Exposure Page 12

  He winced.

  “Think we can get her out?” Rafe said.

  Jack nodded. He stepped forward and it occurred to him that he was committing a crime. But for a few misdemeanors as a youth, he’d spent a lifetime avoiding crime. Now—what was he doing? He didn’t know.

  “We need something to put her in,” Rafe said, “if we’re going to take her down to the river.”

  “A wheelbarrow?” Jack said, and then was appalled at the thought.

  “Exactly,” Rafe said. He disappeared, walked around the tractor, and then reappeared a few moments later wheeling a barrow. He parked it by the grave, then stared at the body for a moment and lifted his eyes to Jack’s. He swallowed heavily. “You going to help me lift her out?”

  Jack nodded. He walked to the other side of the grave and squatted by the body. She would be light, he supposed, as small and thin as she was. Had she really been that much of a bitch? He didn’t know, but there was something about her he didn’t like, something about the shape of her body. He reached into the earth and cradled her from the side. Rafe reached in on the other side. Each positioned a hand at thigh and shoulder.

  “One, two, three,” Jack said.

  And then with a heave, they lifted her out, and deposited her in the wheelbarrow, her head at the handle end and her feet dangling. The earth fell from her face and revealed her features: an upturned nose, half-moons for eyes, a rose bud of a mouth. She might have been passably interesting while she was young, but she was unremarkable.

  A bolt of lightning flashed, lighting her face. Thunder crashed upon them, shook the boards of the barn, and it began to rain.

  They looked from the body to one another and stared with fevered eyes. It was truly horrible.

  “Is that it?” Rafe said.

  “I don’t know.” He tried to think. They were going to take the body down to the water and what? Simply tip her in? That wouldn’t work. She would float, and float to the bank, most likely. And forensics would be able to tell she’d been buried, if they couldn’t already tell from the state of the barn. It was a mess, and Jack figured he was in a lot of trouble. If he got out of this, he would be lucky. “You need something to weight the body with,” he said.

  “Weight it?”

  “To weigh it down in the water. Otherwise she’ll simply float.”

  Rafe nodded. “Have you done this before?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Oh—I just thought …”

  Jack shook his head.

  Rafe considered for a moment, and then had a thought, Jack supposed, which registered with a sudden start. He moved off suddenly toward the corner of the barn, where a heap of rusting metal lay on the ground. “There’s these traps,” he said, calling out from the corner. “I have five of them.”

  “Traps?”

  “Animal traps.”

  Jack walked toward him.

  Rafe picked up a jaw-toothed trap and struggled to hold it. It was heavy, obviously, the steel rusted. Two semicircles formed a steel mouth that closed with a spring mechanism. Rafe frowned at it, turned it one way and another, and then said, “We could snap one onto her hands and feet. That would do it, wouldn’t it?”

  Jack made a face.

  “You don’t think so? One on each hand and foot?”

  “That would work,” Jack said with a croak, but he wanted to protest against the inhumanity of it. He considered for a moment, tried to think of a better idea, but Rafe set about opening and setting the traps. He got onto his knees and started prizing them apart, and then realized he needed some sort of lever. They were rusted, and he wasn’t strong enough.

  “Can you get me the hoe?” he said.

  Reluctantly, Jack nodded. He returned with the hoe a moment later.

  Rafe sat cross-legged and worked carefully on opening each of the traps. By the time he’d reached the last, he was becoming a little careless. He had the jaws positioned in his lap, and his cock and balls were within reach of the jaws when he suddenly slipped with the hoe. The trap snapped shut, all but ending it for Rafe, who would have been castrated utterly (his penis lost too) if the head of the hoe hadn’t forestalled the trap snapping shut.

  A metal clang rang out. Rafe sat frozen, looking down at his cock and balls, which were sitting between the jaws. He came, even though he was soft, a pulse of cum spurting out of his cock.

  “Oh, fuck!” he said. “That felt mad.” His cock hardened between the jaws, but he’d begun to shake. He glanced at Jack, frightened. “Can you help me?” he said.

  “Pull back. With your body.”

  Rafe inched backward.

  Jack took the hoe and the trap from him.

  Rafe clambered to his feet. He bent for the traps, all now open, and carted two toward the barrow. “Should I put them on now,” he said, calling out.

  Jack carried the other three toward him. He thought about what that would mean, the way they would hang over the sides of the barrow, and shook his head. He positioned his gently at one side of her body and nodded at Rafe to do the same on the other side.

  It began to rain a little harder, the tin roof ringing with the sound of it. Then they heard a clatter, first one, then another, then a thunk followed by a thunk followed by a thunk followed by a thunk. Hail, falling heavily on the roof.

  “Shit,” Rafe said.

  42

  They waited, each of them on a bale of hay, until the hail let up.

  “How was last night?” Jack said.

  “Just awful.”

  “Could you sleep?”

  “Not much. Virtually not at all. I was so worried. When I saw that locket …”

  Jack nodded, but he didn’t understand. Why had Rafe had that? Why hadn’t he simply thrown it away? And did he have anything else from the body? He wanted to ask, but didn’t know where to begin. He was in this too, which was what he wanted to say to Rafe. He wanted to make sure he was safe, but did he know Rafe well enough to start? He felt he didn’t.

  “They kept checking on me. Apparently, they were worried I was going to suicide. Why would I do that?”

  “People do. In custody.”

  Rafe nodded. “Have you ever been in a cell?”

  “Once,” Jack said, “when I was young.”

  “Were you convicted?”

  “No. I was drunk and disorderly—a public nuisance.”

  Rafe offered him a face, a smile of sorts. “I thought I was never going to get out of there. I was pacing like mad. I thought if I got trapped in jail, then that would be the worst thing.”

  “People survive it.”

  “I know, but it would be years.”

  “That’s not going to happen, Rafe. We’ll take the body down to the whirlpool, and then tonight, we’ll torch the barn.”

  “Torch the barn? But that’s brilliant. How did you think of that?”

  Jack shrugged. He’d been hoping lightning might strike it. He said this.

  “Oh—okay. Good.”

  “We’ll have to fix everything up first, put the soil back and pack it down.”

  Rafe nodded.

  “We should be doing it now.”

  “I’m beat.”

  “I know. Me too. But we’ll do it when we come back up from the river, and then make it look as though lightning struck the barn.”

  Rafe agreed, and a moment later, the hail stopped falling. The rain eased on, but it wasn’t so very hard now.

  “Come on,” Jack said.

  He got up, but Rafe wanted to wheel the barrow. He said he should, that it was his problem, and though Jack didn’t agree, he let him. Rafe made it as far as the top of the path before he broke a flip-flop. With every step he took, his feet sucked deep into the mud, and he had to draw them up with a determined advance. Then a strap broke and he lost balance. The wheelbarrow almost tipped, but Jack gripped it. Rafe fell sideways into a muddy puddle and swore.

  Jack helped him up.

  Rafe dusted his thighs off, picked up his flip-flop
and turned it over. “These are new,” he said. He frowned.

  Jack shrugged, and took the handles of the barrow just as Rafe decided to toss his flip-flops aside. Now he was barefoot, dressed in nothing but the button-down shirt, which was muddy and damp and plastered against his body.

  Jack set out on the path down to the river, his shoes slipping and sliding in the mud. The rain began to fall a little harder, and then fell so heavily he could barely see. He glanced up at the sky. It looked dark and ominous, but somewhere up there was an almost full moon. He struggled down the path skidding and stumbling, and met the stream suddenly. For a moment he believed he wouldn’t be able to stop and Sissy would go tumbling over the bank and into the river. He managed to pull up just in time, but then couldn’t make out the path.

  “I can’t see the path,” he said.

  “I’ll go first.”

  Jack nodded.

  Rafe skirted the wheelbarrow and started down the path, his shirt luminescent in the dark. Jack followed. Every now and then Rafe turned, his face anxious. Lightning flashed in the distance. Thunder rumbled. Jack had only one way of being sure he was on the path, and that was to keep Rafe in sight.

  Eventually, he saw the bridge ahead, before which was the whirlpool. Rafe stopped on the side of the bank and peered into the night.

  “There it is!” he said and pointed.

  Jack wheeled Sissy to the water’s edge.

  “We have to put the traps on,” Rafe said.

  Jack nodded, but he didn’t want to do it. He hesitated, and watched Rafe, who was making no move toward doing it either. He was looking back, over Jack’s head, toward the road. A car passed, its lights momentarily lighting the scene.

  “Shit,” Jack said. “Let’s get a move on.”

  Rafe nodded. He turned to the wheelbarrow, lifted one of the traps out and then stepped into the water at Sissy’s feet. He held onto the bar between the traps, and then jammed the touchpad forward, striking Sissy’s left foot.

  The jaw snapped closed with a sickening crack. It sounded as though her bone had broken. He made a face, looked up at Jack, and then closed his eyes. Jack figured he needed help. He sidled around the wheelbarrow and picked up another of the traps. He gripped the bar and aimed it at her right hand, then thrust forward. A second sickening crack followed. Rafe lifted a third trap out of the barrow and snapped it onto her right foot. He closed his eyes in apparent pain, then gripped his stomach, and bent forward. Jack stumbled around the barrow to find a fourth trap. He aimed it at Sissy’s left hand.

  The final trap was meant for her head, Jack supposed, but he didn’t want to see this. He didn’t want to do it, either. He glanced at the sky, then glanced back at Rafe, who hadn’t moved. Rafe nodded at the fifth trap.

  “You think that’d go on her head?” he said.

  “You really want to do that?”

  “No. Do you?”

  Jack shook his head.

  “I might just toss it in the water.”

  Again, Jack nodded. Then he considered the body. Would four traps really weigh it down? He supposed they would. But it would be madness not to use the fifth trap and see the whole thing fail. He sighed, muttered, “I’ll do it,” and then gripped the trap. He aimed it at her skull, and then jumped as it snapped closed on her eyes.

  He wretched, coughed, and then was sure he was going to vomit. He stood with his hands on his knees for a minute or more, but finally straightened. Rafe had stepped out of the water and was by his side. His face looked pale under the darkening sky.

  Jack considered their position. All they needed to do was tip her in. Was that it? Just tip her in now and she’d be sucked into the whirlpool? He considered the position of the body in relation to the stream and the whirlpool. No, he realized, she would simply sink in the shallows, and most likely be visible from the bank. They needed to get her out in the middle of the stream, and then, what? Push her in the direction of the whirlpool. That might just work.

  He unbuttoned his shirt and then unbuttoned his trousers.

  “What are you doing?” Rafe said.

  “Getting in. We’ll have to swim the body out.”

  “Swim it out?”

  “Aim it at the whirlpool.”

  Jack nodded. A few moments later he was stepping into the water. Water lapped around his thighs, cold and clear. He turned, glanced back at the wheelbarrow and had an idea. They could wheel the barrow in and float it downstream. It would act like a boat, at least for a few minutes. He stepped further into the water, took a deep breath, and felt it grip his genitals. He ducked down to his shoulders and puffed. Shit, he thought. It was so cold.

  He stood up again. “Wheel the barrow in,” he said to Rafe. “Just be careful.”

  Rafe nodded.

  “Keep it afloat.”

  Rafe nodded again. He wheeled the barrow forward and Jack gripped its rim. He did his best to lift it as Rafe wheeled it down the bank, and then, like a ship on its maiden voyage, it lurched onto the water.

  Rafe kept his grip on the handles and kept walking, but then he was swimming, kicking out with his legs. He seemed to know exactly what Jack meant. He kicked in the direction of the whirlpool.

  Jack kept his grip on the rim and tried to support it, but a wave of water slopped into the barrow, then a second wave. He realized with a sense of alarm that they were in the current now and heading for the whirlpool. He twisted his body and began to swim against it. But they were almost there.

  “Tip her out,” he cried.

  Rafe struggled with the handles, but seemed to understand. Then Jack realized that the barrow was going to go down too. Without Sissy in it, it would most likely float to the surface, a toy boat with a pumped up tire. He guessed it didn’t matter. Who would care about a wheelbarrow? Still, he thought, they ought to try to save it.

  He gripped the rim a little tighter and rocked it. It plunged toward him and away and then water swirled over the rim. It filled the barrow quickly and Sissy’s torso floated upwards. Shit, he thought. The barrow started to sink, but just at that moment it lurched forward, caught in the current and heading for the whirlpool.

  “Fuck!” Rafe cried.

  He let go of the handles and turned back on himself, thrashing out wildly with his arms. He took a deep breath, went under, and then came up, retreating from Jack, caught in the current and heading for the whirlpool, his back turned.

  Jack kicked forward and gripped the collar of his shirt. He kicked out, managed to get a purchase on the water, and began swimming across current. For a moment, he thought it was hopeless. He would either save himself or they would both be sucked in. But he wasn’t letting go of Rafe. He struggled forward, kicked with all his might, and began to make progress. Then he realized that Rafe was kicking too, and not only kicking, but struggling with his hands. They crossed the current just as the whirlpool was about to take them.

  Jack turned onto his back and kicked frog-legged. He caught sight of Sissy. She reached the outer edge of the whirlpool and began to travel in a wide arc. By the time she was in the center, Jack and Rafe were standing in the shallows. She span in the barrow in the heart of the vortex, spinning once, twice and a third time, and then went down, the barrow tipping her sideways as she disappeared.

  The barrow reappeared a minute or so later.

  43

  Jack and Rafe lay on the muddy bank, breathing heavily.

  “That was madness,” Rafe said.

  “You were almost caught.”

  “I know.” He turned to Jack and stared at him, his eyes wide and dark. “I really owe you.”

  Jack remained silent. He reached out, gripped Rafe’s hand, and held it tight.

  Rafe smiled, the corners of his lips turning up a little.

  Jack shuffled forward and kissed him, a single peck. He drew his head away and they stared at one another. Jack grew hard. It was raining, but merely spitting on them now. He reached out and drew Rafe into his arms. Rafe was shivering, but they soon g
rew warm.

  In the shed, the lights were burning yellow. Jack wondered if someone had been there. It felt like it, but nothing had been disturbed, and he told himself he was being silly. It was just that feeling he had, he guessed, that places watched you—an old barn like this.

  They repacked the grave, put the tools away, and then stacked the hay bales on the spot. Jack wanted to prop a metal tool against the outside of the shed, something like a rake, and start the fire there, as though the rake had been struck. But the rake had a wooden handle. He explained to Rafe what he wanted, and again Rafe disappeared into the corner. He came back with a metal rod about three feet long, though he did not, he said, have any idea how it was supposed to be useful.

  “We need a piece of wood that’s already burning,” Jack said. “Perhaps we need to start some hay burning and build a small fire. Then we can take a piece of wood outside and light the boards.”

  Rafe looked confused.

  “They might investigate the fire,” Jack said.

  “Oh—okay.”

  Jack had a lighter in his jacket pocket, along with his cigarettes. He built a small fire on one side of the shed, a fire composed of a pile of hay, some kindling, and three planks of wood. He figured he could prop the wood by the side of the barn, near the metal rod, and make it look as though those had caught fire there, perhaps first.

  It proved more difficult that he thought. The planks were dry enough, but the outside of the shed was sodden. He propped the metal rod in a likely spot, but then decided he needed more than three dry planks. Rafe found a fourth, brought that out, and with that the fire started. The flames climbed the planks and began to lick at the boards of the barn.

  They stood back and watched.

  Then Jack realized he’d left his suit and shoes and socks inside. They were sodden and muddy, but he raced in and retrieved them, and then lit a cigarette and watched on as the shed began to burn.

  “We really shouldn’t be out here,” he finally said. He crushed the cigarette butt between his fingers. “If someone comes …”