RSL fic 2 (Killer: A Journal of Murder, NC-17)
Thanks muchly to those of you who came along on the last strange RSL detour - I was surprised and pleased that there was actually interest. Because no good deed goes unpunished, a sequel, of sorts. Definitely the last, because I’m out of movie now! It kind of turned out a bit wanky experimental, so if you want to bail on this one, I understand :)
Title: Goodbyes (II) - Interpretations
Fandom: Killer: A Journal of Murder (still not really a fandom…)
By:
daasgrrl
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Carl Panzram/Henry Lesser (James Woods/Robert Sean Leonard)
Summary: Panzram’s hanging, and Lesser’s dreams.
Notes: Thank you so much to to
evila_elf, as always, for beta and the pretty pic at the end :)
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Interpretations
PANZRAM: “There was an island I once knew, down by the sandbar coast of Panama, and there was a tribe of Indians lived on the island next to it. They went to it once or twice a year to gather coconuts, harvest turtle eggs - savages, we’d call them, without the benefit of our civilization. No moral sense whatsoever. They considered this island holy ground. They believed it had these pink dolphins that turned into beautiful women at night, exotic birds that spoke any language they needed to - English, Portuguese, Spanish - snakes without venom, pools of fine red wine. If you drank it, you’d only want to lie down and make love. That’s where I’d go.”
LESSER: “Me too.”
- Killer: A Journal of Murder
***
Sometimes, Lesser remembers.
Sometimes, Lesser dreams.
When the time finally comes, Lesser sits down and watches numbly as Panzram is cuffed, prior to being led away. Panzram’s short walk to the prison yard will be accompanied by a full complement of five guards, plus the warden and assorted hangers-on. There is no room for Lesser in the procession. He would have liked to have walked by Panzram’s side, would have been proud to do so, but the State evidently believes a flanking escort is necessary, just in case the condemned man decides to make a final bid for freedom. They are wasting their time in this case, of course, but flexibility is not exactly a byword of the prison system. As Panzram makes his final exit from the cell, Lesser fights the urge to reach forward and touch him one last time, knowing that it will make no difference, fearing he might never let go.
Only when all is quiet again does Lesser stand up, casting one last glance out at the sky through the narrow spaces of the window bars, dreaming of freedom.
The sky is blue, a blue that Lesser had thought only existed in stories, and the air is warm and caressing against his limbs. Sandy earth gives a little beneath each step of his bare feet, and his path is shaded by densely packed trees, the roar of the ocean beckoning from just beyond the edge of the jungle. He’s wearing one of his white shirts, the top buttons undone and sleeves rolled back as a concession to the heat, his long grey trousers cuffed at the ankles. Strangely, he isn’t wearing his glasses, and yet everything is clear and sharp and bright. He can see Panzram a way ahead of him, just visible through the trees, clad in only a white cotton undershirt and the bottom half of the prison uniform. Lesser doesn’t know how long he’s been walking through the jungle, but nothing hurts, and he’s not uncomfortably tired, although he is thirsty. The pace Panzram is setting shows that he is impatient to reach his destination, wherever that might be, and Lesser hurries forward a little to catch up, before he loses sight of him altogether.
Panzram and his guardians have quite a lead on him, and Lesser seems unable to make himself walk any faster in their wake. Later, he will read the papers to learn of the events he misses seeing with his own eyes - Panzram striding across the prison yard, making a mock lunge at the crowd of spectators as he passes, laughing, then bounding up the stairs of the gallows. The flock of reporters shouting, demanding a final comment, as Panzram first ignores them, then spits indifferently over the side. Lesser wasn’t there, but he can see it all clearly in his mind, just the same.
He continues to trail Panzram a little as they continue through the moist humidity of the jungle. Their surroundings teem with life. Spiders dangle from glistening webs, and slender lizards scurry out of the way at their approach. Brightly colored birds scream from the trees, and a few come swooping down out of curiosity, flapping around their faces, their cries sounding eerily like human speech. Lesser flinches, but Panzram makes as if to strike them, and they fly away, squawking with indignation.
“Where are we going?” Lesser asks, finally.
“Not far now,” Panzram says. He stops for a moment, holding out his hand, and Lesser takes it.
The afternoon sunshine strikes Lesser cruelly in the face as he finally steps out from the dark confines of the prison walls, and he blinks for a moment, disoriented. He looks up at the makeshift scaffold, where Panzram is already in place, staring straight down at him, his face fixed and expressionless. They’re still adjusting the manacles around Panzram’s ankles, and the harsh hempen twist of the noose hangs suspended to his right, waiting for justice to be done. Lesser acknowledges him with a small nod.
They walk on, hand in hand, and just around the curve of a large rock outcropping Lesser sees a pool of reddish liquid, as wide across as a man’s reach, cupped in a natural basin formed from the rock. Panzram lets go of him and heads straight for it. He dips his hands in, drinks deeply from them, then splashes some of the liquid on his face. He turns back to Lesser, dripping, grinning, his teeth and face and hands shaded a pale red that makes Lesser think of the blood of innocents.
Lesser is well aware of Panzram’s crimes, probably better than anyone else in the world, but he still doesn’t understand how one more death is supposed to set everything right again. A man, a stranger, comes up alongside and speaks to him, but Lesser has nothing to say. His attention is entirely fixed on the gallows, on the prisoner, on the final act playing out before his eyes.
“Come here,” Panzram says, and Lesser obeys. A green snake, shimmering bright, slithers across his path, but Lesser pays it no mind.
“What is that?” Lesser asks, his thirst becoming more pressing now, but still not quite enough to overcome his hesitation.
“Wine, it tastes like. The good stuff.”
Panzram dips his hands in again, brings them up to Lesser’s face, inviting him to drink. Lesser takes a first cautious sip, then another. It’s cool from the stone, and sweet, and smooth, quenching his thirst and yet leaving him wanting another taste. He finishes the handful, and Panzram offers him another. Lesser cups his own hands around Panzram’s as he drinks, not wanting to lose any of the precious liquid to the earth. Panzram grins at his protectiveness, and splashes him with a third handful, spattering his shirt in the process. Lesser laughs, and brushes his fingers ineffectually over the red droplets which even now are staining the previously immaculate white of his shirt.
Lesser wonders, not for the first time, how it is that when an individual kills, it’s murder, but when a government does the same, on behalf of its people, it’s justice. The law in its infinite wisdom has decided that Panzram must die for all of them, for his, Lesser’s, sake. There’s a certain irony there, Lesser thinks, but he cannot bring himself to smile. Panzram continues to stand expressionlessly in the failing light, as the preparations for death go on around him.
Panzram takes his hand again, and they walk on, refreshed. A bit further, and the sea becomes visible through the trees. The air is still warm, but the breeze is cooling, bringing with it hints of salt and moisture. Finally, they make it all the way out of the jungle and walk along the strip of sand near the water’s edge. As the waves surge and recede, the wind carries the sea spray into Lesser’s face.
He can feel the tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he will not let them fall. All he can do is stand there and bear witness for Panzram now, as the very last thing he can do for him.
The day is slipping away; the red glow of sunset is on the horizon and soon the light will be gone. The strength of the wine circulates in Lesser’s blood, making his heart pound, causing the last remaining tensions curled up inside him to loosen and fall away. He’s unnaturally aware of the point where his hand touches Panzram’s, the thing that flows like an electric current between them, growing stronger by the minute.
They walk a little way inland again, and beneath the fronds of a tree Panzram finally pulls him close and kisses him fiercely, as though for the last time. Lesser returns it urgently, his hands pressing into Panzram’s back, his hips. Lesser can feel that Panzram is already close to full arousal as their bodies press together, but there is no fear this time, only desire and anticipation. He strips Panzram of his undershirt easily, but his fingers struggle a little with the buttons on Panzram’s trousers, clumsy with haste.
The hangman is busy rechecking the weights attached to Panzram’s waist, to ensure a fast drop and a swift kill. “Come on, you damn Hoosier. I could hang ten men in the time it’s taken you to hang one,” Panzram quips, as the man continues to fumble. No one laughs.
Finally, they make it completely out of their clothes, and use them to fashion a rough patchwork blanket on the sand. Then Panzram is stretched out beside him, his callused hand wrapped around both of their erections, stroking them together. Lesser’s hand is wrapped in turn around Panzram’s, and he writhes and moans, but it’s not enough, still not enough.
“Want you… inside me. Please…” Lesser whispers, but he doesn’t want to do this on his hands and knees, he wants to stay like this, just like this. Somehow, there must be a way. Lesser bends his legs up, and lets Panzram take the lead in showing him what to do, how to arrange his hands and his body. Then Panzram is entering him, hard and fast, and here, in this place, there is no pain at all, only the pleasure than he remembers, and Lesser shudders with the force and feel of it, urging him on.
“Carl…” he begs, “please, please…”
Now that proceedings are finally underway, Panzram looks down at Lesser one last time, before the black hood is pulled roughly over his face. Lesser will never forget the burning gaze of Panzram’s eyes, the way the cloth comes down in folds and hides them from view. Then the noose is draped almost tenderly around his neck, and Panzram sighs once, deeply.
The pace intensifies, and Lesser opens his eyes for a moment, wanting desperately to look into Panzram’s face, but the sensations are too intense, too overpowering, and he has to close them again. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he hears Panzram grunting and swearing, and in Lesser’s ears every curse is indistinguishable from the soft whisper of a romantic declaration.
Lesser will remember, later, how Panzram sang that little song on the gallows, almost as though he were simply soaking up the afternoon sunshine without a care in the world. Will see the hangman’s hand on the wooden lever, beginning to move it, and remember the fierce desire to scream blindly against it, or to run up the stairs and stay his hand by force. But he stays right where he is, silent, unmoving, and watches the lever fall.
Lesser feels it coming, and he wants the moment to last forever, but is powerless to stop it.
“Oh god, yes… oh, god…” The prayer is more fervent, more sincere, than any he has offered in recent years. He clutches at Panzram desperately as his orgasm consumes him.
Panzram continues to thrust, and his voice is low and hoarse. “Fuck, Henry, I’m gonna…”
Lesser hears him cry out, once, twice…
And then the terrible, terrible sound as the trapdoor opens, and Panzram falls to the end of the rope.
…and then suddenly, Panzram’s weight and warmth is gone. Lesser reaches out blindly for him, but his hands close on nothing. When he opens his eyes, Panzram is gone, as though he had never been. Even his discarded clothes have disappeared from the sand.
The body continues swinging side to side from the momentum of the fall, but there is no life left in it
Lesser sits up and looks around, but he already knows in his heart that even if he searches, he will find nothing.
It is finally over, and it’s still too soon for Lesser to know what to feel. All that he knows is that he wants nothing more than to be gone from this place for good. The double eagles weigh heavy in his pocket, and the sudden urge for oblivion in the form of hard liquor and drunken company is already pressing at him. He swallows once, convulsively, and then turns and walks away.
Lesser lies back down on the sand and stays there for a while, watching the world turn to full dark, not thinking, not feeling, not weeping. Finally, he pulls himself to his feet, not bothering to clothe himself again, and walks back down to the beach, under the thin light of the moon and stars. He sees no one, but the sight of the sea makes Lesser think of the story Panzram told him, about the women who spent the days in animal form, becoming human again only at night. What, then, he wonders, might have become of the men? He thinks, just maybe, the opposite might hold true. Perhaps they were human only during the day, and at night in turn they were likewise transformed.
He washes himself clean in the moonlit sea, and keeps a wistful watch for dolphins.
END
manip by
evila_elf