"You're an insensitive prick!" Shannie snapped.
"No one gives a fuck." Count answered.
Choosing not to double back through the tunnel, we followed the toe path along the river. A bluff rose high above the water. Crooked trees pockmarked the point's jagged face. Jutting from the woods, Indian point supervised the twists and turns of the meandering Schuylkill. Broken glass and trash branded the craggy surface like liver spots. In the distance, the double plume from the Limerick Nuclear plant lingered over the rolling hilltops. Jet's contrails crisscrossed the clear sky.
"That's a helluva fall," I stood on the edge looking at the crawling river.
"Tell me about it," Count nudged me forward. His quick execution of a full nelson kept me from falling. "Imagine being thrown over," he continued as he drug me from the edge. "Than you might know what that little girl felt like."
"What little girl?" I asked - my heart racing.
"The monumental one," Count answered.
Splayed across the rocks, soaking up the sun, Shannie spoke. "Translation from moron-ese: Dingleberry means she whom the monument honors. By the way, she wasn't little. She was eighteen-nineteen."
"She jump or something?" I asked.
"You could say that," Shannie said.
"She was thrown off!" Count said. "Murdered. Killed in cold blood."
"Who?" I repeated.
"Angel Wind!" Count answered.
"That's not her name. Jackass," Shannie sat up. "Geneva Galetto, Galatchi, Ga - something Italian. She was from Tunerville. Her family couldn't except that she killed herself and took their frustrations out on the world."
"You lost me," I said.
"She was raped!" Count declared.
Shannie ignored Count. "Her two brothers, biceps bigger than their brains, took matters into their own hands. Armed with baseball bats they killed thirteen people and blinded a fourteenth."
"Bullshit," Count argued.
"They set fire to the house to cover up their handy work."
"Bullshit," Count repeated.
"They got away with murder!" Shannie countered. "Thirteen times over!"
"More bullshit," Count insisted.
"Is it?" Shannie leapt to her feet. "Tell Russell it's bullshit, see what he says. You know better. He'd crack you with his cane. Go ahead, ask him. You don't have the balls! Think its Bullshit? Tell Russell it's bullshit!" The veins in Shannie's neck bulged; her face flamed. I stepped back. "I'll tell you what's bullshit," Shannie turned to the monument. "This is Bullshit!" She picked up the painted stones surrounding the monument and threw them into the river. I waited for Count to stop her. We watched the candles go over next. She was about to heave the white cross, the centerpiece of the monument, when Count decided enough was enough. He wrapped Shannie in a bear hug.