by Brook Wilder
“No. I just don’t have a lot of things.”
“Hm…”
Deciding to keep the attention less focused on my lack of things and ignoring Dominic’s very imposing presence in my otherwise unimposing abode, I figure it’s time to get down to what we came here to do.
“Give me a second. I have some things we need to go over.”
I’ve kept the articles I printed, as well as some extras I found while combing through more of our archives, in my bedroom. I bring them all out to share with Dominic, as well as tell him the other piece of the puzzle that he’s obviously been missing.
“Alright. Just so we’re on the same page… Do you know that Lyle’s investigating you not only because of Beth’s murder, but for other disappearances as well?”
I watch his face glimmer from base curiosity to abject confusion in a mere second.
“Disappearances?”
Dominic seems honestly confused. Is this news to him? I decide to explain the string of disappearances that have been happening all along the routes he’s been touring. The strange coincidence in the age and appearance of the women in relation to Beth. How Lyle seems to think Beth’s disappearance is tied to the women on his routes.
I tell him this, to see how he reacts. To watch him. To see… to see if there’s even a little bit of guilt in him.
Dominic listens, silent. I think he might be in shock by the time I’m done. I think I might have broken him.
“Dominic?”
He laughs, bitterly. Hand through his hair, he begins to pace. I watch him, back and forth, back and forth.
“That son of a bitch…”
Dominic is a bit out of sorts, and I want to help him. I just don’t know how.
“Dominic?”
“I told you, call me ‘Dom’.”
“Dom. Sit down. Please?”
My plea pauses his pacing, and he looks over to me. There’s an anguish in his face that pains even me, but he sits down across from me on my floor, the coffee table and all the articles that I pulled from the archives between us.
“I know this has to be a bit shocking,” I say. “But you want the truth. I want the truth. We can help each other. Now,” I level a look at him, curious, “can I ask you something?”
“You just did, didn’t you?” His lips quirk.
“Well, yes. But… In all these articles, you’re very adamant that something bad happened to Beth. But… well, if you had that letter this whole time, it’s pretty open and shut, isn’t it?”
Dominic frowns.
“Yeah… yeah, in hindsight it is, isn’t it?” He sighs. “When Beth left, we were already going through a patch. She was wanting to branch out. I was getting to the point I wanted to start a family. We were young, sure. But we were in love. Family seemed like the next step. We were already living together, you know? We weren’t fighting every day. We still loved each other. But something was changing.
“I told myself that we would see each other through this. That it wouldn’t be the end. I convinced myself that the note was a fake, that Beth wouldn’t leave me. I refused to accept that Beth had made the choice we should have made together, without me. I insisted on trying to find her, just so that I wouldn’t have to face the fact that the woman that I loved didn’t want me anymore. You can’t know how completely shit that feels.”
He’s right. I don’t. Someone dying is a lot different from a person voluntarily leaving on their own accord.
“Is that why you didn’t show it to the police?” I question.
“Yeah. I figured if I pretended like it didn’t exist, it’d stop being true. Maybe I should have turned it in back then, now with Lyle on my ass. I didn’t even realize women were disappearing. If I had, I would have been doing something before this. But the fact they all look like Beth…”
“There’s only two options. Someone’s framing you, or you’re responsible,” I finish.
Dominic laughs.
“You know, if it’s the second one, you’re not very smart, letting me into your house like this.”
“I have my reservations, but I wanted to give you a chance.”
“Why?”
I don’t answer right away. I avert my eyes, contemplating.
“Because my brother trusts you,” I say finally. “And I trust my brother. I know what it’s like to be hurt by the forces that run Tomahawk; I don’t want more people hurt. There’s already been too much that’s gone on between Grizzlies and Vipers, and it’s doing no one any good to have it escalate. If I can help you, then I think that’s a good reason to have a little faith. Even if it’s a little stupid, and believe me, I acknowledge that it’s stupid.”
“Hey. At least you’re honest.”
“I try to be.”
“I wish more people were like that. Maybe if they were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I wouldn’t be wondering if I was right about my ex-girlfriend leaving, or if she’s a part of some sick plan by a shit-ass state police officer.”
Without thinking, I reach across the table and take his hand.
“We’ll figure it out, Dominic.”
“‘Dom’.”
I smile. “Right… Dom.”
***
Dominic and I comb through the articles. For me, it’s the third, fourth time that I’ve done this. About an hour into our musings, Dominic proves to me why it’s always good to have a second pair of eyes around when looking for more information.
“Wait! This.”
He slides one of the stapled articles over to me, his finger pointing to a specific paragraph. I read it.
In an interview conducted on Friday with Officer Lyle Johnson, he gave the following statement:
“In keeping with our search, we would like to remind the public about key identifying factors when looking for Beth Roberts. She’s five foot three, brunette, blue eyes. She’s slight in frame and often wears her hair back in a braid. On her hip she has a tattoo of a butterfly, and a scar on her lower back in the shape of a sickle…”
I look up to Dominic.
“What about it?”
“That tattoo? The scar? Beth never showed those off,” Dominic said, pulling the article away.
“The tattoo was a secret; she got it while drunk once, it was awful. She was saving up for getting it fixed before she disappeared. As for the sickle scar, it was something that she didn’t like sharing with people—anyone. Even when we were dating, it took a long time before we got handsy with each other, if you get my meaning. Only someone that’s seen her naked would know about those; Beth didn’t show them off.”
I blink. I hadn’t even thought that those details would be details someone only Dominic would know about Beth.
“You never told them about those markings at all?”
Dominic shakes his head.
“Never.”
A tattoo and scar only Dominic could know about? Lyle somehow knowing them? Could mean a couple things.
“Dom, do you think that she and Lyle…?”
His face darkens. “Never! I mean… well, fuck, I never thought she’d leave either.”
“Lyle’s very charismatic when he wants to be. If this is a part of some conspiracy to blackmail you… Maybe she did leave. Maybe she left because of Lyle? Some secret affair?”
“Or he hurt her.”
“Would you really want that?”
“It’s not about wanting, Amy. It’s about what’s more likely. Fuck, I need a drink.”
It’s barely into the evening, but I can’t really blame Dominic for feeling the burn-off of all this sleuthing. It’s got to be hard stuff for him.
“How about we take a break? I’ll bring us drinks.”
I stand after getting our articles back into a neat pile. A drink sounds good, for us both. All of this is drudging up the depressing fact that something sinister is going on in Tomahawk and the surrounding area, that nothing is really how it should be.
Coming back, two opened beers in hand, I plop
down beside Dominic.
“Cheers.”
He tips his beer to mine, clinking the rims together.
“Cheers.”
We sip in silence, and I think for the first time how funny the situation is, subjectively. A librarian and a biker boy, hunting down clues like it’s a Scooby-Doo special,
“That’s a good look on you,” Dominic comments.
“Hm?” I look over to him. “What do you mean?”
“That smile. You’re always so serious.”
“I was just thinking how it’s kind of funny that we’re working together,” I say. “You know… We’re basically opposites coming together for a common cause.”
“Heh. Yeah, I like that.”
He’s happy when he says it, and it warms me deep in my stomach. I brush off the feeling, owing it to the alcohol that I’ve barely finished.
“Do you want to stay over?” I ask him. “We can keep looking after the break, and then you can stay so we can continue tomorrow and plan from there? It’d also… it’d also give me some piece of mind. I don’t know if Lyle will want to show up out of the blue or not after that display at the library…”
I don’t know where the question’s come from; I feel more comfortable with him, though. I think it’s because of what he said about Beth. The authenticity, at least, of how he felt about her, his worry, his belief that something happened, and his desire to know the truth now and get to the bottom of the missing women.
His answer comes, quicker than I expect.
“Of course.”
Chapter Six
Dom
“And then? Then James climbs up on the bar, and he starts dancing, wiggling his hips around!”
Tears of laughter stream down my face, my butt bursting as Amy giggles drunkenly beside me. I’m telling her about the party James and I became friends at. Seemed like a long ass time ago, but, damn, it was a good time in-fucking-deed. We’re nowhere near sticking to the ‘getting back to the searching’ plan. We’re just getting drunk.
“I can’t imagine James stripping in the bar!” she wheezes. “No way.”
“He totally did. He was so smashed. I swear, I’ve never seen him so completely plastered.”
“He’s so tame now.”
“Yeah, well… until he and Lena cut loose on each other.”
Amy snorts cutely.
“I do not need to have that image in my head.”
This is nice. I like this. For the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel like there’s something looming over me, and I hadn’t even realized the feeling was there until I got this down time with Amy. Yeah, there’s shit going on. Yeah, I’m going to be working for a while to get this shit fixed. But the alcohol soaks in my brain and numbs the conflict in my head.
It feels normal, being like this with Amy. For the time being, I don’t question it.
“And what about you, Dom?” she slurs out. “Do you have any stripping stories to tell?”
“Ha! Nah. I’m tame compared to James.”
“Something tells me that’s not true.”
“Oh?” I wiggle my brows at her. “Should I be doing something crazy? Like this.”
I lean forward, kissing her. It’s simple, just a press, just a tease. I don’t expect her to return it.
She does.
A soft little moan leaves her, and she shudders, pressing into me. It surprises me, this sudden and open reciprocation, but I’m not sober enough to pull away. She’s soft and alcohol warm, and I wrap my arms around her, keeping her close.
She’s the softest, sweetest thing that I’ve ever held in my arms in my life.
After a moment, she pulls away.
“I—I’m sorry,” she says. Her skin is flushed beautifully. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s fine.” It’s not. “I kissed you first. I should apologize…”
“No, no, it’s…”
“The alcohol.”
“Yeah.”
My head buzzes. It’s the alcohol, it’s the alcohol. The thought flutters drunkenly through my head. I stand up, swaying.
“How ‘bout… How ‘bout I take a shower?”
It’s honestly the last thing I want to do, but I’m going to do it anyway. Smart choices. Or something.
Amy blinks up at me. She seems to be figuring out what’s going on, her brain catching up from the kiss. I try to see the disappointment in her eyes, the longing that’s there. I tell myself it’s only my imagination, an imagination that suddenly remembers that it’s been months since I’ve touched a woman.
My cock stirs as I follow a drunkenly swaying Amy. Her backside moves hypnotically with her steps, even as she stumbles a little against the wall. I catch her, and her scent wafts up, sending my mind haywire as I picture myself burying my hands in her hair and pulling.
“The—hic—bathroom,” she slurs lightly, gesturing. “There’s towels and washcloths in the bathroom.”
I want to take her in with me. Strip her. Act on the crackling energy all around us. By some fucking miracle stroke, I slip past her not so much as touching her.
I’m alone, in the bathroom, cock throbbing in my jeans. Has it just been too long since I had company, or is Amy just having an effect on me? I decide for my own sake to strip quick, turn the water on high and step in. The water should sooth, but it doesn’t. All I can do now is stand beneath the hard pressure of the water with it at my back. I warm wonderfully, and as my mind wonders so does my hand, wrapping around my rock-hard cock.
Fuck. That’s good. So good. I squeeze, giving a nice long stroke from base to tip, grip sure around my length. It twitches in my hand and I brace myself against the shower with my other hand as my steady strokes spark pleasure along my spine. It’s a relief to a dormant ache that leaves me craving more and more with every passing second, and I’m grateful that my shower drowns my moans as they get that much louder.
Harder. Faster. My fist pumps as I bring myself closer and closer to the brink, until I’m hunched over, groaning, the thought of Amy trailing the ribbons of cum that splash along the back of her bathroom tub. My whole body’s a shuddering mess, my cock still convulsing in my hold even as it softens.
“Fuck… fuck…”
Nothing like a good, quick orgasm to sober you up. Clarity brings realization I’ve just jerked it thinking about one of my best friends’ sister.
Well. If I’m going to hell, might as well make it entertaining.
I’ve had enough fun for the night. I clean my mess and get out to dry. I slip my boxers back on, not having enough today to feel weird about it. When I trek back outside, it’s quiet.
“Amy?”
I get no answer and start to look around for her. When I find her, she’s in the bedroom toward the end of the hall. Face down, cozied up on one of the pillows, she shifts and snores. Cute thing; she drank herself to sleep.
Being respectful, I close the door on her and go to the couch. We’ll unpack all this in the morning.
Chapter Seven
Dom
I wake up with a splitting headache and a half naked man lounged on my couch.
Last night isn’t a blur. I remember it vividly. The research. The drinking. That kiss and how happy I would have been to have seen it go further than it did. I know that I shouldn’t have kissed Dominic, but he’d been so warm and so inviting and I just… I melted.
Looking at him now as he lounged on the couch, one arm over his eyes to shield the sun coming in from the window, he’s cute. Beyond cute. There is a peace on his face that’s compelling. I know I’m playing with fire, but I wish in my new and sober state that I’d let him continue.
What would it have been like? Going further? Letting him touch me?
Bad choice you shouldn’t make. Remember what happened with Lyle?
Dominic isn’t like Lyle, though. At least a decent part of me knows that. So, I leave Dominic on the couch to go to the kitchen and start up some breakfast. Eggs, bacon, pancakes… saus
age, too?
Sausage too. Sounds like a good, hearty combination for a man Dominic’s size.
I don’t have a lot of food, living by myself. But there’s enough. I can whip up some pancakes from scratch on top of fried eggs and meat. I even pull out some fresh fruit to even things out a little.
Getting into the groove of things is easy. Bacon and sausage fried, eggs in the grease, pancakes flipped and cooked in a separate pan. The kitchen slowly fills with the savory scents of cooking breakfast, nice and fatty and sure to be filling once it’s done. It feels good to be back in the kitchen, cooking for someone that isn’t myself. It has me humming a tune that doesn’t exist, swaying from side to side as I flip over some crackling, savory pieces of bacon.
