He went out toward the quarry road, taking a short cut through the forest. The fog grew thicker and there the moon went out completely. He’d nearly gone the length of the road when he caught the first glimpse of the black sedan.
The engine was not running and despite the heat of the night the windows were rolled up, fogged completely. The car shifted about softly on its tires, a whispering issued from the shocks. An asthmatic wheeze. Rigby stopped in the middle of the road. Let a long moment pass. Then he took a few steps closer.
The outline of a hand suddenly lurched against the inside of the glass and then smeared away. He watched some more. The excitement of the act filled him. Again the hand clapped against the glass. The thin fingertips curled, trying to grip the smooth surface.
Rigby began to make out the faint outline of a shirtless man leaning back into the seat and the cool shape of the girl facing him. The silhouette of her breasts, her exposed neck as she threw her head back. He pulled at her auburn hair. Through the window Rigby could hear the girl squeal and then she laughed crazily. The motion of the car grew. One of them must have nudged the window handle for a narrow line opened and the girl’s moans carried into the night, set off the yip of a distant dog. Rigby squatted on his hams, his heart hammering against his sternum. A strong desire to be closer overcame him and he did just that.
He worked his way to a vantage not ten feet away where the grass was tall and sat back on his heels and clutched his arms around his knees and rocked gently. He had a thin wooden smile and he breathed through his mouth like his lungs were tired. The girl said, Ooh, said, Yes. She called the man’s name. Rigby undid his pants. And then for a reason beyond his control, Rigby started toward the car.
The couple was sideways in the back seat. The girl was on her knees with her hands on the glass. The man had moved behind her. Rigby’s image grew over the window like a cloud blocking out the sun. For a second his face and her face were paired, laid upon each other like layers of printed silk. She wore his glasses, her lips were his own. Then she lifted her face, at first not comprehending, then quickly, like fire catching, saw the hazed hairless figure behind the glass and screamed.
The man, pulling out of her, shouted, Who the hell is that!
Rigby, instead of running, opened the door and the girl on her knees attempted to cover herself. The dome light caught them strangely. The hot reek of the act spilled from the car. She glanced once at his waist, his pants undone, but it was his face, she seemed to remember him. The snaggled teeth, the cartoon glasses. Her mouth opened as if trying to recall a name. All she could come up with, said, You.
The man pulling on his pants, reaching for the opposite door handle, said, You’re a fucking dead man!
Rigby moved closer.
I got yer money, he said. He pulled out the wad of bills to prove it. I told yeh I’d owe it to yeh.
The girl screamed again and recoiled, sliding back into the seat, trying to pull up her skirt.
It sent Rigby into a hiss. He lunged like a cat. She screamed beneath him. The warmth of a body new to him. He tried to kiss her but her head kept snapping away. He tried to hold her. Tried to lift her skirt.
But I got yer money, he said. He almost sounded frightened.
He got her legs apart and was about to drive into her when a hand clasped down on his shoulder and wrenched him from the car. A voice spitting venom, You’re a fucking dead man!
In one motion, as he was reeling around, stumbling to get his balance, Rigby snapped open the blade and swiped once, catching the man’s throat. At first, innocent as a paper cut, a thin line appeared. The man stepped back, eyes wide as dinner plates. He touched his neck softly like he was feeling his glands. Then the two edges of skin became dark and the blood began to purl like oil. The man tried to say something. Only a choked, bubbling sound. Could only stare at Rigby as though waiting for an answer. Rigby too, staring in disbelief at what he’d just done. The man staggered once, going to a knee, trying to stand, and falling again. With the blood all but out, he tipped forward a final time. The girl screamed. Scared Rigby out of it, and he turned and without a thought sank the blade into the girl’s stomach. The girl gasped, went quiet. Rigby sank the blade once more and then a third time. On the third he missed the stomach and landed between the ribs where the blade caught and jammed and then snapped off inside of her. Her lips went red. A stream of blood ran like candle wax down her pale cheek and into her auburn hair. Rigby stood back, watched. Stood there until she went still. Like sleeping with her eyes open, he thought. He reached out to tickle her foot to see if she was faking it. He fastened his pants and leaned into the car and pulled her out. Hauled her like a bag of grain onto his shoulder. Carried her like that all the way home.
That night he laid her on his mattress. Got her undressed. He stared at the body for a long time. Her nipples had gone gray, her freckles looked silver. He brushed his fingers lightly over the wispy hair between her legs. Went to his box of cosmetics and uncapped the red lipstick. Painted her lips garishly, circled them over and over. He laid her on her side and went out the door and looked at her there on his bed, the lamp flame behind the soot-choked glass bringing a little life to her. Watched her for a long while, shivering with excitement. Then he went back in and turned off the oil lamp, lay down beside her, and fell asleep.
Later, he awoke to the sound of rain. The sight of her almost startling. Her naked back was blue in the darkness. Not quite cold beside him, but cool. The tips of her fingers stiff as twigs. Red nail polish gleaming like candy. Her buttocks were pressed into him. He grabbed her hips and pressed back.
I had yer money, he muttered.
It was not making love, exactly, but when it was over Rigby had fallen to tears.
That night he dragged her by the arms into the woods. Her bones loose under the skin. Her head lolled like a dog’s tongue. Through the thorns and catbrier, sounded like a bear pulling a carcass. A drizzle was falling. Deep in the woods he set her down. Covered in dirt, her breasts looked like spoiled flowers. He arranged her with her arms at her sides, squared up her feet, said, I’ll be right back.
He returned with a shovel and dug a deep grave. He knelt at her side, leaned in to kiss her, and then rolled the body into the hole where she landed facedown. He began to fill the grave back in. Took more than three hours, thought about digging her out again but reconciled the urge. Sat against a tree finally in his exhaustion and fell asleep thinking about her. When he awoke again the sky was the color of woodsmoke and he was shivering.