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BREAK

At this, the already stifled Dumar lunged from his rickety seat, bellowing. “You hear that, Paw! These men snatched that my boy tolt him we didn’t want him no more!” and then Dumar made the coarsest vociferation of rage intertwined with despair. He slammed his fists into the wall, even the first adrenalin-accelerated impact splitting the planks like balsa wood. Helton bear-hugged him, muscling him back down to his seat.

“Get a grip, son! Don’t go bustin’ yourself up! We gots to find out what this is all about!”

Cock-eyed, Dumar summoned all of his self-restraint to keep himself seated. Meanwhile, the movie continued…

BACK TO:

INT. ROOM

We remain CLOSE on Crory’s disoriented and terrified face.

CRORY (CON’T)

Please, daddy! Tell these men ya want me back! They’se bad men. I’se sorry I stolt them quarters out yer pants that time’n lied ’bout pullin’ Kelli Jean Rooder’s pants down—I’ll never do stuff like that again, I’se promise, but, daddy, please tell these men ya want me back!

MALE VOICE #1 (O.S.)

Melda, open them big log legs of yours and show the kid the goods.

Male Hands grab Crory’s head and turn it to the right.

MALE VOICE #2 (O.S.)

Take a good look, kid—

Crory is looking at something OUT OF FRAME. He SCREAMS high and whistle-like, like a little girl. We hear Male CHUCKLING O.S.

Crory’s head is roughly re-positioned to look back at the CAMERA but now the whites of his eyes have filled with Red Blots.

MALE VOICE #2 (O.S.)

Damn, Doc. Why’s that always happen?

MALE VOICE #4/DOC (O.S.)

(distressed, no accent)

A hypertensive spike causes the certain ocular blood vessels to hemorrhage…

(beat)

…the effect of sheer, unbridled terror…

We remain CLOSE on Crory’s face as…

SUDDENLY—

Male Hands seal a piece of Duct Tape across Crory’s lips. Crory HEAVES, while only MEWLS are now heard through the tape.

NEXT—

Another set of Male Hands begin to smear some odd, white-yellow muck over Crory’s head. A WET, SLOPPING sound accompanies the action. In moments, Crory’s head is slathered in this substance.

MALE VOICE #2 (O.S.)

All right, cut it now. Let’s get a nice, juicy close-up…

CUT TO:

We see the FRAME FULL of pallid, cellulite-dimpled fat: a Morbidly Obese Woman spreading her legs. Her Vaginal Ingress GAPES, an Organic Hole the circumference of a cereal bowl…

In the b.g., we hear Crory’s horrified MEWLS O.S.

END OF TRANSITION

As previously implied, no further details of the movie’s contents will be rendered; and in an aggravating instance of a narrative proceeding out of chronological order, we return to the point where Micky-Mack has recommenced to vomiting in the pail and Dumar is baying quite dog-like in despair.

Helton palmed his temples, thinking, Evil, evil, evil…

“Who were them men kilt my boy in that fat woman’s pussy, Paw!” came more bellowing from Dumar.

Wincing, and still vomiting, Micky-Mack looked up at Helton. “I guess I’se just too young ta understant, Uncle Helton! Why they do that ta poor li’l Crory?”

Dumar began banging! his head against the floor. “Who’re them men!”—BANG! —“Who’re them men!”—BANG!—“Holy fuckin’ SHEE-IT, Paw! We gotta find them men”—BANG!

Helton pulled his son off the floor. “Cain’t be bashin’ your head in, son! Yer gonna need yer wits about ya—we all is…”

“My poor li’l baby boy died thinkin’ I didn’t want him, Paw! They’se told him I didn’t want him! ”

“I know. I know, son…” Helton ran stout fingers through the tumult of long, wavy hair. “Paulie—someone named Paulie. Jesus ta pete, who is this Paulie?”

“Maybe he lied ’bout his name, Unc!” wailed Micky-Mack. “Maybe it were really Hall Sladder!”

“Naw, naw, boy, you’re not thinkin’. Sladder don’t wear no citified suit’a clothes, and he shore as hail don’t drive no big, fancy motor-home. Fuck, he drives a ‘55 Chevy 235, and there ain’t no way the thievin’ cracker has the know-how to run a complerkated movin’-picture camera like what that must’a been.”

“Paw’s right, Micky-Mack,” Dumar moaned. “And Hall Sladder, he don’t know from these VDV machines any more’n we do…”

Helton paced the room in an excoriating psychical stew of regret, despair, and unsurceasing outrage. He could feel the blood beating at his temples, while that same blood felt oddly gritty and loose as if it were not blood at all, and something not a part of his physical being. Paulie, Paulie, Paulie, came the hectoring name. Dumar and Micky-Mack sobbed outright now that the full weight of the horror had set in, and Helton may have sobbed himself as he thunked shudderingly to his knees, his hands clasped in desperate prayer…

“Lord God—holy shit, I’se know I ain’t been the best’a servants to Ya, but the way