The weasel was becoming impatient. He wanted to come out.
“Just for a minute,” I said, as I closed my eyes and let him control my body.
“Hey mommy!” he said, as he laid blows on her left and right, each once making either a cracking or a sloppy noise, but all causing wails of pain and the ejection of blood, mucus, spit and stomach contents. Mom was becoming quieter, and the weasel went to lay a parting blow on her skull and, when his arms were in mid-air ready to strike, I stopped him.
“Aw your boy won’t let me finish you off. He says he has something bigger planned for you!” My mom’s eyes looked distant, and her head twitched. I dragged her up and slung her over my shoulder, pulling the weasel back into my inner mind. Bess looked forlorn and began to cry like a little girl, following me down to the kitchen. It was approaching 6.15am. The staff would be up soon. I propped mom up against the wall next to the oven, then I picked up Bess andcuddled her.
“I’m afraid!” she whispered, “I felt Savannah’s rage and pain. I’m scared of what she is going to do to us.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let her hurt you,” I promised, “now, what did you do with Youri?” Bess dried her tears and giggled.
“He’s tied to the tennis net!”
“How did you get him down there?!” I said in awe.
“Got him to chase me. I said if he didn’t the one he loved would die!”
I followed Bess and felt a little sad that pretty soon she may no longer be in my life, when for the majority of it, she was the only one that had been there for me. I wasn’t quite sure how I’d manage on my own.
We got to the tennis courts and Youri was whimpering like a baby, secured tightly with cable ties to the tennis net.
“Tell me he’s OK!” he wailed.
“Who?!” I asked, non plussed.
“Florian!” Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. Youri’s hair free body from waxing sessions and electrolysis at the spa. Innocently walking into the kitchen seeing him and Florian chattering in hushed voices and his need to have his own room where he would spend some nights rather than sleeping with my mom. I’d thought nothing of it, but now it all made perfect sense. Youri was gay.
“My mom, the stupid bitch!” I laughed, “so when were you gonna tell her?”
“Not for a while,” Youri sniffled, “after she’d signed a prenup so I’d get a lump sum, then Florian and I could start again back in France,” he began to look misty eyed, “Florian was going to open a bistro and I’d be a waiter and we’d live a simple, but comfortable life, away from all this shit.”
“I admire your tenacity,” I admitted, “hell you’ve kept up this pretense for years, and my mom isn’t the easiest of people to get along with.” Youri laughed and snorted.
“I fucking hate her! She’s gotta be the most self-centered, emotionless bitch I’ve ever met. But I always had the end game in my sights.”
“I respect you,” I said, feeling sad about what I had to do because I actually saw Youri in a different light, “but the weasel and I agree that there are to be no loose ends.” Bess bit Youri’s ankles viciously. He shrieked.
“I-I thought I was seeing things! But-but that doll really is moving!”
I grinned looking like a wild animal and Bess, the weasel and I began to sing.
A trophy fuck, you don’t belong, your world has gone to pieces. You will drown by your excess. Pop goesthe weasel!
Youri pissed his pants, scared shitless as Bess turned on the tennis ball machine. The balls hit Youri in the face, chest and legs, over and over. We heard him grunt, groan and plead to be set free. But we stood and watched in avid curiosity as his skin began to turn red then purple as he was pummeled over and over. One ball slammed him in the nose, causing it to bleed. He spluttered and coughed, snot and saliva dribbling down his chin.
“Let me go Caspian! Please! Just let Florian and I go. We won’t ever come back, and we won’t tell anyone!” But I never let him go, I just laughed as a ball whacked him in the mouth and knocked out his front teeth, and then when he got hit in the eye, I practically keeled over with glee. When he began to look like a chunk of tenderized meat, we switched the machine off. He hung limp, like a fly trapped in a web. He had passed out.
Let me play Caspian! I have a great idea!
I let the weasel into the driving seat. He unclipped the tennis net and rolled Youri up in it. I swore the weasel had a thing for fucking burritos! Then he dragged the gurgling body to the pool, striding into the pool shed and coming out with bottles of chlorine. He did so several times until we had about ten big bottles lined up against the side of the pool. Then he poured it all in. The smell was fierce.
“What are you doing?! Stop!” mumbled Youri from the confines of the net. The weasel hoisted Youri over his shoulder like he weighed no more than a feather andlaunched him in. His screams were ear splitting as he wriggled about, trapped in the net, drowning and his skin burning in chlorine. The water looked luminous, and Youri’s blood spread across it like a macabre oil slick.
“What’s say we wrap this up and blow this joint?” the weasel said, picking up Bess.
“Can we go for ice cream after?” she said, her voice all innocent and hopeful.
“Course! I’m having a chocolate sundae!”
