Excerpt Whispers

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Gallinger</I></div> <bR> <div> <B>Whispers</B><B> </B></div> <div> CHAPTER ONE </div> <div> On the bus pointed toward Syracuse, John Warren Scully felt cold fingers clutch his neck, much like the time when he'd been alone, naked, in the woods with Miss Heckman that day. </div> <div> Uncomfortable, he glanced out the side window into the early morning light. Dark shadows crisscrossed the open fields that were powdered with recent snow. </div> <div> He shivered. </div> <div> For the thousandth time, he wondered if he was doing the right thing, charging for the city like this so early in the morning. </div> <div> “There are other things in this life besides running,” his older brothers used to lecture, “and one day when you've grown up to be a man, you'll know.” </div> <div> Thinking of his brothers, he suddenly had an image of translucent skin, taut and gray, like dead faces staring from an opened coffin. He squirmed when a new image flashed. </div> <div> <I>Maybe he should have listened to them, after all; but it was too late for that now. They were not capable of lecturing him or anyone else anymore.</I> <I>Gone, just like poor Miss Heckman, never to talk to him again, show him the way; aim him in the right direction.</I> </div> <div> Despite what any of them might say now, though, he knew it was time to be somewhere else away from Vilnus, somewhere he could show all of them that he'd grown up, had become a man, despite a persistent restlessness that continued to plague him. </div> <div> His mother called it, “youthful curiosity. Just a young boy's brain in a fight with itself, trying to become a man before his time.” </div> <div> But his older brothers used to call it something else. They suspected that he might be borderline “weird,” and often told him so.</div> <div>  “Just don't go shopping round for groceries you can't have, Scully, and don't be so damn curious about things that you shouldn't be so curious about neither,” Charlie, the oldest, used to lecture.</div> <div>  “Your growing up could be a hell of a lot easier on everybody if you wised up and listened to me.” </div> <div> His mother would console Scully after many of the older brothers' lectures, saying, “Just remember this, Scully, a boy will become a man in God's own good time, not before.</div> <div>  "Enjoy life as it's given to you, not what others want it to be. Just don't rush things. Think things through. If you sprint ahead of yourself and jump off a mountain, there's no turning back. </div> <div> "You'll be free falling into a place you might not want to be. In the end, a man ends up being what he is, and what he ought to be. Whatever that is, you will have to learn for yourself. Be a good man whatever you turn out to be.” </div> <div> Charlie was not so sensitive to his plight, and would tell him so, especially after he'd had a few too many.</div> <div>  “Think about bare-breasted women in your dreams for damn sakes, not about bare-chested men. If you dream about men, it better be about fighting the hell out of them, not sleeping with them. I won't let you dishonor this family, Scully. I will kill you first, and Eddie will help me do it.” </div> <div> For the most part, Scully dealt with his dilemma head-on, ignoring many of the distorted definitions Charlie had about manhood. </div> <div> To keep peace in the family as he grew, though, he kept an abundant number of women on his arm, keeping the family off his back for as long as he could. </div> <div> But some of his feelings, the ones he could not openly talk about with anyone, except sometimes with his mother, simply would not go away. </div> <div> Was he really weird like his brothers always said, or was his mother right, saying it was only “youthful curiosity?” Someday, he surely would have to find out. </div> <div> Scully glanced at his wristwatch. 7:05 A.M. He remembered his mother had given the watch to him as a going-away gift on his seventeenth birthday, several weeks ago. Another ploy? </div> <div> She'd probably been reminding him of the time much like his brothers used to do whenever they'd taken him to the city, searching for new thrills. To them, there was never enough time in a person's life to do everything. Time ran out too quickly. </div> <div> “A fella had to grab what he could now, not wait until later when it might be too late to grab anything,” Eddie, the next oldest brother used to say. “So get with the program, Scully, while you still can.” </div> <div> Everyone called him by his last name, rarely using his first.</div> <div>  “Your first name, John, has a perverse connotation to it,” Charlie liked to joke, recalling the times they'd all become <I>Johns </I>on one of the dimly lit backstreets of Syracuse whenever they'd looked for fun on weekends and holidays. </div> <div> Now, twisting abruptly in his seat, Scully rubbed steam from the side window, and then rested his forehead against the cold pane. </div> <div> He watched gray shadows reach for the darker ones at the edge of the sprawling oak trees off in the distance. </div> <div> His brothers threw him from them sometimes when he was younger to keep him away when they'd had girls in the woods, playing. </div> <div> Later, when he'd grown a bit, they taught him how to play all of their games, including how to fight better than either one of them, and then they taught him about girls and the games that could be played with them. </div> <div> In his early teens, he learned how to handle the women real well, and eventually how to handle what his brothers jokingly called “the others.” </div> <div> At first, it had been fun watching his brothers smash that kind in the face, and then watch them crawl away on all fours, bloody and humiliated; but later he began to wonder about it, and them, and himself, the brutality, his own sexuality, all of it. </div> <div> Despite any reservations he had, though, he could never talk to his brothers about his inner thoughts or what they might mean. </div> <div> That would have been far too dangerous for all of them, especially since he'd grown to be as big as them, his arms as strong as a bull's. </div> <div> Fidgeting, he sat back and closed his tired eyes, more apprehensive than before.</div> <div>  He tried to sleep, but the hoarse whispers of his brothers reminded him of the good old times, times when he'd been much younger, not yet a man, when things had been different for all of them. </div> <div> Life had been simple then, back when they'd been musketeers, strolling arm in arm on North Salina Street. </div> <div> Young and carefree, they'd charged indifferently for an elusive fate that waited in the shadows, while they reached out to grab a bit of life, and if possible, a little fun with it. </div> <div> Twenty minutes down US 20, he felt the bus slow, then come to an abrupt halt at a familiar stop sign, jolting him straight.</div> <div>  Stretching, he glanced out the window into the early morning light. He immediately noticed a jagged column of Holsteins moving slowly across the snowy field. </div> <div> Their jaws were busy with early morning cuds as they strolled away from a familiar barn, partially hidden by a clump of crackling oak trees in the distance. <I>Steinman's farm,</I> he thought. </div> <div> He used to pitch hay there when on summer vacation, and pick up potatoes in the fall. That was before he'd gotten the job at one of the local woolen mills last year when he'd turned sixteen, after the state cops had caught him just outside of Scranton in the dead of winter. </div> <div> He'd been a young runaway from upstate New York, trying to join the Army early, or so he'd told them then. </div> <div> Deep down, he suspected that he might have been running away from the truth, or maybe a lie. Whatever it was; not even he knew, not even now. </div> <div> Pressing his forehead closer to the window, he saw that the cows' udders appeared different today, free and loose like after a morning milking. His cheeks suddenly felt warm as a new image flashed. </div> <div> He remembered Miss Heckman's nakedness that day when he'd met her unexpectedly near Nine Mile Creek in the woods, beyond the upstream woolen mill. </div> <div> At first, she'd showed him her breasts, and then she'd stripped completely, helping him do the same. </div> <div> <I>If only she were still alive and he could touch her; if only his stupid youthful curiosity did not bother him so much, even now. If only Charlie and Eddie were still alive to joke with him, love him, and lecture him. If, if, if only....</I> </div> <div> Sighing, his thoughts turned to Miss Heckman again. She'd been a middle-aged grade-school teacher then that had been fifteen or twenty years older than him. </div> <div> Still, in his eyes, she'd been beautiful, smart, professional, and, in the end, warm and gentle. He thought about her often, especially whenever he was alone at night. </div> <div> Squirming, he wiped steam from the side window, and saw a vague reflection of his face, a wisp of shadow, distorted, almost free. Then he saw her face. <I>Choices.</I> </div> <div> He'd always had a special interest in Miss Heckman, even when he'd still been in school, but he hadn't been able to do much about it. </div> <div> She'd always put him off, thoroughly lecturing him about his and her responsibilities to each other and to the school, until that day in the woods. </div> <div> “Teachers and students just don't go to bed together,” she'd told him many times when he'd been one of her problem students, repeating seventh grade before he'd finally quit for good in the eighth.</div> <div>  “I wish you'd understand that, Scully. I'm here to teach you, not bed you like a darn female dog in heat. I'm afraid your unwarranted attention, although flattering, could only lead to trouble for us both. </div> <div> "Even you must realize that by now. I don't have the time or the patience any longer, and I don't intend to lose my job because of you.”</div> <div>  “You know all I want to do is take you out, Miss Heckman. Nobody'll ever know. I know some places near Camillus, this side of Syracuse. We could be alone.” </div> <div> She placed her hand firmly on his shoulder, and said, “Don't make this more difficult for us both than it has to be. It just won't work and that's the end of it. There'll be no more talk about this matter ever again, not while you're a student here and I'm your teacher.” </div> <div> He scratched his head as a new thought brushed his brain. Finally, he said, “Okay, but I don't intend to be a student my whole life. I still think that someday things could work out real good for the both of us.”</div> <div>  “Let it go, will you? How old are you anyway for gosh sakes? Fifteen, sixteen? I'm in my forties. Way too old for you. It's a dead-end street for the both of us. It can never be. Let it go, please.” </div> <div> She ran away from him then, sobbing into the empty classroom.</div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>* * *</B></div> <div> Later, when he'd no longer been her student, he'd been fishing near the creek early one sunny Saturday morning in July, wearing blue jeans and sneakers, nothing much else, not even a cap or socks. </div> <div> She'd been strolling alone. </div> <div> He could still remember the tight denim shorts that hugged her muscular thighs like a jealous lover's hands, relishing the touch, protecting her supple skin from any others. </div> <div> Her short-sleeved cotton blouse was tied loosely at the waist, exposing a firm belly, outlining rounded breasts, creviced invitingly at the knot.</div> <div>  He swallowed hard. </div> <div> Gray walking shoes clung to her trim ankles, and her blond hair had been tied into long pigtails like an innocent teenager's, he remembered. </div> <div> Her cheeks had been pink from the long walk from the village into the woods, and the sun oozed hazily through the treetops. It reached for her moist forehead and shiny hair, which was parted in the middle, making her dark eyes sparkle even in the shade. </div> <div> Her sudden appearance had made him catch his breath. He'd stuttered at first when she'd approached him like from nowhere. </div> <div> After friendly greetings, they'd talked a while about past school days, his job at the mill, and the local gossip. </div> <div> Then, casually, he'd put the “touch” on her like his older brothers always told him to do whenever he found himself alone with a young girl or a mature woman of any size, age, shape or color.</div> <div>  Life was love, and love was life according to them, especially later, when they were called up for the war in Europe, leaving him alone. </div> <div> Greedily, he'd unbuttoned and unzipped and undressed her and himself just enough, so they'd still be ready to dress quickly if someone happened upon them half naked in the woods. </div> <div> After the first frantic urges had been satisfied, and a short rest in the shade of a thick tree had let them reclaim their quickened breaths, they'd stripped completely and had done it all over again, although much less urgent this time than before. </div> <div> Afterward, they'd lain together at the foot of a thick oak, exhausted and happy and satisfied. </div> <div> He'd like to have her here with him now, this very instant if he could; but that wasn't possible, not anymore. Death's ungentle fingers had crushed her throat months ago, taking her away, gone for good. </div> <div> They had never really become true lovers, not even girlfriend and boyfriend after the encounter in the woods, or at least they had never admitted to it. </div> <div> They just liked being together, touching each other's bodies, enjoying the loving. But then she was suddenly cold, lying in a Vilnus cemetery; stiff in one of the plots he often visited. </div> <div> He used to whisper the latest village gossip to her, telling her how sorry he was, and how much he missed her, and how he wished she were there, despite all of the other girls hanging from his arms anymore. </div> <div> But she always had known that the business with the girls was a long story that he was still trying to sort out. Given the time, he was positive that she would have helped him through the “youthful curiosity” phase of his life, and aimed him wherever it was he was supposed to go. </div> <div> <I>God, Miss Heckman, I miss you</I>. </div> <div> He squirmed in the bus seat when he remembered what else had happened under the tree that day, when he'd felt so naked and alone when she'd tried to leave. </div> <div> He'd felt his entire body turn cold like an icy hand had been placed on his neck, prodding his thoughts to other things besides lust and sex, Miss Heckman, the others, all of them that he'd had over the years, beginning when he'd only been twelve. </div> <div> He'd prayed hard that day, harder than ever before, but the cold on his neck had persisted like an icy wind on a wintry day. He thought at the time that it had surely been the hand of death, come to take him away early in his youth for his corrupt thoughts and wicked ways. </div> <div> Shivering, he'd thought about his lonely grave. He'd prayed fervently to stay out of it, promising everything. </div> <div> On his knees, he'd whispered, “God, I'm not ready to die yet. Please. I still got plenty of things to do; but I guess we all know that to be a fact. Just give me a chance, that's all I ask. Just a chance to get out of Vilnus, be a good soldier, do somethin' good with my life for a change.”</div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> * * *</div> <div> The bus rounded a curve too quickly, pushing him roughly into the side panel. He rubbed his eyes. </div> <div> He'd gotten up early to brave the early morning cold, and had skipped breakfast alone. A little late, he'd rushed for the bus stop uptown in Vilnus. </div> <div> Now, settled on the bus, he was glad that it had not left on time, leaving him behind, late for an important appointment in the city. </div> <div> He'd received his final reporting notice, ordering him to report to the Army recruitment center in Syracuse at 0900 hours, a couple of hours from now. </div> <div> If his brothers could see him now, they'd be mad as hell. To them, the Army was not a good place to be for a kid like him, still wet behind the ears and filled with too much curiosity about things he shouldn't be so curious about at his age. </div> <div> He smiled, thinking about their lectures, and how they'd tried to make him into a man before his time. </div> <div> Or were they simply trying to keep him tied to a blistering youth, not wanting him to gain his manhood stride at all? But why? </div> <div> Maybe because they loved him, and did not want him to grow up too fast getting involved in things he shouldn't, taking too many chances, and ending up dead before his time. </div> <div> They especially did not want him to join the Army. When home on leave during the war, they'd urge him to choose anything but an Army career when he'd gotten older.</div> <div>  “Soldiers die too young,” they'd say, “so don't be a damn fool. Live to love, be happy; that's what life is all about.” </div> <div> A bump in the road jolted his thoughts back to the day when he'd gone into Syracuse to enlist, ignoring his brothers' earlier warnings about being a soldier, and its likely consequences at an early age.</div> <div>  “Man, where'd you get them muscles?” the recruiting sergeant had asked the first time he'd visited the center. “You work on a farm or something?” </div> <div> “Once,” Scully said, “but mostly in the woolen mills near Vilnus lately, ever since I quit school last year, you know.” </div> <div> “Come, take a seat. Tell me about yourself.” The sergeant nodded toward a chair near a cluttered desk in the corner. “I'll help you fill out the forms.” </div> <div> “Do I need a stupid physical?” Scully asked, a little concerned. “And will there be a lot of tests?”</div> <div>  “Yes and some,” the sergeant said, smiling, “but nothing a strapping fella like you should worry about. Come on; let's get these forms filled out. You do have your parents' permission, right?” </div> <div> Tall, trim and muscular, Scully ran his hands through his short dark hair. “Yeah,” he said slyly, “they'll be glad to get rid of me.” </div> <div> He flopped onto the hard chair by the desk, crossed his long legs, and then began to scan the pile of enlistment forms. </div> <div> He suddenly felt warm. He was wearing a red and black-checkered shirt, badly frayed at the cuffs and gashed at the elbows, and blue jeans and dirty sneakers. </div> <div> Twisting in place, he hung his thin, tan jacket over the back of the chair, letting his fingers linger on its ragged collar. </div> <div> His oldest brother had given it to him one winter during the war, he remembered, before he and the other brother were killed fighting in Europe; one in Normandy by a German panzer's eighty-eight, the other in a Paris bar by a prostitute's switchblade knife.</div> <div>  Pencil poised over the enlistment forms, Scully suddenly recalled the early times, back when he'd barely been a teenager, a time when things were not so complicated, at least at first. </div> <div> As he'd gotten older, his brothers used to get him tipsy on quart bottles of Genesee beer before they'd take him by bus to the city to chat with some of the “ladies” there that loitered beneath the streetlights or at the edge of dimly lit alleys. </div> <div> To his brothers, a boy could never become a man until he'd bedded an appropriate number of women. </div> <div> They'd never really defined the appropriate number for him, though. The only number they ever really gave him had to do with other men. </div> <div> “Never, under any circumstances, should you even consider bedding even one man,” they would lecture one at a time to make sure he got the message. “Because if you do, we'll jack up your ass good for you. Hear?” </div> <div> Scully laid the pencil down and sat back in the chair, not seeing the sergeant's eyes on him across the desk. </div> <div> He remembered that the booze had been bubbling in his head that one night, and the smells and sounds rushed back, as did the face of the guy who'd been standing next to him at an adjacent urinal in a downtown bar.</div> <div>  He didn't know why, but he glanced cautiously out of the corner of his eye at the man, who was busy trying to zip up his trousers. </div> <div> Seeing Scully staring, the man smiled as he turned for the door. </div> <div> Suddenly ashamed and awkwardly confused, Scully's face felt hot. </div> <div> Maybe the man had felt sorry for him and his obvious embarrassment for looking, or maybe the man was one of them, a so-called “other kind” his brothers always warned him about.</div> <div>  Or maybe he was just another man out on the town, wondering why a dumb kid was looking at him, standing at a urinal doing a natural thing? </div> <div> Charlie and Eddie were at the sinks washing; but both saw the man's smile, too, and Scully's pink face. </div> <div> They rushed to the urinals, and shoved Scully aside. Charlie grabbed the front of the man's jacket, and punched him in the face. Eddie kicked him behind the legs, making him fall up against the wall. </div> <div> The man tried to fight back, but he was no match for them. They beat him to the floor, and then began to kick him until he was finally out cold.</div> <div>  “Come on, Scully,” Charlie said, standing back and taking his arm. “We got to go. This ain't no place for you.”</div> <div>  Outside, Charlie put his arm around Scully's shoulder. “You got to be real careful, kid,” he said. “The world is filled with dangerous people like that one inside.”</div> <div>  “But how do you know he was one of <I>them</I>,” Scully asked, lowering his head. “How can you be so damn sure about such things?” </div> <div> “We can tell,” Eddie said, taking up the step on the other side of Scully. “And you'll be able to, too, once we teach you the ropes. </div> <div> "Anyway, they even got some of them in the Army, but we know how to take care of them there, too.” He smiled crookedly as he ran an upturned thumb under his chin. </div> <div> “You got that right,” Charlie said, his words slightly slurred. “One of them tries something funny with another GI, and that ends it for good like it should. </div> <div> "But don't worry, kid, we're going to make you into a man before the friggin' war kills us all, so you can take care of yourself better.” </div> <div> Stopping in the dimly lit street, Eddie tried to calm Charlie, who was sobbing now, almost like he knew even then that neither one of them would ever be coming home from the war again, alone or together. </div> <div> Scully sensed the impending disaster, too. That was the last night he ever saw them again, at least all in one piece or alive and well.</div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> * * *</div> <div> “Hey, Scully, what the hell you dreaming about?” the sergeant shouted, moving around the desk to slap Scully's shoulder. </div> <div> Like he'd been poked with an electric cow prod, Scully jerked his eyes up from the desk where he was supposed to have been filling out the enlistment forms. </div> <div> “I was just thinking a minute, Sarge, that's all.” He pulled some papers close, carefully wet the end of a pencil with his tongue, and then began to fill in the blank spaces on the first form as quickly as he could. </div> <div> It was time to move on. The quicker the better. Then he remembered Misty holding him tightly last night, saying a special farewell. He smiled. </div> <div> Charlie and Eddie would have been proud of him, especially last night. He had fully explored the other side of his “youthful curiosity,” and found the answers to many questions. </div> <div> For now, he felt safe with himself. He was beginning to understand who he really was and what he wanted to do with his life. Now, he would have to see to it.</div> <bR> <div> Chapter Two</div> <div>  In Syracuse, Scully met the other new recruits at the enlistment center early. They were supposed to go by an olive drab Army bus to the train station for the trip to Camp Pickett, Virginia later to begin their basic training.</div> <div>  “After eight weeks there, you'll become full-fledged soldiers,” the recruiting sergeant said, “assuming the rugged training or a testy recruit doesn't kill you first.” </div> <div> “It'll be that bad?” Scully asked snidely. </div> <div> “No, not really. I was only kidding. You're actually lucky going in the winter. There won't be so many ugly copperheads in the grass or hiding behind the trees." </div> <div> As it turned out today at the center, there was some mix-up with his paperwork, so Scully was told to report back the next day to try again. </div> <div> The others were shuffled aboard a smoke-filled Army bus for the train station, leaving him behind to worry about his options. </div> <div> Walking for the bus station near North Salina Street, Scully thought about Misty again, and what she'd say when he showed up back in Vilnus again so soon. </div> <div> Then, he thought about last night when Misty had been in silky pajamas; open wide at the top, her parents uptown, bowling. </div> <div> Tall and shaped like a sprinter, Misty had short dark hair, light sparkling eyes, and a warm hand that drove him crazy whenever her parents had been away. </div> <div> She was not someone he'd choose for a lifetime partner, but a day here and there with her was okay like most of the ones like her he'd met so far. </div> <div> To him, they were all out to grab a man, or someone about to become one. But he could run too fast, so wasn't about to get caught just yet. And he had an ace in the hole, too; he had his second wind.</div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> * * *</div> <div> Later, after a short snooze, Scully got off the bus on the corner of North Street, across from the local post office in Vilnus. </div> <div> He stretched before he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He moved quickly down the street past the cemetery to a two-story, white frame house that was full of windows and screens, sitting on a corner lot loaded with huge oak trees. </div> <div> Misty had told him earlier that she wasn't going to go to work that day since she was so broken up about him leaving for the Army and all, so he knew she'd be home alone, maybe still in tears. </div> <div> At the house, he didn't bother to ring the doorbell. He twisted the doorknob, and walked right in, knowing that she rarely locked the door even when her parents were at work like today. </div> <div> Inside, it was quiet. </div> <div> He caught his breath as he moved down the hallway toward the living room where he saw a crack of light, and heard soft music coming from the radio. </div> <div> Halfway there, he crouched like a scout on patrol as he drew nearer to the sounds. He wondered at the unusually heavy breathing coming through the walls, almost like someone was exercising, in pain, or maybe crying. Misty? </div> <div> He clung to the door a moment, anticipating the look on her face when she saw him again so soon, right in the middle of the living room. </div> <div> Taking a final gulp of air, he rushed in, his face beaming. “I'm back,” he shouted, tearing at his belt buckle. </div> <div> He almost tripped on a shoestring that hung loose at the top of his blue and white sneakers, but bolted upright just in time.</div> <div>  “We have another day before I have to go,” he said, rushing toward the back of the large sofa that faced the door. “Let's not waste it.” Releasing his belt as he moved, his jeans suddenly dropped to his feet and began to tangle. </div> <div> Dazed, he clung to the sofa's back, and gurgled like he was choking on water. Someone was lying on the sofa with Misty. </div> <div> Scully finally managed to ask, “Who the hell is this?” As if he didn't know. </div> <div> George Wolff stood naked from the sofa, all two hundred forty-eight pounds of him. </div> <div> He looked something like a completely bald sumo wrestler, glistening with sweat in the middle of a match on a wide sofa, altogether out of place. </div> <div> Wolff turned, wide-eyed, bellowing like a bull on the verge of a denied ecstasy. “What do you want, asshole?” he asked Scully angrily.</div> <div>  “Scully,” Misty said, grabbing for some clothes. “I thought you were gone.” She, like everyone else, always called him by his last name.</div> <div>  “I can see.” Scully pulled his jeans back into place as he glared at Wolff, at her, and their glistening nakedness. </div> <div> Shoving what clothing she'd grabbed from the floor at Wolff, Misty picked up a fluffy pink towel from the sofa, and wrapped it around her chest. </div> <div> It barely covered the upper edges of her trim thighs or the top halves of her bulging breasts. </div> <div> Realizing he was not exactly a victim here, Wolff said, “I was simply trying to soothe her during her grief over your departure for the Army, Scully. This is not what it seems.” </div> <div> He tried to hide behind a skimpy pair of panties that she'd handed to him in her haste. He was much too big. </div> <div> “Please, Scully, let me explain,” Misty said, moving toward him.</div> <div>  “Shit, you say.” Scully glanced at her, then at Wolff, and then back to her. “You're gonna miss me for sure, Misty.” </div> <div> He rolled his eyes to Wolff, and said, “That's for sure now that I've seen his skinny horn that don't look like it can honk no more.” </div> <div> Suddenly, he coughed several times, hacking, filling his mouth with spit. Ready, he leaned back on his heels, and curled his tongue between his lips. </div> <div> Taking a firm stance, he aimed his mouth at Wolff's startled face, and then blew spit out like his tongue was a dart gun. </div> <div> Whatever he had in his mouth splattered full into Wolff's shocked face. Quickly finished, he pulled his tongue in, and then ran for the front door as fast as he could. </div> <div> Breathing hard, Wolff charged after him. He dabbed at his face with Misty's red panties that he'd recently helped her remove. </div> <div> Slamming through the screen door, he ran down the wooden steps, ignoring the slivers in his big toe, the icy cold, and his total nakedness. </div> <div> Scully stopped halfway down the driveway, turned back and shouted, “The neighbors don't like flashers round here, Wolff, even those who ain't got nothin' to flash.” </div> <div> Laughing, he hurried away, leaving Wolff glaring after him, his fist raised in the air.</div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> * * *</div> <div> Scully ran for the nearby cemetery where he liked to go to think. His brothers were buried there. He spotted an upturned wooden bucket near a stone marker. </div> <div> The marker's top and face were covered with a light coat of new snow. Wiping snow first from the marker, and then from the bucket, he flopped down, thinking about Misty and how she'd been rolling around on the sofa with Wolff. </div> <div> <I>Bitch.</I> <I>All of them have cheated on me, or left me quicker than Flash Gordon with a case of the hangover runs,</I> he thought. <I>Just cause I'm so damn poor, I guess</I>. <I>But two can play that game. Let them cheat, the low-life sluts. </I></div> <div> <I>Before I'm done in the Army, I'll show all of them how a real pro does it. Poor or not, I'm gonna make them love me till it hurts, and then I'm gonna leave them weepin' in the street, wishin' I'd stayed to love them more.</I> </div> <div> John Warren Scully closed his burning eyes, and tried to think of something else. </div> <div> Finally sensing how cold it was, he jumped to his feet and began to flap his arms as he rushed for the street that ran adjacent to the cemetery, leading uptown. </div> <div> Reaching the street, he glanced at his wristwatch. Almost noon. He hurried toward Main Street where he planned to eat a light lunch at the busy malt shop there. </div> <div> Old man Harvey Cline would be serving the noonday customers, mostly high school students on a lunch break.</div> <div>  Inside the small shop, he saw the crowd as he hurried to the counter where the cellophane-wrapped lemon pies were stacked on a tall metal stand. </div> <div> He caught the eye of Mr. Cline, working frantically behind the counter in front of the huge wall mirror edged with dim lights. </div> <div> Scully nodded at him and smiled. “No hurry, Mr. Cline,” Scully said, raising his thigh to a red-topped stool. “Keep doin' what you're doin'; I'm in no hurry for a cherry soda. Take care of the crowd first.” </div> <div> While Mr. Cline continued with his work, Scully saw his chance. He grabbed two small lemon pies from the stand and shoved them deeply into his jacket pocket. </div> <div> Then, whistling nonchalantly, he strolled to the rear of the shop where five round, wrought-iron tables stood, filled with giggling high school students, sucking soda pop from their straws.</div> <div>  He stopped to chat with several girls at one of the tables. “Hi,” he said to Sue Allen, a brunette that liked to mess around almost as much as him. “How ya doin'?” He placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed.</div> <div>  “Hi, Scully,” she said. “I thought you went away to the Army.” </div> <div> “Tomorrow.” </div> <div> “You're not afraid?” Sue asked, glancing slyly at the other girls at the table. </div> <div> “Of what?” </div> <div> “All them guys,” one of the other girls with a pink face said, giggling. “I heard they all take showers together, like after gym class, naked top to bottom, their things hanging out. Is that true, Scully?” She hid her red face behind a paper napkin. </div> <div> “So?” He moved to the girl's chair, and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Ain't none of us got anythin' the others ain't, except maybe some of `em like mine are bigger and smarter.” He squeezed her shoulder as he let one hand roam down toward her chest.</div> <div>  “Stop it, Scully,” the girl said, giggling when he took one of her hands into his, and began to gently scratch its palm with the tip of one finger. He winked several times as he scratched. </div> <div> Sue glanced at him, and said, “You busy this afternoon, Scully?”</div> <div>  “Nope. What ya got in mind?” </div> <div> “Well, nobody's home and I don't have the stomach for more classes today, so maybe we could go to my house and play a game of cards. The girls could come along. We could have a time.” She glanced at the other girls at the table and smiled. </div> <div> “I'm game for anything,” he said, stepping behind her chair. He touched her thick dark hair that hung over her shoulders, and then began to twist some of it around his finger. </div> <div> “Good,” Sue said, standing. “Then it's settled. Let's go.” </div> <div> As they wandered through the shop for the front door, Mr. Cline shouted after them. “Hey, Scully, your soda. What should I do with it?”</div> <div>  “Save it for me. I should get a leave from the Army in a couple of months, after basic training.” Laughing, Scully moved quickly out the door, the girls close at his heels, giggling. </div> <div> Outside, Sue Allen grabbed him around the waist, and turned him up the street toward home. As they walked, Sue pressed her thigh against his, whispering, “Played any games lately?” She snuggled closer, listening to the two other girls behind her joking.</div> <div>  “I ain't rusty, if that's what ya mean.”</div> <div>  “We'll see,” Sue said. “We'll surely see how good you are once you have three aces staring down your throat.” She glanced over her shoulder and smiled at the ones behind her.</div> <div>  “Three aces, my you-know-what,” Scully said, laughing. “I'd say three queens would be more like it.” </div> <div> When they arrived at the driveway where Sue lived, it was empty. The parents worked in Syracuse, so would be home late, especially the way the clouds were moving in. </div> <div> <I>Plenty</I> <I>of time for several games, if they played their hands right</I>, Scully thought. </div> <div> He glanced at Sue as they walked up the driveway. “What ya thinkin' about? You look like you got some kind of secret hidin' in your head, Sue.”</div> <div>  “I do, but don't worry. I plan to share it with you once we get inside.”</div> <div>  “And them?” he glanced at the other girls who'd moved up along side Sue now. They were giggling like they'd just shared a secret of their own.</div> <div>  “They can share their secrets with you,” Sue said, “after I'm done with you. Unless you'd like to hear our secrets all together and learn the naked truth all at once.” Smiling, she ran on ahead to unlock the door. </div> <div> Inside, they headed for the living room. Scully flopped onto the sofa and watched the others huddle off by a far wall, whispering as they looked at him. </div> <div> “Well, when does the card game start?” Scully asked impatiently. “I ain't got all day to win a few hands, ya know.”</div> <div>  “Just a minute,” Sue said. “We have to get comfortable first. We'll be right back.” </div> <div> Scully waited fifteen minutes, wondering if they were getting undressed in private. Then, not hearing any giggling, he wondered if they were still even there at all. </div> <div> He wandered across the room and knocked on the bedroom door. No answer. He shouted, “What the hell is goin' on, Sue?” He opened the door and saw the room was empty. He shouted for Sue, but still no answer. </div> <div> As he walked to the far wall where a double door was located that led outside, he noticed a large brown envelope on the bed. </div> <div> His name was scribbled on its face. He ripped it open and pulled out its contents. There was a large, boldly printed note and an unused sanitary napkin. </div> <div> He swore loudly. <I>Son of a bitch</I>! <I>They did it to me again.</I> </div> <div> He ripped the sanitary napkin apart and scattered it on the bed, and then as he ran for the front door and open air, he glanced at the note again before he crumbled it and threw it against the wall on his way out.</div> <div>  Dear Scully, Casanova dearest: </div> <div> Sorry, but we forgot it was that time of the month. Maybe when you come home on leave, we will be in better health for a game of cards, or maybe not. </div> <div> Till then, think of what you missed. Don't let the door hit you on the way out. If you don't leave now, we plan to call for help. </div> <div> Sue and friends</div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>* * *</B></div> <div> Later, cold and hungry, Scully headed for Patrick Street for the gray, two-story frame house his father rented from the woolen mill for two dollars a week, which included the outside toilet up on the lawn. </div> <div> The community water pump, its peeling arm high, sat below the outhouse at the bottom of the hill. Its water was always cool even in summer, although discolored at times. </div> <div> He didn't plan on worrying much about his mother and father this evening; they'd be at bingo. He wouldn't even scratch them a note since he'd be leaving after a bath in the sink. </div> <div> Best to keep his return a secret, he reasoned. If they'd known he'd come home for another day, it would have been worse than not knowing he'd come home at all.</div> <div>  It would have been like digging up a bag of bones, and then sitting them at the supper table, reviving them for a couple of hours, then letting them die again. </div> <div> That's how it had been with his oldest brother at Normandy. The first telegram said he'd been missing in action. The last one said he wasn't coming home at all, at least not alive or in any one piece.</div> <div>  Eighty-eights, he learned later, never left much to be picked up after they'd exploded, loud and jagged, their sharp shrapnel slicing your brains away. Nothing much left at all after an eighty-eight buzzed your face. </div> <div> Since there was no bathroom, he'd sponge bathe in the kitchen sink, then get out of town as soon as he could. </div> <div> There was no sense at all in putting them through the pain again. Leave the damn bones alone in the grave uptown, cold and quiet, all of them. </div> <div> Drying himself after the quickie bath, he heard the phone ring in the hall. He ignored the irritating sound at first, but it persisted. </div> <div> He wrapped a wet towel around his waist, and then dripped over the linoleum down the hallway. </div> <div> At a small table there, he yanked a telephone from its cradle. “Yeah?” he said, sticking a finger into his free ear to get the water out.</div> <div>  “I have to see you,” Misty said, her voice low at first. </div> <div> “For what? Did old Wolff's thing give out on you?” He started to hang up, but hesitated when he heard her voice, screaming into the mouthpiece.</div> <div>  “Listen to me, dumbbell. I love you. You know that. I made a bad mistake, that's all. It won't happen again, I promise you.”</div> <div>  “I bet.” He held the receiver away from his ear in case she screamed again.</div> <div>  “You got to meet me at the theater by Cline's malt shop. Will you? It's damn important. I've got something to tell you about us.”</div> <div>  “I know all about us; we're through.”</div> <div>  “Please, you got to come. It's life or death.”</div> <div>  “Oh, okay, don't have a damn fit. I'll be there in ten minutes.”</div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> * * *</div> <div> Uptown on Main Street, it was dark, and Scully saw her standing beneath the marquee in the flickering lights. </div> <div> Misty looked frightened and cold. She was wearing a fur-collared jacket, white earmuffs and creamy mittens, and a red nose.</div> <div>  “Cold?” Scully asked, approaching her, a typical smile on his lips. </div> <div> His hands were shoved deeply into his jacket pockets, and his head was bare like always no matter how cold it was outside.</div> <div>  “In the alley,” Misty said, taking his arm, “at the back end of the hardware store.” </div> <div> In the shadows, she placed his hand on her jacket by her stomach. “I missed,” she said evenly. “I didn't want to tell you before you left, but since you come home again, I thought I should.”</div> <div>  “Missed what?” He pulled his hand away from her jacket, and impatiently shoved his thumbs into his jeans. </div> <div> “My period. We're going to have a baby.” </div> <div> He stepped into the yellow light from the hardware store windows, and looked deeply into her eyes. “Baby?”</div> <div>  “Yes. Ours.” </div> <div> He thought a minute, and then said, “Bullshit. I ain't gonna have no baby. It has to be Wolff's. You've been bangin' round with him long enough, even before you met me.” </div> <div> “I'm sure <I>you</I> did it. I been faithful all the time, except this once. I'm sorry. I don't know how it happened; it just did.”</div> <div>  “You mean with Wolff?”</div> <div>  “That too, but I mean with the baby. What should we do?”</div> <div>  “There's nothin' I can do. I'm ordered to Camp Pickett in Virginia. I can't go over the hill. They'd have my neck. My life would be ruined. I can't.”</div> <div>  “Damn you, you got to do something. I can't face this alone.”</div> <div>  “Talk to Wolff. Tell him he's about to have a baby. It probably is his anyway. Let him raise it. He likes to play with things that don't belong to him, don't he?” He turned to leave.</div> <div>  “You son of a bitch, I'll never forgive you for this. Never.” She reached to slap at his face.</div> <div>  “Don't.” He held her wrist a moment, and then shoved it back at her. </div> <div> "Just remember, I'm a soldier now. I'm goin' places, way overseas, maybe even to Europe after basic trainin'. I can't afford a wife or a baby. Let blubber gut take care of it for you.”</div> <div>  “I'm going to kill you for this.” She patted her belly. </div> <div> “You're goin' to do nothin'. Either have the little bugger and call Wolff its papa, which I think he is, then keep it or give it up for adoption. </div> <div> "Just don't lay it on me. I never made nobody pregnant, especially you, and I ain't gonna take the blame for somethin' I ain't done.”</div> <div>  “You'll be sorry for this someday, I promise.”</div> <div>  “Maybe, but not today. I got places to go. Don't you see that? I gotta get out of this town to make somethin' out of myself.</div> <div> "I plan to be a sergeant, maybe even a hero someday, my chest full of shiny medals. Like my brothers, I'm gonna do it, Misty. And I'm gonna do it alone.” </div> <div> Sobbing, she turned into the shadows, and dropped to her knees at the edge of the concrete driveway. She bent her head, and loudly vomited into a pile of snow that quickly turned black. </div> <div> He squatted and grabbed her arm. “Come on, get up,” he said softly, handing her his wrinkled handkerchief. </div> <div> “You'll catch your death. I'll keep in touch. Maybe after a while, I'll even have a few bucks to help you out. Meantime, take some advice. Tell Wolff. He'll handle it, I'm sure. </div> <div> "He wouldn't want you blabbin' all over town that he gave you a big belly, then wouldn't take care of it like a man. Tell him everythin'. I've got to go.” </div> <div> “Scully,” she said, standing. </div> <div> “Yeah?” </div> <div> “I hope you go to war someday, and fry in hell with your arms and legs all gone.” </div> <div> He placed his hand on her shoulder, and squeezed through the fluffy jacket, making her nervous. </div> <div> “No matter what you say, I'm goin' to be a soldier, and if the Army gets me killed like they did my brothers, so be it. </div> <div> "At least they saw somethin' before they died, somethin' sides the mills, the cow shit, the endless chores, nothin'. I'm going to be like them, dead or alive. I'm gonna be the damn best soldier there is or ever was. That's what I'm gonna be.” </div> <div> “You're going to be the worst asshole the Army has ever seen, that's what you're going to be,” Misty screamed. </div> <div> “And they're going to shoot you dead before they're done with you, and string you up to the highest tree, and let you rot there like you was dirt. Dirt, Scully. Shit dirt, hanging from a tree.”</div> <div>  “I'll write sometimes,” he said, turning for the street. “Talk to Wolff. He'll know what to do.”</div> <div>  “I hope you die real soon. I hope you die.”</div> <div>  “See you round,” he said, shaking his head. “Take care of yourself, and tell Wolff bout the kid. Don't try to do it alone.”</div> <div>  “Wait,” Misty shouted.</div> <div> The urgency of her voice made him hesitate in the middle of the alley. Slowly, he turned to face her, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched against the cold.</div> <div>  “I'm going to tell the baby what a fine papa he had," Misty said. "I will tell him that for sure.” </div> <div> “If that's what you think, tell him I was a real fine soldier, too, because I plan to be one before I'm through.”</div> <div>  “Never happened,” she screamed. “You're too stupid to be anything. Too stupid and dumb and remorseless. A whoremonger like your brothers used to be, none of you ever satisfied, always sniffing like a dog for more. </div> <div> "Everybody remembers Charlie and Eddie, and you're the same. Three nuts in a shell. You're going to die like Eddie, Scully, and I'll be glad. Damn, I'll be glad. </div> <div> "And if some dirty whore doesn't catch up with you wherever you go, the Army will. Sooner or later they'll see your true colors and your ways. </div> <div> "Then we'll see how well you chirp when they hang you by the neck, choking and squirming and kicking, wishing you could scream, praying to God to die.”</div> <div>  “Misty.” He touched her elbow, trying to calm her. He'd never seen her like this before.</div> <div>  “I want to be there when that happens,” she shouted hysterically, pulling her arm away. “Do you hear me? I want to be there to see your legs kicking at nothing while your eyes bulge big in their sockets, and black blood gushes from your ears. </div> <div> "You son of a bitch, no-good creep made of shit, I hope you die soon, real soon.” </div> <div> She covered her face, and then carefully watched through spread fingers as he turned into the shadows. Then, the sobs began to rock her chest, bringing burning tears to her eyes. </div> <div> Scully began to move up the driveway into the new flurries twirling in the streetlight, wetting his hair. </div> <div> He was going be a soldier by damn, and nobody was going to stop him. Nobody. Not Misty or her bastard kid, or Wolff, or his own parents and their old grief, the memories, anybody or anything. He knew that now more than ever before. </div> <div> He was going to be a soldier like the Army had never seen, would ever see again. He was going to be like Charlie, his oldest brother, not like Eddie, who was killed by that dirty whore. He'd bet his life on it. And his dreams. </div> <div> Excerpt from <B>Whispers. </B>Copyright (c) 2001 by Robert A. Gallinger.</div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id34_m.htm" TITLE="Excerpt Whispers">Back to Top</A></div> <div> <A HREF="id3.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Synopses">Synopses</A></div> <div> <A HREF="id39.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE=" Order Info">Order Info</A></div> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="home ">Home Page</A></div> <div> <A HREF="id42.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Site Map">Site Map</A></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id36.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Excerpt Escape">Next Page</A></div> <div> <A HREF="id32.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Excerpt Debt of Honor">Previous Page</A></div> <div>  </html> </head> http://www.bookworldinfo.com/whispers_excerpt.htm <title>Book World Info Provides Novel Excerpt, Book Excerpt, Novel summary</title> <meta name="description" content="Book World Info - Offers Novel Excerpt for Mystery Suspense Book by Robert A. 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