Friday, August 25, 2006

Heavy petting part II

Dear bloggers

That picture I posted yesterday was to demonstrate 2 things. First, I had just received my new Sony Ericsson K800i phone and found out it a had a 'blog this picture' feature. To test my technological skills I took a picture and blogged it. Yippee, it works. Second, the picture itself illustrates just what a mess my life has become. Now I'm not a man to beg for pathos from his contemporaries, but maybe you'll shed a sympathetic tear when you read what's being going on. Dolores's latest blog contains some of the story (here). For my part, I will fill you in on the shocking events that started with my scheme to get Ravel to date a girl accusing me (unjustly) of sexual molestation (part I is here)

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I stayed up late that night, wondering what Ravel was doing with the woman who had accused me of molesting her in the field. My mind wandered from one idea to the next. One minute I imagined them feasting in the village's gourmet italian restaurant 'La Ronda', the next I had morbid visions of my faithful and loyal, but linguistically challenged research assistant throwing the woman into the nearest loch - bound, gagged and wearing concrete boots.

At various moments I got up and put my coat on as if to go out. Dolores asked me where I was going, but I couldn't find an answer. Eventually she grew tired of my evasiveness and went to an early bed. The door was firmly shut. I was left to entertain the twins as best I could, but I couldn't even get comedically angry at their attempts to balance all the vases in the institute on top of each other. Instead I just told them quietly to stop what they were doing, removed the vases, replaced them and sat down in my chair again. When it was time for them to go to bed they neither protested nor philibustered, so pervasive was my gloom.

Come 10:30 the institute was almost silent. Sitting in my favourite armchair with the windows of the lunge open, all I could hear, apart from was my own breathing, was the gentle hum of the freezers in laboratory number one, the occasional animal sounds from the field beyond, Dolores snoring three rooms away, and the sounds of footsteps approaching the main door of the institute in cabin number 3 (you may recall from earlier posts that the institute consists of a series of mobile cabins strung together like a space station).

It took me a few seconds to register the footfall sounds. They became heavier, and then stopped. I was out of my seat faster than I thought I could move, and fair lept towards the front door. The person on the other side was looking through the keyhole - a useless gesture as we all know, and I guessed from his action that it must be Ravel. He was back early, was my first thought, as I unlocked the door.

'Oh motherfucking crabsticks, she's dead!' was my second thought as Ravel entered the insitute with the body of a well proportioned and scantily clad woman over his shoulder. I didn't hesitate in releasing my thoughts as a parched cry of surprise. To my own surprise he responded by clamping his large hand over my mouth and motioning me to shut-up.

'The twins will wake' he whispered urgently

Too taken aback to protest I allowed Ravel into the institute. I walked backwards, unable to believe what was happening. We went into the lounge and Ravel tipped the girl, back first, on to the sofa. The sight that greeted me almost made me throw up on the spot.

Where her face should have been was a mass of gore, bits of bone, blood, pineapple, more gore, salami, more blood....

'Boss, she fell in her pizza. Head first.'

Through the mist I heard Ravel trying to tell me something. He must be confessing, I thought. he'd shot her in the face whilst they were having dinner!

'I bring her here after it happen. No-one see me I think'

Again he was trying to tell me something. I turned to him, shocked, horrified, nauseous. I took him by the collars, bent him close to my face.

'She get so drunk in short time. I could not keep up. She better stay here'

The man was acting so casually. Here, in my lounge. A dead girl with a mangled face. Shot, Ravel responsible. Me, an accessory!

'I get cloth to clean her up'

I think at that point I passed out from the stress. The next thing I remember is sitting in my chair and watching whilst Ravel mopped the gore from the poor girls face. When he finished he motioned me to come over. I stared at him, completely unable to figure out what was going on. The worst thing, and it was something that had just knocked me for six since the moment he entered the institute, was the way he kept smiling.

'Come boss. She's OK now, looking much better.' he said, a broad grin on his face. The grin of a psychotic maniac as far as I was concerned. When I recoiled in the chair he approached with his hands out and tried to drag me towards her. I refused to budge, lifing my legs off the floor and pushing myself as far back into the chair as I could manage. Eventually he gave up and asked me what we should do with her.

I shook my head, unable to formulate an answer.

'But boss you said just I take her out. So I do, and I bring her back here like we agree. Now what? I think, though, that it worked - she will not accuse you now'

'What?' I tried to whisper, but my heart was racing so fast the word came out like a jet of steam from a pressure cooker.

'She tell me in restaurant before she go into pizza that she was thinking of, how she said it, dropping charges'

'Huh?'

'Yes boss. No need to take her out really. She told me she knew you didn't really do anything with her. She is nice girl though'

'Was' I said, correcting his English for the umpteenth time that day.

'Was what?' he asked

'She was nice' I whispered, and suddenly I was freed by his linguistic faux pas to unleash my anger in a torrent of heavily whispered abuse 'Now she's a fucking mangled corpse lying in my lounge, and you killed her, you fucking idiot. I said date her, not fucking shoot her in the face whilst she's eating pizza. Where the fuck did you get a gun? Where are the fucking police? What the fuck are you doing?

Ravel was not listening. Instead he was in the process of pushing my chair in the direction of the girl. I tried to push back but he was too strong. I closed my eyes as we approached the corpse, not wishing to offend them again.

'Look boss,' urged Ravel gently. 'She look much better now I cleaned up the mess'

'What mess?' said a childlike voice behind me. My heart froze. It was the voice of Twin X (or possibly twin Y, I couldn't be too sure at that point) . 'Ravel said there was a mess.'

'Don't look!' I screamed as I pushed myself out of the chair to shield my childs eyes from the horrific sight in front of him.

'Don't look where dad? That girl has her skirt too far up. Should I not be looking there?'

'Huh?' I cried, my eyes drawn unwillingly to where Twin X (for it was he) was pointing. Indeed he was right. Not even in death was the poor woman afforded any dignity.

'Go to your room' I hissed. ' There's nothing to see here'

I still couldn't bring myself to look at the girl's face as I stood up from the chair and shooed the boy back from the body. Still facing away from the corpse's head I told Ravel to move the skirt back down, but there was no movement. I then realised that Ravel was no longer in the room.

I was all alone with a dead girl and not a single rational thought in my head.

It seemed like my world was about to crash around me.

************TO BE CONTINUED!!!!!!!!!!!!!***********

5 comments:

Dr Maroon said...

It's a bastard isn't it? You set down a story for the general hilarity, and do we appreciate? Do we cocoa. Fuck em McCrumble, Fuckemall. Your mi best fuggin mate, you know that don’t yer? Fibble….garn…

Nikki said...

I'm speachless.

Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

I warned you didn't I? When i said I came from a long line of foreboders, I wasn't kidding.

But just think, this will be a night the twins will never forget! Especially the one who saw up her skirt.

The twins will be looking to you as a model to guide them in the appropriate responses to such a situation. Your actions in the next few minutes might make or break them psychologically.

What will McCrumble do...?

Gorilla Bananas said...

If she's dead, I'm a haddock. My feeling is that Ravel is a far better man than you describe - more of a Jeeves-like valet than a research assistant. He ought to be allowed to post his side of the story.

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