IX. Dullard
Randy liked Cambridge's castle. It treated him like royalty whenever he visited. His bedchamber, which included a private bath, was the same size as the entire upstairs of the Norwalk house. Servants provided food and drink around the clock. There was a bowling and billiards room in the south wing. There was a theater where acting troupes sometimes put on shows (slapstick comedies were Randy's favorite).
This was not to say the setup was perfect. For starters, the region had no electricity. That meant no television, no video games, and no compact disc players. If you wanted a cold beer you had to go outside and dunk your bottle in the river for an hour. If you wanted a hot bath you had to first order a servant to fill your tub, and then order another to set and light the coals. Plumbing was also quite crude. Toilets--or what the region-dwellers referred to as "lookies"--did not flush. At Cambridge's castle, your waste simply dropped down a chute that led to the dungeon, where it would then be disposed of by one of the servants.
Randy missed these creature comforts. They were attributes of the progressive region which one day, perhaps, would find their way here. But he was not fool enough to think that day would be soon. Therefore, he had devised a number of activities to compensate his frustration. Besides having round the clock access to bowling and billiards, he owned his own kickshellac, which was fun to shoot birds with after breakfast. Coldfrock Lake was a convenient venue for fishing and swimming. At night it could be quite gleeful, provided his timing was just right, to leap from behind corners and scare the laundry women.
But his very favorite thing to do was to hire a servant girl.
He had taken up the habit seven years ago, at the age of eighteen, over a more or less innocent encounter. In those days a pretty girl with long red hair who went by the name of Deedee had been pouring wine for Cambridge's dinner parties. She noticed him one night, staring over his plate of roasted niddy...and smiled. Not a wide smile--nothing that could be noticed by anyone else at the table. But the message was delivered. And received.
Randy had kept an eye on her for the rest of the meal. Later that evening, while Cambridge's guests were dancing in the ballroom, Randy cornered the girl in an empty corridor and introduced himself. A proposal was made; a deal was struck. Deedee stayed in his chamber that night until three in the morning.
He never told any of the girls what he expected right out front. Doubtless they had their own ideas in mind. But never once--and about this he was certain--had any of them anticipated the specifics of his yearning.
Tonight's girl was no different. Her name was Hallie. She was the kitchen girl who had poured the wine during that very first dinner upon his return to the castle. Randy had been asking the other servants discreet questions about her over the past two days. She was eighteen. She was taciturn. She liked to read. Randy also discovered that her mother had recently died in the castle dungeon.
"'Ee locked her down tha for not pressin' the wrinkles outta ees shirt colla'," a chef told him rather matter-of-factly in the kitchen, his bald head shining in the cooklight. "I don' know whether or not 'ee expected 'er to doy, but doy she did. Took a fayvor one night and boined up in the cole."
"And now she's alone?" Randy had asked.
The chef had looked nonplussed. "'Oo?"
"Hallie."
"Oh! Oh aye, yes, I reckon she is now. Poor lass."
Randy had continued to watch the girl, and wait. Over the next day, he plotted out how he was going to make his request--the words he would use, the tone of his voice. The plan was to shower her with affectionate palliations for his intrusion upon her time, then move on to how sorry he felt for her recent loss.
At last he managed to catch up with her in an empty corridor. Her eyes gleamed at him as he went through his spill, which was dotted, on the spur of the moment, with a few lies about loss within his own family. Like the other girls, Hallie was shy at first but willing to listen. Unlike the other girls, she outright rejected his invitation to a midnight meeting, even after he suggested she talk about her pain, not to relive old memories, but to expel them.
It was the worst thing he could have said. Hallie's eyes narrowed; the gleam of torchlight in them seemed to go from delicate to defiant. She yelped that the memories of her mother were all she had left, and that she would go on spending time with them like the happy friends they were.
With that, she strode off, giving Randy no time to recant his words. He stared after her with fat cheeks flushed in embarrassment. A sudden urge to chase her down and slam her head against the wall seized him. He fought it off. Blood was for Cambridge's victims. There was another liquid he preferred when it came to his.
But he couldn't wait--it had to be tonight. He and his mother were to depart from the castle in the morning by boat; Nancy was certain that their quarry, with a three day head start, would be at Horseshoe Bay before long.
It took only a moment for him to decide. He followed her down to the servants’ chambers as quietly as he could, past weapon displays and empty suits of armor, while the waves of Coldfrock Lake crashed beyond arched windows.
The servants’ quarters were located on a floor of the castle just above the dungeons. Randy watched from behind a corner as Hallie strode past and down to the bathing area. Moments later, the sound of running water. Randy felt his heart begin to speed up. This was going to be far easier than he'd anticipated. And much more fun.
Just then Hallie appeared in the corridor again. Randy jumped back with a surprised gasp. The girl's footsteps froze.
"Hello?" she called. "Alice, is that you?"
Randy kept his council. He could hear the girl approaching. Her footsteps grew louder, louder...and then stopped again.
She was no more than five feet away when she said, in an amused voice: "Now you can't scare me that easily!"
On that statement, the footsteps resumed, moving back towards the bathing area. Randy peered down the corridor. It dead-ended at a blank wall, from the left of which water could still be heard running into a basin. In front of that, also on the left, was Hallie's chamber. Dull lamplight flickered through the archways of both doors.
Randy lumbered over the ancient stone floor. Closer, closer. Hallie stepped out of her chamber, freezing him in his tracks, and turned left without noticing him. A blue robe was now wrapped around her slender frame. She went into the bathing room and shut off the water. Silence fell, floating like a black feather on the surface of his compulsion. At any moment the girl would be placing her feet in the tub. Randy took another step forward--
Only to see her appear in the corridor yet again, still wearing the robe, and walk straight back to the bedchamber.
Now what? he wondered.
He decided to wait until she reemerged. But several minutes went by without this happening. And now, curiously enough, came the sound of light sobs. Hallie was crying.
Randy crept to the door and peered in. The girl was sitting at a crude, uneven desk. In front of her was a sheet of parchment. Here was the instigation of her tears. Her shoulders shook with them; her chest hitched. A tattered quill was clutched in her hand.
The bathing room was just a few steps further on. Randy went to it without making a sound and slipped inside. A full tub rested in the middle of the floor, about five feet long and three feet deep. Torchlight gleamed on its surface. A dusty mirror nearby also reflected the light, but Randy still felt the room held a sufficient amount of shadows. He chose one and continued to wait.
It was not a long wait. Hallie appeared within minutes. Her small, bare feet padded over the stones. She went to the mirror and unlaced the belt of her robe. It fell to the floor, exposing delicate curves, soft skin.
Randy was sporting a full erection as the girl walked, fawn-like, to the tub and lowered herself inside. Her back was to him, yet he knew the water had risen up over her breasts, almost to her clavicle. Randy's eyes dropped to the tub for a moment before returning to Hallie's shoulders. It was not as big as the one he had upstairs, but it would still do for holding her entire body when she submerged. She was a small girl.
***
His chest and arms were wet when, thirty minutes later, he stepped out of the chamber. Hallie was not in accompaniment. Had he known all along how it would be? Randy could no more answer that question than he could strike a match with his sopping, shaking fingers.
He shut the door with a look on his face like that of a boy who has just seen a shooting star for the first time. A quiet, purring elation was nestled within the depths of his mind. It had been terrifying to watch the girl die. But it had also been spectacular.
Her scream at the initial confrontation had gotten the scene off to an enticing start. It was high-pitched, piercing...and strong. It gave Randy hope that she would do well. He grabbed her naked body and twisted it around to get a hand over her mouth.
"Stop," he told her, as she splashed and writhed. When this didn't work he threatened to hurt her. She froze on the spot, eyes bulging. "Now I only want to watch you," he went on. "Is that so bad? I even offered to pay you."
His large, flabby arms held her in place. He took his hand away from her mouth, ready to clamp it right back on if she screamed again. She didn't. She covered her breasts with her arm instead
"Wh-what do you want me to do?" she asked in a trembling voice.
Randy smiled. He understood why she was scared. He understood also that being scared would not do for what he had in mind. He released his hold and stood up.
"I want you to take a nice, deep breath and lie down at the bottom of the tub," he said.
"Why?"
"I want to time you."
Again: "Why?"
Randy became puzzled for a moment. The question was not new to him--he asked it of himself all the time. But its answer was hard to pin down. It had to be connected with sex in some way; seeing a girl holding her breath underwater was always cause for an erection. Beyond that he didn't know. And for the most part didn't care.
"Do it," he demanded.
Her first attempt was a poor one. Too much fear. Also, she kept trying to keep her breasts and groin covered with her hands. The second attempt was a little better. The third lasted almost an entire minute.
Hallie was gasping by that point. The nipples on her breasts, as they rose and fell, were small and sharp as stones. Her blonde hair clung to her back.
Looking at the small, slender bones of her body, Randy had all at once found himself unable to adhere to the script. He began to want more from tonight than just a few dives and a payoff. He wanted to feel the way he had felt years ago--at the age of eleven, as a matter of fact--when he pulled a girl underwater and held her down for the first time. She had been a villager from right here in the region; she had challenged him to a breath-hold contest; she had lost.
He grabbed Hallie and jammed her head underwater face-first. She thrashed as he held her down. A line of drool ran from the corner of his mouth. He lifted her head out of the water, giving her a ragged breath--HAAUUUUH!--then jammed it down again. Bubbles plumed in white panic from her lips and nose. Bare buttocks clenched and opened. He gave her another quick breath, dunked her back under. His fat face was smiling. It was pure ecstasy.
A stream of urine sprang from her bladder. Randy felt it, because his other hand had been holding her in between the legs at the time. He pulled her out of the water; her eyes were blank. They remained blank as he laid her on the floor. And as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, her neck was already turning blue.
***
The thing to do now, his fevered, elated mind warranted, was get out of the servants’ corridors and back upstairs without being seen. He did not wish to be tied to the crime, despite the fact there was very little chance of anyone besides Hallie's friends--if she even had any--caring much about the event. Servants came, servants left. Some lived and some died. They had no idea what they were getting themselves into when they came to work for Cambridge, but that was how it was. Before Hallie's death in the water tub, her own mother had died in the dungeon.
Perhaps these thoughts were responsible for what Randy did next. Instead of leaving the corridor straight away, he paused in front of the dead girl's bedchamber and peered inside. There on the table was the letter she had been working on. Beside it, gleaming in the torchlight, was the quill.
He stepped into the chamber and closed the door. He picked up the letter. The ink on the bottom of the page looked to have dried mere minutes ago, while near the top, it was beginning to fade. So the material had taken a long time to compose. Whether this was due to the girl's lack of education--there were spelling mistakes everywhere--or to a certain fastidiousness with the message itself, Randy had no way of knowing. All of that aside, her handwriting was clear and perfectly legible.
***
Mam,
I walked to the vilage todey. Felicia at the market saw me and sayd hallo. You used to by me apples from her when I was a gurl. She asked after you. I tried not to cry as I told her what hapened. I failed. I am failing as I rite this.
The gards wuld not let me down to see you. I tried many times, begging from my knees. They wuld not let me in. I was beaten and dragged from the portcullis. They wuld not let me in. But one of the men told me you were sick. He told me you had terible head-pane, and a fever. You were vimiting and shivering, sleeping on the flore of your cage. You were not strong enuf to eat.
I miss you mam. I miss your singing. Remember wen you boght me a doll from that funy lady in Dalandaniss, and we tuk it home? You were laffing becase you thawt the tunge sticking out of its mowth was so funy. We played with that doll together. We dressed it up. You even made up stories from it to tel me at bedtime. What ever hapened to that doll?
I wish you culd come bak to me. The man sayd that you cried a lot becase your head hurt so bad, but that Cambridge wuld not give you medacin. Then one night you were crying and when you fell asleep you did not wake up.
Thank you for being my mam. Thank you for bringing me into this wurld. Thank you for feeding me, and teaching me, and bying me clothes and toys. Thank you for teling me wen I was rong. Thank you for teling me wen I was rite. Thank you for your bedtime stories. Thank you for hugging me. Thank you for kissing me wen I was hurt. Thank you mam so very very much. This alone is love. Thank you.
I cannot stop crying. I love you, mam. I love you.
***
Randy folded the parchment in his hands. He picked up the quill and left the room. In the bathing chamber, Hallie's body was still on the floor. Her eyes gaped.
Setting the parchment and quill aside for a moment, he picked up the body. His nose wrinkled. Hallie now felt like a rolled carpet left out in the rain. Her limbs were stiff and blue. Randy dropped her back into the tub.
The scene was set. Hallie's death, when she was found, would be ruled a drowning. This would be just fine; it was the truth. The letter was lying nearby, where her most unfortunate discoverer would certainly see. Randy felt it read enough like a suicide note to be ascertained as such. Very few questions seemed liable.
Minutes later he was back upstairs. He lay awake long into the night, thinking about how it had felt to hold the girl underwater, while her lungs--her strong but small lungs--seethed under the delicate bones of her ribs. Seethed...and then broke. Timing her, the way he had timed so many other girls, had not been enough. Randy did not think it would ever be enough again.
It was over an hour before he fell asleep. By then, he was thinking of whom to drown next. The answer came just as he drifted off. Like Hallie, she was small and pretty. This time, though, the water would be deep. Her bubbled screams would take a long time to reach the surface. And when at long last they did, it would be too late to lock the door, too late to open the window. Too late to do anything but inhale and let death flood in.