by Gail Dayton
They wouldn't stop. He wouldn't stop. Cries poured from her throat into Eli's mouth as her last tiny bits of control were stripped away. She was screaming when at last he shouted and convulsed along with her.
She didn't know how long it was before he collapsed on top of her, or when he reached up to turn off the lamp. She couldn't move. Couldn't think, couldn't talk, couldn't...just couldn't.
Eli curled up next to her, laid his head on her breast, his mouth mere fractions of an inch away from her nipple. "You okay?"
"Mmm." She found she could move her hand when it was moving to touch Eli. She stroked it over his shoulder.
"Does that mean yes?"
"Mm-hmm." She found one of the little scars and paused, covering it with her finger. "That never happened to me before."
"What? Coming the second I got inside you?"
"Um, well, that too." Her hand slid to the next scar, just under his shoulder blade. "But I meant--was that a multiple orgasm?"
"I wouldn't know." He straightened, putting his head on the pillow next to her, but it was too dark to see him in the shadows. "It never happened to me before either."
His change of position brought her hand around to his chest and she sought out the first scar there, high up in the hollow of his shoulder below his collarbone.
"Really? I thought you used to have sex with anything that moved." She found the next one half-hidden by his nipple ring.
"That's probably why. It was just sex. I usually tried to make sure she enjoyed it too, but I didn't really care."
Her hand started moving over, to the little scar nestled in the hair in the center of his breastbone. He brought his cast up, interposing it between her hand and his chest. "Marilyn, what are you doing?"
"Hmm?" What did he mean? "I'm not doing anything."
"Yes, you are. What--? Are you counting my scars?"
"Oh--" She pulled her hand back. She wasn't--was she? "I didn't realize. I wasn't counting them. Not consciously anyway. I was just...touching them. Wondering about them. I'm not--not kinky about scars or anything."
"They don't turn you off?" Eli caught her hand and tucked it under his cheek. Away from the scars. He didn't mind her touching them, but the way she was going from one to the other was a little unnerving.
"No." She stroked his cheek with her thumb. "I didn't really notice them till--well, until we started making love. Until I touched them. What happened? What are they? Did you get shot?"
"I've never been shot."
"Good. So how did you get them?"
Did he want to tell her? Could he tell her? She already knew more about his life on the streets than anyone else since he left it. One hell of a lot more than he wished she knew. Even Fitz didn't know so much. Not that he'd told her, but she saw it. She knew about Flash and Teresa. She saw Teresa. She met Detective Jackson. And she was still here, still letting him touch her, letting him make love to her.
"Don't tell me if you don't want to. It's not my business."
So maybe he wanted it to be her business. "I don't care if you know. Just--don't tell the world, okay?"
"You know I won't." She leaned forward and kissed him.
Eli breathed in her scent, tasted her in the back of his throat. It made it easier to remember the past was past. He was out of that place and would never, ever go back there. "When I lived in Pittsburgh before, there was a guy--he kind of ran things--a bunch of kids--in that part of town. He--uh--liked to..."
How could he put this so it wouldn't totally horrify her? He wasn't sure he could. "He smoked. And when he didn't have an ashtray handy--which was pretty much all the time--he'd hold us down and use us--the kids--as, um, his personal...ashtray."
"Oh my God, Eli--" Her arms went around him and she gathered him in, holding him tight. Anytime he got to be next to her, got to hold her, especially naked, he wasn't about to object, and yet...
"It was a long time ago." He didn't want pity from her.
"I don't care. Shut up and let me hold you. My God, you have eighteen of them. Eighteen times he-- Dear God in heaven, you're lucky to be alive."
"I thought you weren't counting." He didn't know how he felt about that. Weird mostly.
"I wasn't. I just...know. There's five on your chest and stomach, eight on your back, three on your arms, one on your leg and one more on your hip. You're my lover. I know your body."
That thought he actually liked, that Marilyn was so familiar with his body she could name off his scars.
"I want to kill him, Eli," she went on. "I never thought I'd ever say anything like that, but I do. I want to hold him down and burn him eighteen times, and then I want to kill him."
"Relax." He couldn't help smiling as he kissed her eyelids, then her nose. "Damn, I didn't know you were so bloodthirsty."
"I'm not. Except when it comes to people hurting children. How old were you? Thirteen? Fourteen?"
"I was probably fifteen, the last time. It wasn't all at once. It took years to get all these. He quit doing me because I learned how to keep from reacting."
"I want him dead." The grim tone of her voice made him laugh and hug her tight. "Don't laugh. I mean it."
"I know you do. That's not why I'm laughing. You are so damn fierce." And all because somebody had hurt him back when he was a kid.
"Damn straight. Where is he? And don't lie because you think you have to protect me."
"He's in Shady Oaks Cemetery, Lot 517. Somebody beat you to him, ferocious woman of mine."
"He's already dead?"
"Afraid so."
"Well...good." She paused. "Was it that Fat Fred person Detective Jackson mentioned? The one he said was dead?"
"Yeah. That's the guy. Fat Fred Gardner."
"Gardner... As in Dwayne Gardner?"
Shit, he'd forgotten how quick she was. "Yeah. The Flashman is Fat Fred's bouncing baby boy. Now you know where he got all his mean."
"Why didn't the police do anything about him?"
"You know how it is, babe. They might know what he's doing, but unless somebody's willing to step up and talk, they can't prove shit. And everybody was too scared to talk."
"Even you?"
"Even me." He sighed. "It wasn't so much I cared what Fred would do to me. I didn't much, after the first year. But there were always other kids. Younger ones. Newer ones. I knew he'd hurt them to get to me. And I couldn't--I couldn't just not give a fuck what happened to them. I tried, but I couldn't."
Marilyn tucked his head back into her shoulder. "Of course you couldn't. You're a hero."
"Oh, yeah." He laughed at the stupid idea. "Some tough shit hero. Didn't dare talk back to the bad guy. Didn't save anybody. Not Teresa, not Dusty, not anybody." His failures haunted him.
"You saved Pete."
There was that.
"And you saved Eli."
He pulled back and peered through the dark at her, wishing he could see more. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness but he could still see only the shape of her face. Was she smiling? Frowning? Or did she have that dead serious expression that made his heart want to stop?
"I'm not so sure that counts," he said. "Saving Eli."
"Far as I'm concerned, it does. How could you have saved Pete if you hadn't got yourself out of there first?"
"I--you're right. I couldn't have done anything."
"And how would you have been able to save me?"
"You'd have been fine. Those kids were just wannabes--"
"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about this." She took his hand and put it over her heart. "You saved me from drowning in--in whatever was wrong with me."
"You didn't need me for that." He knew it for fact. "You were already taking steps, moving ahead. It wasn't anything to do with me."
She brought his hand back up to her mouth and kissed it. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm glad you saved Eli because I like having you around."
Did she? Honestly? "Long as you want me, I'm here."
She was asleep before
he finished the sentence. Multiple orgasms must tire a woman out. A satisfaction that was probably way too smug settled over Eli. He'd done that to her. For her. He'd have to do it again sometime. Often.
He put his arm around her and cuddled her close. God, he'd missed this. Holding her close as well as making love.
Love me, she'd said.
Marilyn meant Make love to me, of course. Eli knew that, knew she couldn't possibly in a million, billion years want him to actually love her. He didn't know how to do love. He knew all about sex, but he was a rank beginner when it came to just making love, much less actually loving somebody.
He loved Pete, but even then, he didn't know how to love him, how to show it. Loving your child was a lot different from loving a woman, being in love.
Oh God, and what had he said when she said that? When she said Love me? He'd said, I do.
He couldn't ask her about it, ask if she heard him. If he asked, it would blow the whole thing out of proportion, which he was probably doing anyway, worrying over it like this. It was just a slip of the tongue. Hers, then his. Nothing to get worked up about. She probably didn't notice.
He should let it drop, stop thinking about it. Except...
Didn't some famous shrink guy claim that a slip of the tongue like that revealed the truth? And if that was true, did it mean that he was actually in love with Marilyn even though he didn't know anything about love, had never loved a woman in his life and probably wasn't capable of it? And if that was true--which it wasn't--he really was up shit creek. Because she could never possibly in a million, billion years love him back, and he had promised he would stay.
Monday, Eli signed the partnership papers for Dicenzo's motorcycle and engine shop. He was officially a businessman.
Tuesday, he and Marilyn ran errands. They went to the doctor and got both his casts off. His arm and leg were majorly disgusting underneath. He made Marilyn take him back to the house so he could clean up before they went downtown to give those statements about Teresa's death. After, they made arrangements for Teresa's funeral on Thursday afternoon, late enough that Pete wouldn't miss any school.
Thursday was bitter cold, but the rain had stopped early enough the day before that the streets were dry. Besides him and Pete and Marilyn, the only other person at the cemetery was Jackson. Maybe he was hoping one of Flash's cronies would show up. Eli could have told him the chances on that--zip to nil.
Marilyn had offered to ask her minister to come say a word or offer a prayer, but Eli turned her down. Tee had never had much to do with God. So it was just the three of them. And Jackson, who didn't count. That meant it was up to Eli what happened here.
Before they got in the car to drive out to the cemetery, Marilyn had handed a rose to each of them. Eli wished he'd thought of it, but at least somebody did. He laid his half-frozen rose on the plain wooden casket and cleared his throat.
"We're here to say goodbye to Teresa Howell. The world wasn't too good to you, Tee. I hope things are better now." God, what else was there to say? He had to make this good for Pete. "We had us some good times, didn't we? You were a good friend. Almost never shut your door to me. Loaned me money when I needed it. Cleaned me up when I needed that. You were the best friend I had. I--" Oh God, Pete was crying. He had to wind this up fast. "I'm gonna miss you, Tee."
He stepped back and looked down at Pete who shook his head so hard he lost his balance. Eli caught him, but he pulled away. Feeling helpless, Eli looked at Marilyn, silently asking what to do next. Marilyn gave him a "how the hell do I know" look, then stepped up and laid her rose on the coffin.
"I never met you, Teresa," she said, "but I know you're a good person because good people care about you. You raised a wonderful son who loves you very much." She fell silent, long enough Eli thought she was done, then she spoke again. "Thank you for looking after Eli for me. I wish--I wish I could have said it in person, but...well, anyway, thanks."
Pete was still crying. Eli crouched beside him. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want."
"What if that's not her in there?" Pete whispered. "What if she's lost somewhere looking for me?"
"God, Pete--" Eli pulled his son into his arms, holding him tight. "I wish you were right, kid. I really do. But she's dead. That's her body in the coffin."
"Maybe we should look, just to make sure."
"Pete, I saw her after she died. They checked six different ways to be sure this is her. I'm sure it is. We don't need to look."
"You swear?" Pete wrapped his arms around Eli's neck.
"I swear. Cross my heart."
Pete sniffled. "You mashed my flower."
"Oh, hey--" Eli pulled back and looked at the rose crushed between them. "Sorry about that." He tried to fluff it up again.
"That's okay." Pete swiped the back of his hand across his nose. From the corner of his eye, Eli saw Marilyn wince and had to suppress a smile. "Mom won't care. She even liked smashed flowers. She told me."
But he didn't let go of Eli's neck. Staggering slightly--the casts had only been off two days and the kid was getting awfully big--Eli picked Pete up and carried him to the coffin. Pete set his flower on the lid.
"Bye, Mom," he said. "Eli's my dad. I'm gonna stay with him now." He swiped at his nose again. "I miss you. Bye."
Eli backed away and set Pete on the ground. "Man, you're getting too big for that. You're gonna have to start carrying me pretty soon."
"Nuh-uh." Pete denied it, smiling through his sniffling. His hand came up, heading for his nose again, and Marilyn caught it, using only her finger and thumb.
"Let me take care of that for you," she said, coming at him with a tissue produced from some magical place, like her purse.
"I can do it." Pete wrestled half a second for the tissue before she surrendered and gave it to him.
"Clean off your coat sleeve while you're at it, huh? I don't want you getting back in the car like that. Ick." Marilyn made a big show of being grossed out by his disgusting mess and actually got a laugh out of the little guy.
Eli smiled, watching them, until he felt Jackson approach.
"All healed up, I see," the detective said.
"Got the casts off anyway." Eli hunched into his coat, studying the other man while he talked. "Still not quite back to normal. Lost a lot of muscle. What's up? Why'd you come?"
"I try to pay my respects when I can." Jackson looked over at Pete and Marilyn. "That Teresa's boy?"
"Yeah. Mine and Tee's."
Jackson lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah?" Then he nodded. "Yeah. You two were pretty tight back then, now I think about it. Didn't think it went that direction, though."
Eli hunched deeper. "Neither one of us was very discriminating back then."
"So you and Ms. Ballard really are...?"
"None of your business," Eli snapped. "But for your information, no matter what you might have thought, I'm not gay. Never have been. Nothing against those who are. I'm just not."
Jackson's eyes went wide with shocked horror. "Fuck."
"No, thanks." The conversation made Eli uncomfortable. He wanted to get out of here, back to Marilyn's with Pete so he could pretend for a while that none of it ever happened. "That's not the only reason you came, just to pay your respects."
"Not entirely, no." Jackson cleared his throat. "I came to warn you."
"About what?" Eli got a really bad feeling about whatever the man was going to say.
"Dwayne Gardner got released from jail six days ago."
"What?" Eli refrained from grabbing Jackson by the throat by sheer force of will. "What the hell is going on? You swore to me he wouldn't make bail with a murder charge on him."
"It got screwed up all round. The DA's office somehow didn't get the charges filed on time and the jail got the paperwork late. When Flash's girlfriend posted the seven thousand cash bail for the narcotics and weapons charges, they cut him loose. Then, when the warrant for the murder charge finally went down, they shipped it back and said he wasn't th
ere."
"Fuck!" Eli spun in a circle looking for something to hit, but the only things close were Pete, Marilyn, Jackson, and Teresa's coffin, and he wasn't about to touch any of them. So he swore again. It didn't help much.
"I wanted to be sure you knew, 'cause when we took the Flashman in, it sure sounded like he had some serious hate thing going with you. What's the deal with that?"
Eli watched Marilyn walk with Pete to the car. She put him inside, bundled him up in the old quilt and hurried back. He wished she would stay there so she didn't have to hear this, but it was better she knew.
"Flash is out," he said when she reached them.
"I heard."
"What you didn't hear is that Flash wants payback on me. He's hated me since I beat the shit out of him once back when, but I'm pretty sure he thinks I killed his old man besides."
Marilyn opened her mouth, like she was going to ask if it was true, then she glanced at the detective and shut it again.
Jackson eyed him, speculation in his face. "I'm not going to ask if you did," he said, surprising Eli. "I remember how it was. I know what Fat Fred always did when his kids started growing, started to lose your cute. Started thinking about leaving. I saw how he beat the hell out of you.
"And I saw how you looked after the new kids. I knew he wouldn't run you off the way he did the ones before you who lived long enough to grow up. I know, if it was you, which I don't know it was, but if it was, it was pure self-defense. That's why I'm not asking. And I don't want you telling me nothing either."
Eli had to stare at his boots a minute before he could answer. "I appreciate your attitude."
"Just watch your back and look after that kid of yours." Jackson paused before walking away. "And try not to kill Flash, huh?"
"You got it." Eli took Marilyn's hand and hurried her back to the car.
Before he opened the door for her, she stopped him. "I'm glad he's dead," she said. "And I'm not asking either."
"That sounds like you think I did it."
"I don't care who did it. I'm glad he's dead and I know you're not a murderer. What else is there to know?"
Eli grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her. He couldn't help it. He'd never known someone like her could exist, could believe in him--Eli Court, street punk--that way.
