking low by then and the air got colder, so we called it a day, gutting and heading the fish before we left, leaving the yucky stuff for other animals to feast on.
As we walked back the uneasiness returned. Not even Dr Phil could advice you on how to handle a weekend in the wilderness with a blind mindreader and two guys whoīd raped you (and a reformed junkie to go with the lot). I had to take some kind of stand, being stuck here until tomorrow, and I finally managed to convince myself that what happened was nothing personal, just another of mr Jacksonīs weird pervo stunts. Iīd been like raped in a lot of other ways, too, since I came to Crowmill. I had to be careful not to let it get to the inner me, had to try to forget it and go on with my life. Easier said than done, that was.