Chapter 28
The Funeral
Weepy’s funeral was officiated by a funeral director, and the service
and eulogy conducted by a lot older Father Punty who was dressed in his much
used chasuble and face haggard. The turnout was small. It was only the few who
lived in the local neighbourhood who bothered to show, and even fewer
genuflected in respect at the appropriate time; most were in accordance with his
passing without lugubrious smite, and those who knew the family really thought
it a customary foofaraw and wished for the same for Sterge; death. Doris was
one individual who had great affection for Weepy and saw all things good in
him. She was full of sorrow and very distraught following his departure from
the world of the living. Don did feel a slight sympathy for Mrs Rob because
this was the second son she lost, but it was miniscule, not nearly enough to
affect the imperturbability of his newly found talent. For him there was no
sentiment for Weepy or the unwitting three, and when he spoke to them about
Weepy’s demise it was in a manner construing sheer equivocation so as to
disguise any unfeigned comments.
Mrs Rob was worn from the number of infirmities a harsh life dealt to
date, and shaped an unhealthy looking soul. She was incapable of fully grasping
the reality of her recent loss, and maybe never recovered from the loss of her
youngest son all those years ago. She never once pointed the blame to anyone,
and even may have chosen to ignore any knowledge referring to Sterge’s
involvement. In recent events, she had no way of knowing the part her sons
played in the terrible slaughter of Kolora, if she did she would have probably
wished them dead as Don did, and like everyone, she had no idea her oldest son
was to eventually meet his maker by the faring of Don’s misplaced philosophy;
which was to requite the evil performed with a gift of goodness to society by
serving the death penalty on people accountability for such evil. Don was no
genius and well acquainted with his fallibilities. He was by no means
repugnant, curt or crud, and underneath a deceptive clumsiness displayed
gentlemanlike behaviours, but he became a hard, mean, miscreant against those
guilty and would prove to be a force to be reckoned with. So far his misconduct
was above any form of suspect, and once again in the past week prior to the
funeral he worked hard on his personal virtues involving health and life style,
all the time imparting to those around him an air of belief for his grief over
Weepy’s decease.
The reverential gathering following the burial service was held within
the community hall not far from Wirrageen.
Don mingled in a pretentious manner, but not over the top, he did so purposely
to try and impress his next victims. Near the end of the mourning period, when
most were pie-eyed, he took Sam to one side and formed an alliance in interest
by talking of their cheerful past camaraderie and associations with Weepy. For
a while Sam’s unguarded state and agreeable personality showed signs of
weakness, he seemed as though he wanted to relieve himself from the burden of
silence for his part in Kolora’s demise, but the obtrusive and vigilant staring
from across the room by Sterge ensued Sam’s obedience. Don began to rethink his
decision to plot revenge against Sam and asked himself: ‘How could someone like Sam, whom at times presented with such
innocence, do such a thing.’ But the mental picture he retained of her
grisly murder and the spiteful molestation Sam and the others performed soon
had him reconsider his rethink, and his sense of premonitions for duty remained
very much intact.
Don was not well educated, but improving dramatically from
self-educational undertakings, and there was one thing he was well schooled in
from experience; his old mate’s likes and dislikes. While sharing a
confidential moment alone in a bleak ordeal with Sam he utilized and mastered
mere rhetoric;
“How would you like to get
together with me sometime over the next few weeks and go fishing?” This was
Sam’s favourite pastime. Don knew of his addiction to fishing and did not ask
this particular diversion for the sake of asking, or just for somewhere to go,
his creative imagination already partly schemed to graft together the elements
of another sordid deathly campaign. Sam inwardly agreed to Don’s proposition,
before forcing a short whispered reply;
“Yeah. I’ll be in that.”
Sterge was watching their every move. Good alignment of Don’s body between Sam
and Sterge ensured Sterge’s surmises about the conversation, or his lip-reading
attempts, were obnubilated by the conveniently placed obstruction of his back.
Sam was hesitant after a second thought, then in favour again, and a time and a
meeting place was set for what would be Sam’s final breath.
During the weeks leading up to the fishing trip Don devised a
mischievous and hideous plan of unrelenting determination in which he was
irrevocably determined to make certain it would not be as extemporaneous as was
his first killing, but with a lot more forethought. This time he wanted to be
primed, and remove any detrimental trend through better preparation and skilful
disambiguation of effects and consequences. The first order to launch his
assault was the essentiality to collect and keep alive ‘Funnel Web’ spiders;
they were to be a vital part of the lethal composition for overall
conceptualization of his idea. Fortunately, owing to the handling of them over
the years and being specimens in frequent scientific schoolwork studies, he
became knowledgeable in their habits and their automatic pattern of behaviour
in reaction to specific situations, so trapping and preserving them was not a
problem for Don. Recalling information from his childhood pertaining to the
area in which the ‘collier’s’ would make and sell charcoal was the exact
vicinity where he would go to collect his Atrax
robustus. This region was teeming with ‘Funnel Web’ nests. These large
black spiders were notoriously dangerous to the amateur. He was not arachnophobic, was skilled in their behaviours, and had great respect
for their threat. The adult males defend themselves vigorously when
confronted and are the most venomous of the family. They are black in body with
a shiny head and slightly slimmer than the female, the fangs of both, the
female and male, are more than capable of piercing the skin, they hold on with
great tenacity, are difficult to displace and their bite is painful and deadly;
but it was the deadlier male spider he wanted to trap. Don knew through study
the early symptoms of a strike would be burning pain, followed by the twitching
of muscles, vomiting, tingling around the mouth and tongue, sweating, and
shortness of breath; after these conditions would come confusion, pulmonary
oedema, and eventually death from hypotension or pressure on the brain, or a
heart attack, or all three. Death can be between fifteen minutes to three days
depending on the amount of venom injected and the size of the person. The toxin
in the spider is called ‘atraxotoxin’ and is highly venomous to primates. When
they bite they strike repeatedly and can deliver a full dose of venom each
time; in this era of time there was no known antivenin. This was perfect for
Don’s purpose.
Early in the week after a day’s work, Don went hunting for the male,
anything five centimetres or over was his choice of collection. The usual
ritual of a small amount of petrol poured down the hole, and staying out of
sight until the movement of legs and a head appeared, was accompanied with a
quick dig of the shovel just a few inches behind the spider to block its escape
back into the tunnel. The method was easy and effective. Once he cornered them
they would be confined to a bowl of water to wash off the petrol and then
placed in a segregated salt and pepper combination dispenser. This container
was used because the division kept them apart; they would fight to the death if
put together. Don caught six spiders and placed them in three containers in
ready for the fishing trip on the weekend. These spiders would stay alive
without food or water and stay cranky for weeks if necessary; the first parts
of his wrathful intentions were now complete.
Don’s cleverly contrived wicked plot and incensed scorn was temporarily
suspended by unexpected news. Sam’s father passed away the night before the
fishing trip due to a malignant tumour in the throat he was diagnosed with
twelve months ago. Although he was in a lot of pain and on the decline from the
fulminating symptoms, the suddenness of his departure still came as a huge
shock to his family and friends. He was a ‘Pom’ from Liverpool and never lost his accent or dry humour to help carry him
through difficult periods. A staunch, hard and proud man who stood up for his
rights and at times ruffled his feathers too much, appearing to be an
intransigent bombastic opposed to interferences from authority, governmental or
others. The difference between him and his son Sam was, he would never
intentionally harm another human unless in self defence. If he knew the malefic
entwinement Sam so heartlessly engaged in he would have had a change of heart
and throttled him. Mr Clay’s body was embalmed at a funeral home facility and
permission was given to view by any whom so wished. Don would rather remember a
dead friend as they looked when they were living and refused to voluntary sight
a corpse.
The vigil held the night before the burial was sombre to say the least
but it once again gave Don the opportunity to cement his honesty and
reliability in trust to the people he wanted to inflict pain on. Sam’s sisters
attended, they were all living away from home now, married and all appreciative
of Don’s support; as was Mrs Clay. Sterge did not attend the devotional ritual,
or the funeral, even though he, like Fran, was still living at home in the
neighbouring houses. Mr Clay would not have wanted him there anyway because he
never liked Sterge, he thought of him to be a bad influence on his family as a
whole and forbid Sam and his girls seeking recreational diversions with him, in
their youth and beyond, but due to the proximity of their conterminous living
circumstances it was impossible for him to uphold a ban of any bearing. The
funeral was bigger than one would have expected. His old friends from the days
of the war attended, but like all funerals the service was tediously
protracted. Religion had no meaning to Don, his mind wandered aimlessly and
during bereavement in the church service he took time to reflect on his quondam
actions with inner dialogue; ‘My
manifesting megalomania has catalysed internal dominance and exerted
unmitigated, absolute and complete control over my aspirations. But what turned
me into such a thoughtless sadistic killer, a mentally deranged human? The
change in my psychological composition didn’t come from any dysfunctional
adolescence; not at home anyway. In fact social anomies were not at all
proliferative. I didn’t suffer from sexual abuse, overbearing parents,
outlandish use of illicit drugs or various related problems, and never raped or
delved into fetishes or paedophilia. I don’t think I suffered from an Oedipus
complex or other source of disorders. Not like now. Actually my parental
guidance was respectable, solid, loveable and attentive. I guess in the company
of most of my companions it was evident I found social acceptance difficult to
attain, and growing in the physical isolation of my bushland surroundings could
take blame for the effects, and I was made to feel inadequate amongst my most
trusted friends because in youth I did not fit into their cruel world, but
that’s not enough to explain or create a highway in the infliction of trauma
and abuse to myself or others. Nevertheless, those pricks did commit a most
atrocious crime against someone I cared for and they deserve the wrath of
perdition as far as I’m concerned.’
Don’s reflection answered nothing. He was embroiled in internal
conflict, and still justly advocated strongly the need to continue his work.
There were no holy rituals attached to his ending the life of another, instead
he displayed a deep pathological urge to succeed, probably with delusions of
grandeur which may have attributed to an efficient mental defence mechanism;
that being poetic justice for the murder, rape and torture of Kolora. On
further consideration of his sanity, when he committed a heinous crime he did
not mutilate or degrade his prey and he certainly did not abscond with tokens
of his slaughter like eyes. He was actually convinced he was morally superior
to those dreadful ‘four’ condemnable individuals, because in his mind revenge
was a truthful and tangible retribution. Just being in church, looking and
thinking how frail and delicate humanity can be made him wonder why others seek
absolution for their sins when the permanence of death has no proven nirvana.
If he believed the dead were going to a better place he would never kill those
deserving of it; he was happy with his decisions to date.
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