by Mary Jaine
I didn't know what to say, I was still almost in shock, but the good kind; Nicky's mum was being kind to me, and she'd let me into her family, Rick and me; this was how the world changed, a little at a time, but a profound change for me. I had to say something.
"Thank you...mum, I won't let you down, I promise!"
My new mother grinned at me, and squeezed my arm.
"OK, that's all settled, now let's have some lunch!"
*
Doctor Nixon and the girls never made it back for lunch, so the five of us made our way back up to my suite to wait for them. Mum (and I was still trying that word out for size!) looked through the photo album, her eyes brimming as she looked at pictures of the young Nicky the way she should be remembering him, anger sizzling in me that his childhood had been stolen from her. Her attention switched from the pictures of Nicky to those of Barbara, and a copy of the framed picture we had at home. Her eyes flicked from the photo to Rick and me and back again, comparing our features, obviously seeing our mother in us.
"She was beautiful..." she softly observed, and Nicky nodded slowly.
"Yes, she was, she was so beautiful..." he whispered, and my heart broke for him at the raw pain and loss still apparent in his eyes, his voice. Mum caught the look, the tremor in his voice, and pulled him closer.
"Don't worry, baby, we'll fix this; all my boys are here, together they'll fix this once and for all, just have faith, baby, that's what your dad's always telling you, trust the system, it usually works!"
Ashley stood behind his chair and hugged him, her lips level with his ear.
"Mom's right, baby, let the law take care of that lunatic. He's already been kennelled, maybe this time we've got enough to drag him in front of a judge and drive home that he never got away with anything. You said it once, baby; 'the mills of God grind slowly', let them grind him fine and scatter the pieces, and that will be an end to it. Last time was payback, now perhaps we'll see some real justice."
*
It was late afternoon before the girls and Nick's step-father arrived back at the suite. They were cautiously optimistic, especially since one of the FBI's legal experts had gone over the document, and taken fresh statements from both girls. In his opinion, Barbara's alleged murder was connected to the crimes my father had already been convicted of, committed in order to prevent her reporting him to the authorities. With new evidence now come to light, and with the Justice Department agreeing that the affidavit amounted to a "Dying Declaration" made by Shari's mother, the State Department was considering requesting that the UK Home Office either provide a complete forensic report of the investigation into her death and any DNA results obtained from the "suicide" scene, together with the post-mortem examination report, or turn over all remaining physical evidence to the Federal Prosecutor's office for them to start their own investigation.
That evening, we held a family meeting, to decide our next step. The girls wanted to spend a little time with Nicky and his family. Rick and I were feeling something similar; I'd never bothered to get close to Nicky; the most I'd ever felt for him was resentment that he had Barbara, and that he seemed perfectly happy to have her and not us. Now, however, I was feeling a deep and inexplicable need to be near him, to reconnect with him, almost the way I'd felt when Rick had come home.
Also, I was enjoying having a mum; I was still feeling the wonder of saying that word, a word that had never fallen from my mouth my entire life before this day. Nicky's mother had made us part of her family, and I wanted to keep feeling that feeling a little longer. The girls were obviously in love with Nicky's step-dad; the only father they'd known had been a violent psychopath; now they were experiencing what a real father felt like, and they were understandably reluctant to let that go.
Nicky had invited us to stay with him and Ashley in their home, so the family could all be together; his mum (our mum!) lived a few minutes' drive from his home; we had no pressing business back in Carlisle, no jobs to return to, and abundant funds, so we'd accepted.
Once Shari and I were alone, she began to cry, the memory of the statement she'd had to make rising up and catching her unawares, things she'd forgotten or deliberately suppressed once again fresh and raw, and I had a desperate time calming her as the edge of hysteria cut across her again and again. Finally I managed to calm her, holding her close as she slept fitfully, eventually sinking into a deeper sleep.
I woke with a start; something had snapped me awake, and my hand automatically felt for Shari, but I was alone in the bed. I sat up, and dimly in the glow from the street lights far below, I saw her, wrapped in her favourite robe, sitting in a chair and looking at the Albany nightscape.
"I'm sorry baby, I didn't mean to disturb you..." she murmured, and I climbed out of bed and padded over to her.
"You didn't, I just missed you, that's all. What are you looking at?"
She motioned me down next to her and draped her legs over mine, plumping up a cushion as she leaned back.
"It's beautiful, isn't it? Look at all those lights. Somewhere down there, there are people trying their best to get justice for us. I'm glad I came, I'm glad the people who matter the most are helping us. Maybe they can really make a difference, maybe mummy, and Barbara, and poor Nicky will finally have some peace. I hope so. Take me back to bed, baby."
She swivelled her long legs off me, and as I stood, she grinned and held out her arms to me, so I picked her up and carried her back to our bed, setting her down gently and climbing up next to her. She smiled gently and pushed my hair out of my eyes and touched her forehead to mine, her eyes luminous in the dim glow from outside.
"Make love to me, Bobby, make babies in me. Nicky and Ashley are so happy, they have such a beautiful baby, that's all I want for us; to be that happy, with your baby growing inside me. I know Yaz feels the same way; she and Rick have been ready for a while now, and now coming here and meeting our family has finally made it all come together for both of us. I'm in love with you, I think I have been from the moment I met you, and I know you love me the same way; all I want is a life and family with you, so make me happy, Bobby, make a baby with me!"
My heart leaped as I listened to her, things I hadn't understood, or didn't know how to express, suddenly becoming clear as day; I wanted so much to have a family with this beautiful girl. I loved her so much it was a deep and abiding ache inside me, but a sweet and infinitely bearable ache, one I would gladly carry for all the days of my life. I wanted to make babies with her; I was ready to begin a family of my own, and to hear her say it unlocked all those things inside me.
Shari must have seen my thoughts and my resolution in my eyes, her smile telling me just how close and in-tune she really was with me. She sat and untied the sash of her brief robe, letting it fall away from her beautiful, lithe body. As always, the sight of her nakedness primed me as nothing else could, a fact she took note of as her small hand encircled my suddenly bone-hard cock.
"Are you really ready for this baby?" she whispered, and I replied with a soft barrage of kisses on her lips, her eyes, and her elegant neck. She pressed me back slightly as she looked deeply into my eyes.
"Tell me, baby, because this is my fertile time, and I've been off the pill for a while now, so you need to tell me now whether you're ready to go wherever this takes us!"
I squeezed her delightful little bum as I pulled her closer to me.
"Shari, all I want is to make babies with you, tonight; you're all I want, you're all I'll ever want, you, and our babies. I'm more than ready, I have been for a while now, I just never realised it until just now. I know I asked you before, but now I'm asking formally, the way I should have; will you marry me?"
Shari grinned and pecked me lightly on the lips.
"Of course I will, I've been waiting for you to ask me properly for ages! Now make me happy, Bobby, make love to me, make a baby in me!"
All the while we'd been speaking, she'd been gently pumping me, making my already painfully erect cock throb
even more urgently. As we kissed, she pulled me over her, her smooth thighs parting as I slid between them and positioned myself. Once more, she checked my eyes, then nodded as I slowly pushed forward, feeling the delicious wet heat and succulence, and hearing her gasp as I slid all the way into her, her hips coming up to meet mine as I pumped into her. Back and forth we went, our hips in perfect synchronization as we fucked, my cock never feeling so hard and rigid as it did right now. Faster and faster we went, faint gasps and soft moans escaping both of us as we approached our mutual climax, the agony of holding back as her pussy squeezed and massaged me matched by the love and intensity of our kisses as we held each other close while we coupled.
At last, it was too much; Shari gave a loud hissing moan as her pussy clamped down on me, holding me tight inside her. The pressure set me off, and I swear I felt my cock-head swell inside her as what felt like endless pulses of spunk jetted out of me and deep into her, bathing her womb and cervix in my seed. My eyesight dimmed and blurred with the intensity of my orgasm, and my ears popped, only distantly hearing Shari scream as her orgasm gathered and roared through her again at the feel of me pumping hot spunk into her fertile depths.
We made love three more times that night; I couldn't get enough of Shari, and she seemed to feel the same, and so we spent the remainder of the night enfolded and entwined with each other, unable to stop taking our pleasure of each other, the urge to make our baby overpowering and all-consuming. We finally fell asleep, exhausted, in the grey pre-dawn light, satisfied, sated, and hoping that we'd fulfilled our promise to each other.
*
The progress of the case was agonizingly slow; wheels turned within wheels as our two governments fought and argued and wrangled over the legal niceties; in effect, debating over the true meaning of a peach, until eventually we decided that we'd spent enough time lotus-eating, and it was time to get our own lives back on track. David promised to keep us updated, and Nicky and Ashley promised to come and see us soon, so, with much crying and hugging, we returned to England to wait for things to resolve themselves.
It took almost three months for the British Government to stop procrastinating and comply with the request made by the FBI. The Home Office pathologist's report into the post-mortem was incomprehensible, and, according to Doctor Nixon, so hopelessly botched that it provided no credible evidence one way or another. The photographs taken at the scene were something else; the bruises and cuts covering her body were apparent to all, yet had somehow completely failed to be mentioned in the Post-Mortem report. According to Mike Walker, the pathologist concerned had been suspended pending a competency hearing, and an investigation into his connection, if any, with Brian Davis.
Other things had also happened. Shari was pregnant, as was Yaz; suddenly our family was breaking out in babies, a new generation to teach about their grandmothers, and bring-up with all the love that had been missing from our lives.
Time dragged on, and just as we were beginning to doubt that anything could be done, the Cumbria Police Forensics Unit sent the evidence gathered from Barbara's supposed suicide. After a tense wait of almost two weeks, we got a call from Nicky, asking us to come home, the case had taken several turns in our favour, and we needed to be there, especially Yaz and Shari. We still had our visas, so it was a simple matter to get flights, and two days later we were meeting Special Agent Walker at his office in town.
When we'd assembled and taken our seats, Mike Walker began to speak.
"In my official capacity as Special Agent in charge of this case, to wit, the investigations into the death of Barbara Morrison Davis, I have to inform you that the Forensic DNA tests, using evidence provided by our police colleagues in England, have provided a positive and conclusive result. The rope that was allegedly used by Mrs. Davis to commit suicide has been found to contain epithelial cells of the person who knotted the rope. Those cells have been matched 99.9999%, with a sample taken from Brian Robert Davis. The laboratory has confirmed there is a probability of better than 1 billion to one against any other member of the human race having tied that rope and left those cells. Other physical evidence also points to a second party having first immobilised Mrs. Davis before knotting the rope in a manner intended to convey to others that she had in fact done it herself. We have therefore formally requested that the United States Department of Justice bring Brian Robert Davis to trial on charges of murder in the First Degree."
I realised I'd been holding my breath, only breathing out as I gradually comprehended what he was saying; they were putting that bastard back on trial, they were going to try him for murder!
Special Agent Walker wasn't finished.
"Ordinarily, a murder committed outside United States jurisdiction is considered a matter for the local authorities to deal with, but in this case a Federal judge has ruled that, since your mother was killed by Brian Davis in furtherance of his crimes against America, it would have formed part of the original indictment against him if the evidence had been made available at the time of his original trial. The British authorities have raised no objections, other than the usual, to him being tried under a Federal Indictment for First Degree murder in the commission of crimes against America. Without your help, we would never have been able to bring this about, thank you all for your invaluable help and assistance. The trial will be held as speedily as possible, but it won't be soon; the Federal courts have a long backlog of cases, but I will do my best to keep you updated as and when anything new comes up."
As it happens, that bastard never got to trial; a week later, on the advice of his attorney, he pleaded-out, admitting his guilt for a technical reduction of his sentence. We were in court to watch the bastard allocute to his crimes, listening as he described in sickening detail what he'd done to our mother, and why. Part of his plea-bargain was that he give explicit details, which he did, with no hint of emotion, no signs of remorse, nothing; he could have been reading a laundry-list for all the expression in his voice or on his face. The bastard never once looked at us as we sat there, all his children in a row, all of us there to watch his final downfall.
At the end of his speech, the Federal Prosecutor confirmed to the judge the terms of the deal that had been struck; that Brian Davis would receive a sentence of 30 years to life for the murder of Barbara Morrison Davis. The judge noted the plea for the court record, and then informed that ...creature that he would serve the term consecutively to his current sentence, ensuring that there was no possibility of him ever leaving prison alive. It was a fit sentence, and a victory for us; at last, justice had been done, that bastard had admitted in open court what he had done, and had been convicted and sentenced for his acts. Now our mother could rest, her "suicide" wiped from the record, and her last resting place could be blessed, something she would have wanted.
We filed out of court in silence; there was no rejoicing, this wasn't something to celebrate, but it was a day to remember; we had seen justice done, and I was content. We had seen and heard that bastard admit his guilt, and really speaking, I had no issues with the sentence; Brian Davis was in his late fifties, he still had almost 40 years to serve on his original sentence, with no possibility of parole, now he had an additional 30 years, sealing his fate, and he'd be doing it from a hole in the ground far from any contact with the rest of the human race. Time was going to drag heavily for him, perhaps he'd take that time and reflect on what he'd done, although that was probably not very likely; people like my father don't feel guilt; if they did, they wouldn't do the things they did. He'd taken a life, and caused the end of another, he'd ruined lives and almost destroyed his children, he'd hurt and damaged us, and caused unspeakable suffering. Now he'd waste his life away in a hole, a forgotten, pathetic relic of a time best forgotten too.
Nicky had been right, and so had Ashley; the mills of God had ground him fine, and found nothing worth saving; he had bought and paid for the fate that awaited him, and there was no-one left who could or would mourn him. I, however, was paradoxicall
y glad that New York had no death penalty; I didn't want his death on my conscience, or that of any other member of my family; that his crimes had condemned him to a tiny cubicle 80 feet underground for the rest of his life was entirely his own doing, and it was justice enough for me.
A month later, a Requiem Mass was said for my mother at our local catholic church in Carlisle, where the stigma of suicide was removed from her and she was rejoined with the Catholic Church.
Afterwards, a short, but profoundly moving service was held at her grave-side, where our mother's grave was formally consecrated in accordance with her beliefs, and the proper prayers of her faith said over her for the repose of her soul. All of the family was there to say goodbye to our mother, and pray for her to be at peace at last.
Poor Nicky is still at war with himself over her death, but I think the service gave him some of that peace and closure he so desperately needed, and he has Ashley to help him, and mum, and all of us who played their part in giving our mother peace at last.
*
Two years have passed since the events described above, two full, satisfying years. Shari and I have a little girl now, Ayesha, named after her mother, and the spitting image of Shari. Rick and Yasmin have a little boy named David. We also have another one on the way, as does Yaz, only both girls are having boys this time.
Nicky and Ashley spend several weeks a year with us, as do Judy and Leon; Shari and I feel very strongly that maintaining close family links is the most important thing we can do for our extended family, so every summer, Nicky, Ashley, little Barbara, and their youngest, Judy, the baby of the family, try and spend at least a couple of weeks in England, and we return the favour over Thanksgiving or the Christmas holidays. The house is always alive with conversation, and the sound of children playing, something I think Barbara would have appreciated.
I know she's still with us, though, and it's not just supposition; I know, believe me.
