Before Thelma could answer, Kimberly said, "He was dead by then, remember?"
"That's right," I said.
"Which means you did it," Kimberly said, and gave Thelma another quick poke with the spear.
"Ouch! Don't!" She grabbed the hurt place.
"You did it," Kimberly said, and jabbed the back of her hand. The spear put a pale dent in it.
"Stop that!"
"Tell the truth."
"Wesley made me!"
"What do you mean, he made you? He was already dead."
"No. He wasn't. We were there. We were watching you all. We were up there above the falls, and spying on you, and he wanted to, you know, kill him." She nodded at me.
"Me?" I asked.
"Yeah, you. I told him we shouldn't. I didn't want anybody else getting killed, but Wesley said he'd kill me if I didn't do it. What could I do? He would've killed me. So I went and snuck down to the stream and did it." She glanced at Connie. "It wasn't supposed to hit you. It was supposed to hit him."
"Stupid bitch," Connie muttered.
"I'm sorry. What can I say? I couldn't see what I was doing. Just a quick little peek or two. Somebody would've seen me up there watching, so I just had to throw it blind, and it got you by mistake."
"Sure," Connie said.
"It's the truth! If you think I hurt you on purpose . . . I never would've done it on purpose. Look what Wesley did to me!" She raised both hands, open fingers trembling toward her face. "He beat me. Look how he beat me! All because I hit you instead of that boy!"
That boy.
Nice.
"He didn't want you getting hurt. And he wanted him getting killed -- so when I hit you instead, he blamed me for screwing up everything. He . . . he beat me and . . ."
"Pretty damn active for a dead guy," Kimberly said.
"He wasn't dead then."
"Ah. So you were lying when you said he died yesterday morning."
"It was after you all left the lagoon and everything."
"He beat you up, and then he died."
"Must've taken a lot out of him," I said.
Glaring at me, she blurted, "I killed him!"
The rest of us went silent. I think we were stunned.
"What did you all think, he died from those old spear wounds? They were nothing. He was getting over them. I'm the one who killed him. You have me to thank for it, and nobody else."
Kimberly looked her in the eyes and said, "I don't believe you."
Thelma's mouth dropped open.
"You wouldn't harm a hair on that asshole's head. He can do no wrong, as far as you're concerned. He's your god."
"He hurt me!" she blurted. "After I hit Connie with the rock, look what he did to me." She gestured to her battered face again. "And this!" She fumbled with the top button of her blouse, then stopped and said, "He has to turn around."
Kimberly gave me a nod.
I turned my back to Thelma.
A few seconds passed. Then she said, "See? See what he did?"
Kimberly murmured, "Jesus."
I took a look over my shoulder.
Thelma's head was down. She had her blouse off.
Her huge breasts were striped with scratches, smeared with livid bruises. Some of the bruises were shaped like fingers; others were crescents. From the look of her breasts, she'd been lashed by a switch, slapped around with open hands, and bitten.
Sobbing, still not raising her head and noticing me, she turned around. "And this!" Her back didn't look as if anyone had slapped or bit it -- just whaled the crap out of it with a switch. Her skin was streaked with threads of dry blood. She must've taken fifty lashes back there.
"And that isn't all!" she blurted. Keeping her back to us, she started to put her blouse on. "I'm not gonna show . . . not gonna pull my shorts down . . ."
I took that as my cue to turn away.
"But he . . . he made me strip . . . take off everything . . . and then he beat me and beat me . . . all because I dropped that rock on Connie by accident . . . He didn't want her damaged. But oh, God, he was sure the hell happy to damage me. And he got all turned on, beating me, so then he . . . he did other things to me."
"He raped you?" Kimberly asked. She sounded upset.
"That was . . . yeah, and worse, too."
I looked over my shoulder again. Thelma had her blouse on, and was trying to fasten its buttons. Her eyes were red and wet, her nose was runny and her hands trembled so much that she was having real trouble with the buttons. She saw me watching, but didn't complain about it, so I went on and turned around.
"What else did he do to you?" Kimberly asked her.
"No. I can't . . . I won't tell. It's too awful. But at least . . . It wore him out. That's the good part. When he was done, he was so tired he couldn't stay awake. He fell asleep and that's when I killed him. I bashed his head in. There was a rock nearby and I grabbed it and I bashed his head in." One of her hands fluttered away from her blouse. It held an imaginary rock. She raised it and hammered it down. "Bashed him till there was nothing left of his head but a big bloody pile of crap!"
Kimberly shoved her spear into the sand. She opened her arms and Thelma staggered into them. They hugged each other and Thelma bawled her head off.
Thelma On The Hot Seat
After Thelma finished her story and finally got done crying her eyes out in Kimberly's arms, we went over to the shelter where I'd been reading, and sat down on the sand. We couldn't all be in the shade, but Billie and Kimberly prefer the sun, anyway. Thelma, Connie and I got to be under the roof.
Thelma crossed her legs the best she could, and wiped her eyes. She sniffled. Then she said, "I've just gotta tell you all how sorry I am. I just went crazy the other night." Meeting Kimberly's gaze, she said, "I should've let you kill him, right then and mere."
"That's for sure," Kimberly said.
"I'm sorry."
"I'll just bet," Connie muttered.
"I am." She glanced at the rest of us. "Maybe I deserve getting punished for what I did. I was wrong, and stupid, and I hurt all of you."
"Fucking right you did," Connie said.
"I know, I know. But . . . I paid for it, didn't I? Wesley saw to that. He hurt me a lot worse than all of you could ever come close to. And I . . . even though I rescued him, I'm the one who bashed his brains in. So I think . . . I think I paid for my mistakes."
"You're very forgiving of yourself;" Billie told her, perfectly calm. "You nearly killed my daughter. You did mess her up badly. God only knows how long she'll be in pain from that stunt you pulled."
"I'm sorry," Thehna muttered.
"Sorry," Connie said. "Big deal."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"We'll figure out something," Kimberly told her. "We can't just forget what you did. My God, you not only attacked us and injured us, you betrayed us. You went over to the enemy. He's the guy who killed Dad and Keith, and you helped him. You're a traitor to your own family."
Thelma started crying again.
"We can never trust you," Kimberly went on. "Never."
"But . . . But I made things right. I killed him."
"Did you?" Kimberly asked.
"Did I what?"
"Kill him."
"Yes!" She sobbed a couple of times. "What do you think, I'm lying? I made it all up?"
"It's crossed my mind."
"You . . . you saw what he did to me!"
"That's no proof you killed him."
"What kind of . . . proof do you need? Do you wanta see his body?"
"Until I do see his body," Kimberly said, "I'm assuming he's alive."
"This is the same guy," I pointed out, "who tried to make us think he'd blown himself up with the yacht."
"It smells like a trick to me," Billie said. "I don't think she killed him."
"She didn't," Connie said. "No way."
Thelma wiped her eyes and uncrossed her legs. "Let's go," she said. "I'm ready." She sniffed. "I'll take you there now, and you can see for yourselves. You'll . . . you'll see I'm not a liar."
"Not a liar?" Kimberly curved a corner of her mouth. "Give me a break. You lie like a rug. Do you think I've got amnesia? I grew up with you. My Christ, you lied every chance you got -- even when you didn't have any reason to lie."