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Strictly Business	By : Nastyzak Category: +G through L > Gravity Falls Views: 4073 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 7
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- 9
Strictly Business

1
In the Pines family, Mabel had always been the heavy sleeper. She had once snoozed through an earthquake that had been strong enough to crack the pavements, send clay tiles skittering off roofs, and set car alarms whooping all over Piedmont. And in the mornings, she was almost always the second twin to wake up. At that, she once walked into the bathroom while Dipper was peeing, passed him, dropped her sleep shirt and panties on the floor, and got into the shower.
Afterward when he demanded, “Why’d you do that, Sis?” she blinked at him.
She complained, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. The first thing I remember this morning was waking up in the shower, the way I always do.”
However, the sound of a moth fluttering past an open window could wake Dipper. His sleep was often intermittent and sometimes troubled. Unlike Mabel, he sometimes woke up from a nightmare about Bill Cipher with his heart pounding. And now . . ..
He had turned onto his left side, the way he usually slept, and when something woke him, for a moment he didn’t know where he was. Then it came back. Oh, right, Pacifica—
“Please,” she said in not a whisper but a voice so light it was almost as if she were thirty feet away. That was what had stirred him from sleep, her breathy voice.
“Huh?” He rolled over and felt his neck hairs bristling. Pacifica wasn’t lying down, but crouching or kneeling beside him, facing toward the foot of the bed.
“Mm,” she hummed.
He could barely make out her silhouette against the far wall. She was squirming? Nodding?
Cautiously, Dipper reached to the bedside table and felt until he touched his compact flashlight. He aimed it not at Pacifica, but at the floor, and switched it on.
The muted glow revealed her. She was kneeling. Her left hand, the one closest to Dipper, was in the air, moving as if she were—
Masturbating a guy. Stroking his dick. And her head bobbed not because she was nodding, but because her mouth was open and she was miming a blowjob. He could see, too, that her left hand was down the front of her pajama bottoms, and from the way she was thrusting her hips, he could guess where her fingers were.
She pulled away from the imaginary penis she was stroking and tilted her head back, She spoke again: “I missed you so, Eddie.”
Um. Well. Three in a bed and one wasn’t even there. You weren’t supposed to wake up a sleepwalker, but what did you do with a sleep fellatrix?
Dipper said, “Pacifica?”
“Shoot your seed in my mouth,” she said, and went back to bobbing her head, faster now, and making urgent little sounds.
Damn, Dipper thought, Eddie was a lucky guy. Whoever he was. He carefully sat up in bed and said more loudly, “Pacifica!”
He heard her gasp, and she jerked like a marionette on strings before gazing wildly around. Her blue eyes focused on him. “Dipper, what are you doing?”
He reached over and switched on the lamp. “I was just lying here asleep and you—uh.”
As though suddenly aware of what she’d been doing to herself, Pacifica yanked her right hand out of her pajamas. She frantically rubbed her mouth with her left palm. “I thought you’d put your—I mean you and I—I was suck—uh.” She jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. He heard her retching and went after her.
“You had a dream,” he said from the doorway.
She wasn’t vomiting, but her face was pale, her eyes huge. “It—it seemed so real, but you weren’t—uh, weren’t you. I mean you weren’t Dipper. I can still taste—uh.” She turned toward him and asked, “Am I going crazy?”
“There’s a ghost on the other side of the house,” he reminded her. “Calm down. Drink some water.”
She rinsed her mouth, spat, and drank. They went back to the bed. “You didn’t touch me?” she asked him as she pulled the covers up and clutched them tight against herself.
He got under the blanket. “I swear I didn’t.”
“Then how did my—how did I get so—” She broke off, blushing.
“If you mean excited, I think you were, you know, playing with yourself. Down there.”
“Oh. I didn’t mean to—uh. Well.” She rubbed her forehead. “God. I’ve never had a dream like that!”
“Sexy, you mean?”
She said quickly, “No! I’ve had, um. I didn’t mean I’ve never had an erotic dream, I’ve had those. But never one like this. Realistic, I mean. But not real. You were skinnier and had different hair and—it’s all mixed up.”
“Listen now, but don’t freak out,” Dipper said. “In the dream was my name Eddie?”
Pacifica twitched as if she had touched a hot electric wire. “Eddie! That was your—his—wait, Eddie? I don’t even know an Eddie. I mean, why does that name seem familiar?”
“Okay, I’m not sure,” Dipper said, “but I think a guy named Eddie plays into the ghost story. Maybe the ghost is Eddie.”
Pacifica shook her head. “No. What I saw crawling in the hall wasn’t a guy. It was a girl. Definitely. I mean, all covered with black goo, like oil or something, but I saw her tits and her ass.” She looked shocked. “Why am I using language like that?”
“You took a pill,” he reminded her. “That might make it hard to wake up.”
“I wasn’t myself, either,” she murmured. “In the dream. I was somebody else. But I was me, too. It was like, like I was riding along in my own head but she was in control.”
“Who?” he asked.
Pacifica covered her face with both hands. “I don’t know!”
He reached to hold her again. She gulped and then said, “Don’t take this wrong. Uh. Smell this.” She held two fingers of her right hand beneath his nose.
He caught the musky scent. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s you. Like I said, you had your hand inside your pajamas.”
“I was really rubbing myself off?” she asked, sniffing her fingers herself.
“Looked like it. And giving—uh, I mean performing oral sex on, I guess Eddie? You asked him to cum in your mouth.”
“Oh, my God!”
“You couldn’t help it. I think you’re right. The ghost somehow put that illusion in your head. It was a dream, but the ghost sent it.”
Pacifica jumped up, turned on her own lamp, and hurried into the bathroom. Dipper could just see her washing her hands. She came back, gave him a weak smile, and lay down again. “Let me process this.” After some time she groaned, “I am so messed up!”
“Want to talk about it?” he asked her.
“It’s past three in the morning,” she told him. “I just checked the time on my phone. Wow, nothing like that ever happened to me. Worse, now I can’t really remember much. It’s all fading away.”
“That happened to Mabel one time,” Dipper said. “When a ghost possessed her for a few minutes. Afterward she didn’t remember anything that happened. You’ll be all right. Try to get some sleep. I’ll check this part of the house tomorrow morning with the paranormality meters.”
She switched off her lamp. Ten minutes later, she asked, “Dipper?”
“Yes?”
“Did all that—hearing what I said and seeing me, you know—did, um, did you get hard?”
He took a moment. “No. Honestly, no. Ordinarily I would have, but I didn’t because I was afraid for you.”
Sounding almost disappointed, she asked, “Do you like me?”
“You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re rich, you’re sassy, so—yeah. I like you a lot.”
She sounded almost shy: “Would you kiss me?”
“Anything more than that?”
“No. We’d better not. Well, hold me while I sleep, that’s all. But I’m scared. I think I need a kiss and then, you know. Let me feel safe tonight. Back to business tomorrow.”
“Come here.”
“Oh, get under the covers with me! I want you to hold me.”
Dipper slipped beneath the covers. She moved against him, and he put his arms around her. Then she leaned in and he kissed her, not passionately. It was more like a fifteen-year-old’s first-date kiss than anything with heat. “I’m sorry I even got you into this,” she said.
“I’m not,” he told her. “It’s the kind of case I live for. And besides that—well, I really do like you a lot.”
“But not enough to take off those pants,” she said.
“Not when you’re still scared by the dream. It’s not the right time, that’s all. Business, remember.”
“Yeah. You’re right, bad idea right now. I just got so worked up. But after you take care of the ghost—maybe you and I?”
“Maybe. Let’s see how we both feel then,” he said.
“You dummy,” Pacifica murmured. “But okay. We’ll call this . . . unfinished business.”
Somewhere along about four he had to gently move away from her a little because his right arm was all pins and needles. She slept on. He got some sleep, too, and in the end they overslept, or at least he did. Usually he was up early, but that morning they both woke up at only a few minutes before nine.
“Don’t look at me, I’m horrible,” she said, turning away from him.
He reached for her chin and turned her face back toward him. “You,” he said, “are beautiful, even without makeup.” He kissed her again, gently.
She put her arm around his neck and sniffled a little. “I treat people horribly sometimes,” she said. “I try not to, but—Dipper, I’m so sorry I was mean to you and Mabel back when—”
“Apology already accepted,” he said firmly. “And if you want to hear it again, I’m sorry we called you bleached blonde and Valley girl and all that. For years now I’ve known you’re a good person and I like you and you appeal to me. Very strongly. And now we’d better get out of this bed before I get ideas.”
She was still weeping a bit, but she smiled. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. Let’s go look at the room.”
She in her pajamas and Dipper in his jeans and tee shirt walked down the hall. “Damn,” he said as they neared the haunted room.
Pacifica slipped her arm though his. “I told you. It’s always like that.”
Someone or something had closed the door. He checked and found it locked. No moans or howls came from behind it.
“Do you think you can really handle what’s in there?” Pacifica asked, standing a few steps away, her arms crossed.
“I think we can. You and I. The two of us.”
“All right. We’re safe in the daytime. Let’s meet in the kitchen and we’ll throw some breakfast together. You take your shower, in your room and I’ll go take mine. Unless--?”
“Unfinished business,” he said gently. “It’s a great temptation. Not a good idea to get involved intimately when we don’t know what this ghost can do. But if we banish this ghost and that offer stands—”
“Now you’ve got my hopes up,” she said, finally giving her pouty smile.
They had a simple breakfast of eggs and toast. Then Dipper broke out his meters and they unlocked the haunted room again. It was still cold. He told her, “The readings are higher than yesterday. A good bit higher. Something’s building up.” They left and re-locked the door. “Pacifica, do you mind if I take some readings from you?”
“Me?” she asked.
“You had that dream,” he reminded her. “Let’s see if there’s any detectable residue.”
She stood while he ran the scanner over her. “What does it say?”
He showed her. “This means that you sort of got touched by a ghost, I think,” he said. “It’s what Stanford calls an encounter artifact. Little higher than normal, nothing alarming. Now me.”
His readings were lower than hers. “It’s okay,” he told her. “It doesn’t mean you’re infected or anything. Just that you had a close encounter with something paranormal.”
They walked down the hall and the readings fell. In her bedroom, though, the meter ticked up a little more. “Something was in here with us last night,” he said. He switched off the meter and saw how Pacifica was hugging herself. “Why don’t we go into town for a while, just to get away from this environment? Is that all right with you?”
“No,” she said. “But I agree we should out of the house. Only—you’ll think this is silly.”
“No, I won’t.”
Pacifica said, “I’ll have to change clothes first. Dipper, if you’ll go with me, I want to find that spot in the woods. The grassy place.”
“Beside a pool and a creek,” he said. “Sure, if you want. Only can you find it?”
She frowned a little. “You know, yesterday I would have said no? But now—yes, I’m pretty sure.”
He said, “Then we’ll go as soon as you’re ready.”

2
The facts in the case of Lina Findlestone are somber enough. Within three days of, well, call it dealing with his granddaughter and her lover, Jeremiah Findlestone dispatched his son to assume a new management position far out of state. He kept his granddaughter naked and imprisoned in her bedroom. True to his word, he brought her one meal a day, scraps and leftovers, and for the first week only a pint of water each day.
At the end of that week, her eyelids were gummy and crusted and her lips dry and cracked. Grudgingly, Jeremiah said he would leave her a pitcher of water. He wanted her to suffer, not to die of dehydration. From then on she got about two and a half quarts of water each day. Her urine cleared from a deep orange to a clear straw-yellow.
The food, though, was never quite enough. There was always a big platter. One day it might hold a cold breast of chicken, a cup of beans or peas, and a cold potato, with perhaps one stale roll. The next it would be cold beef stew in a tin cup—he would give her nothing that she might be able to shatter and use the fragments as a weapon against him, or to slit her own wrists. With the stew he might add an ear of roasted corn and a withered, soft apple.
Lina tried to ration her one meal into at least two portions. She sometimes tried to save the larger part for night, for she often woke up with hunger griping her abdomen. She had no way to cover the food, though, and more than once a mouse had crept out from somewhere to try to steal from her. Lina was afraid of mice.
As she began her third week, Jeremiah brought her a present. She was so grateful that she sobbed. “This is a reward for your not covering yourself,” he said. “If you begin that again, I will take it away.”
It was a luxury, one that stores had first stocked less than a decade earlier. He gave her a roll of toilet paper. If she were careful, she could clean her fingers after eating with them. And of course she could use it as intended. He told her she would receive one roll a month—if she were good. That meant if she kept her eyes down, did not talk back, and made no effort to cover her breasts or her privates when he was in the room.
She no longer cared. Over time, on the restricted diet, Lina lost weight. Her breasts began to shrink, her ribs to show beneath the flesh. Hour after hour she had nothing to do but lie or sit on her bare mattress. When her time of month came on, she begged her grandfather to at least bring her strips of cloth. He refused. She used some of the paper as best she could, but still the mattress became stained.
During her waking hours she took to walking around and around the perimeter of the room, just to keep from losing the ability to walk at all. When her grandfather came to bring food and water, he always made her stand back from the door with her hands at her side so he could inspect her bare body.
Jeremiah did not allow her to bathe. She became miserably aware of her body odor. She begged for at least a basin of water and soap. Finally after perhaps three months, Jeremiah relented. “Not because you ask, whore. Because your stench turns my stomach.”
The water was cold, the soap not scented but the rough lye soap that the poor used. Her grandfather watched her. By then the season had turned, and Lina shivered as she sponged her body, used as little soap as possible, for it smelled like ammonia, and then with a threadbare washcloth rinsed herself off. Jeremiah allowed her to dry with a rough towel, one of those used in the stable on the horses. Then he would leave her miserably cold, always taking basin, soap, washcloth, and towel away with him.
The winter was worst. She was sure she would die of cold, if not freezing to death, then suffering from frostbite and gangrene. At last her grandfather brought her a horse blanket, harsh on her skin. It was rough and too heavy a fabric for her to tear. She thanked him humbly. He grabbed her chin and squeezed it hard. “This is not a garment. It is to keep you from freezing in the night. When I come into the room, you are not to drape it over you. You are to be naked, whore. After I leave, you can use the blanket. But the first time you try to tear it or misuse it, it will be taken away.”
Winter was so hard.
Lina lost track of the days. She asked timidly where her father and mother were. On that occasion, Jeremiah just stared at her, then walked out with her plate of food. She learned not to ask.
Now, some people would blame Abner and Louisa for abandoning their own daughter the way they did. Such people would not understand that Jeremiah kept them updated about Lina. In his own way.
He’d seen to it that Abner’s new position kept him desperately busy. Abner had to oversee a major network of railways, with too few employees to make it easy. In recompense, he received a handsome income. He and Louise also had to worry about Lina’s brother Manfred, who had not taken the move well and who was becoming a problem in school. His teachers called the boy stubborn, violent, and sometimes cruel. His parents said they did not know where he got such traits. At last they took him out of school and hired a tutor.
Jeremiah wrote to Abner once a week. Each letter would contain some reassurances: “Lina sends her love. She is still proving stubborn and rebellious. I am seeing to her instruction and have no doubt she will improve.” Or “Lina is in good health but fractious spirits. The best of teachers is seeing to her deportment. She asked to be remembered to you.”
In her cold room, Lina could not perceive the turning of the world from winter into spring. She steadily lost weight. She walked. She ate. The room seemed to fade around her.
Sometimes she had delusions. She often heard Eddie calling to her, but she could never see him. At other times she imagined she saw, even felt, a million horrid mice swarming the room, crawling over her, into her mouth, into her anus and vagina. More than once she fainted during such hallucinations.
Her nineteenth birthday passed without her knowing it. Her hair had grown matted and unkempt. By the end of her first year of imprisonment she no longer reliably recognized her grandfather. Some days she knew him, some days she just saw him as some old man who frightened her. She lost words and couldn’t remember “clothes” or “sky” or “river.”
She never forgot “Eddie.”
Months passed. Christmas of 1898 was bitterly cold. She did not receive another blanket, though, and spent whole days rolled up in the stiff and now filthy one her grandfather had allowed her.
Outside her room, out in the world, they rang in 1899. January passed into February. She developed a persistent cough.
On the last day of February, she couldn’t rise from her mattress. Her grandfather could hear her laboring to breathe, could see the flush of fever on her cheeks. He might have called in a doctor.
He did not.
At some time in the early morning hours of March 5, 1899, Lina Findlestone, age 20, died of pneumonia.
Jeremiah found her lifeless and already stiff when he came to bring her water and food.
Well. She wouldn’t need the blanket any longer.
That day, a Sunday, Jeremiah wrote to his son and daughter-in-law.
“It will grieve you to learn that Lina contracted a lung disorder that no physician could heal. She died quietly this morning. I will see to her funeral. She was beginning to improve in her morals, and I am certain that her last thoughts were of you, her parents. Console yourself in knowing she has gone to a better place.”
The last sentence was certainly true. Anywhere was better than that room. Only she hadn’t left, or rather the essence of her had not.
As for her Earthly part, well.
Some distance off from the barn was the old hog lot. Jeremiah had not raised hogs for years. They stank and were an annoyance to care for and if he wanted pork, it was cheap.
But years of their droppings and wallowing had left he ground there soft, even when frost hardened the earth. Jeremiah brusquely ordered Ebenezer to dig a grave suitable for a full-grown hog. The old man explained, “One of my neighbors had to slaughter a boar that came down with hog cholera. He doesn’t wish to expose his other swine, and since we no longer use the lot, I agreed to let him bury the animal here.”
The next day he released all the servants for a holiday, telling them to go into town and enjoy themselves, but to return no later than ten that evening, knowing they would push that to midnight. He saw to it that Sarah, his wife, began drinking in midmorning. By twilight she had passed out.
He tolled Lina’s body, now limp again in the blanket and then with a huge needle and heavy quilting thread, he lashed the blanket and her into an old sheet. She was quite light to carry—only 88 pounds by then. But he dragged the bundle down the stairs, letting the head bounce. Except for his all but comatose wife, the house was empty and no one would hear. Lina wouldn’t feel it.
At the bottom of the stairs he lifted the body and carried it outside and a hundred yards to the grave his stable man had dug. It was not regulation, but five feet was plenty deep enough for her. He did not lower, but tossed his bundle into it.
Then he shoveled the mound of cold, mucky dirt back into the earth.
He had anticipated Lina’s likely death about a week before, and in preparation had bought five pounds of the hottest red pepper the general store could offer. In the top layer of the grave, the last three inches or so of earth, he scattered the pepper. That would prevent scavengers from digging it up.
When he finished, he tamped down the ground. It seemed to him that some final words were due to Lina.
“Now,” he said to his granddaughter, “you are in hell, whore.”
He scarcely thought about her the next day, or the days after. Only after his memory had begun to fail did he sometimes catch himself putting food on a tin plate, out of old habit. Then he would remember she was no longer in the upstairs room. He became quite angry at such times.
“Damn her,” he would say. That was her only valediction.
- 7
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- 9
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Strictly Business