Free Collection by John Rector

Bible says not to hate people who do you wrong, and to love your neighbor.   I understand that.   The Bible also says an act of revenge is justified and not considered murder.   I understand that, too, but sometimes one thing the Bible says seems to go against another, and then I get confused.   When that happens, I try to find a middle ground and do what I think is right.
    I went back to the motel that night and waited in the lot next door.   I watched the girls move between the trucks, but I didn’t see Rochelle out there.   The light in Carl’s room was on, so I figured she was inside.   After a while I got out and took the tire iron from the back of my pick-up and headed over.
    The door to his room was locked, so I stepped back and kicked it, hard.   It exploded in, slamming against the wall.   Carl was on the green couch, his head leaned back, a bag of ice over his eye.   His pants were off and Rochelle was kneeling between his legs.   When he saw me he tried to stand, but I moved fast, catching him across the face with the tire iron.  
    Carl fell over the side of the couch, slumping against the wall.
    He didn’t move.
    I pulled the couch back and took the heavy rubber band from my pocket.
    “What the fuck are you doing?”   Rochelle reached for my arm.   “Leave him alone—”  
    I pulled away and slammed my elbow into her chest.   She made a low grunting sound and dropped, struggling for breath.
    Carl was on his side.   I kicked him onto his back, and he made a slow moaning sound.   I reached between his legs, wrapped the band around his balls, tight, then pulled the hunting knife from my boot.
    Rochelle tried to scream, but the sound was weak and painful.  
    I ignored her.
    Carl’s balls were turning a deep purple, like a small eggplant.  
    I opened the knife.
    He jumped when I cut.
    Rochelle screamed and staggered into the bathroom.   I heard the water run, and when she came back she had an armful of towels.
    I got out of her way.
    “You think you’re a real man?”   She looked up at me, showed her teeth.   “You’re not a real man.   You don’t know what it means to be a real man.”
      I waited in the doorway, watching her press the towels between his legs.   The faded green motel carpet grew dark under him.  
    “You’ll be just fine, sugar,” Rochelle was saying.   “You just rest now.”   She started humming a song to him that seemed familiar.   I thought it might’ve been Mockingbird, but it didn’t sound quite right.
    I listened for a moment, then said, “What’s that you’re singing?”
    She ignored me.   The towels between Carl’s legs were soaking through, dark and red, and her humming became closer to a low moan.   “Oh, sweet Christ,” she said, over and over.   “Oh, sweet fucking Christ.”
    There was a lot of blood, and I figured the band had come off.   With cattle, that usually meant trouble, but there wasn’t much you could do.   I watched them for a while, but it didn’t take too long until I’d had enough.   I walked out, leaving them alone.
    Once I was out the door, Rochelle yelled to me.   “You run away, Jack.   You just run.   You ain’t a real man.   You ain’t ever gonna be a real man, not ever!   You hear me?”
    I heard her, but then, halfway to my truck, the wind picked up and I didn’t hear her anymore.       
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Folded Blue
     
     
     
    H arry opened the door.  
    Jules stood on the porch holding a brown paper bag.   “Thought we could throw back a few.”   He looked past Harry into the dark apartment.   “You alone?”
    Harry nodded and stepped away from the door.
    Jules came inside and went straight for the kitchen.   “Mind if I put these in the fridge?”
    “Go ahead.”   Harry closed the door and walked back to the couch in the corner of the room.   The ashtray on the coffee table was full and overflowing.   “You bring any