“I’ll see what I can come up with over the next day or so, and swing by your place with any information I find. If there’s something major, I’ll contact you even sooner.”
“Sounds good. Thank you so much, Detective Stiltson.”
“John.”
“John. You made my day.”
He felt warmth inside of him from her statement. “You’re welcome. Just try to relax the best you can.”
“I will. I took a couple of personal days off from the hospital. Oh, wait, how will you know how to find me?”
“It’s my job.”
They shared a laugh then said their good-byes. He listened as she fumbled around, whisking noises fluffed in his ear while she adjusted herself. Finally, he heard a click and her end disconnected. He pictured her lying on her side, either in bed or on a couch.
Poor thing.
He should probably feel some kind of extra burden had been put on his shoulders, but he didn’t. He felt good. Like a hero, a knight. He smiled at the thought.
John Stiltson, the hero. He liked how that sounded.
Lying in bed, Sam decided the talk with Detective Stiltson—John—had probably been a good decision. She’d been worrying herself all morning about calling him, but now that it was over, she felt a little better. Her chest still hurt, though. Most of the night had been spent crying, and what little sleep she’d managed to get had been plagued with nightmares. But this time they hadn’t been of discovering David in a bathtub of blood like normal. These were different. She could barely remember the details, but the gist of their message remained clear.
Something was going to happen.
That’s silly, she thought. Can’t believe I’m letting these nightmares bother me so much.
But she wasn’t genuinely convinced that was all they were. They were bright with sightless light, only a wraithlike voice protruding through. Whoever it was had scared her enough to wake her up screaming, with sweat soaking her sheets and sheathing her body like plastic wrap.
It had warned her about something. She’d seen an image of red. Something was soaked in it. Shattered, and cracked all over.
Blood?
The blur of her memory was fading faster into nothing. All she knew for a fact was that when she woke, she needed to call John Stiltson right away. Somehow, she knew he would be the one who could help her. But when she finally reached him on the phone, she had no clue what to tell him. She couldn’t just tell him about the dreams and expect him to go right along with it. So she’d told him about David, because he was a massive part of this, but she didn’t know why.
She was just thankful she’d reached John. It was as if he were meant to answer. Like the cards had fallen into place.
Nothing was meant to happen, she told herself. I just got lucky. Plus, why wouldn’t he have answered? It was his fucking extension that I dialed.
Fine. But the vision?
Nightmare, not vision.
If it were so significant, then why couldn’t she remember it? And it was not a glimpse into the future by any means, so she needed to get that idea out of her head. She hadn’t suddenly become psychic or a medium. She’d eaten too close to bedtime and paid for it with nasty dreams.
She leaned back on the bed, her body going limp as it sank down into the suppleness of the mattress. It seemed to engulf her fatigued body. She wanted to sleep, catch up on the hours she’d lost last night, but was afraid of doing so. Afraid the nightmares would come back.
Stop!
Speaking in a gypsy accent, she said, “I vant to read your palm…” She laughed. It was a terrible impression. “I sleep now.”
Tugging the blankets out from under her naked skin, she wrapped them around her body and rolled over, tucking them tightly under her side. Sleep came very fast.
Chapter Fourteen
After breakfast, David cleaned. And not just tidied, he thoroughly cleaned. With this sudden resurgence of energy, he wanted to use it for something practical. He’d started with that damn chair he’d been neglecting. By the time he was finished, you could actually sit on it again. But it did depress him having to throw away a whole bag of Twix bars.
He pulled out his laundry basket and made frequent trips to the basement to wash clothes. Times like these made him thankful he lived in a place with unlimited use of the washer and dryer.
While the clothes were washing, he returned upstairs and mopped the kitchen. He spent extra time getting the corners, and under the grill at the bottom of the fridge. It was really bad under there, caked in a black crud that took several attempts to finally get it clean. Then he mopped. When he was done, the floor seemed to blaze under the kitchen light.
After the kitchen, he tackled his bedroom, throwing away a lot of useless junk he no longer needed. He was reinventing himself; he recognized this to be a good thing.
He took the angel board and placed it on his nightstand. He moved his alarm clock to the headboard to allow plenty of room. That way, the board would be the last thing he saw before going to bed, and the first he saw upon awakening. It looked to have faded even more during the night. From bright purple and pink, it was now a bleakish gray.
He felt that wonderful tingling in his chest, warming him, traveling down into his stomach. She was saying hello, telling him she was there. Even though he doubted he’d ever need to use the board again to communicate with her, he wanted it nearby just in case. With her resting inside him, he moved on to his closet and emptied it of old clothes. He filled large, black, lawn and leaf bags full of his wardrobe. He’d take them to Goodwill tomorrow. Someone else could use these clothes, and he was happy to give them to whoever might need them.
Now that he was done with that, he checked the clock. The clothes washing downstairs were probably on their last cycle. He’d leave them there for now. What he wanted was a shower.
A long, hot shower.
After grabbing fresh clothes and a clean pair of boxers, David marched into the bathroom. He shut the door and locked it. There was something about being alone while taking a shower, the vulnerability. He didn’t like knowing someone could sneak up on him while his head was under the water, the shower deafening him. An intruder could pounce on him, and he’d never know until it was too late.
Since his incident back in October, he’d replaced the shower curtain and painted the walls to cover the blood spatter. It no longer resembled a tenebrous entrapment like before. He’d painted it in greens and purples. Every inch of it was blinding. It had taken four coats, because his bloodstains kept seeping through. He couldn’t believe he’d bled that much and lived. There had been blood everywhere. Natasha had really worked hard to help him survive.
Closing the toilet seat, he set his change of clothes on top. He leaned into the tub and turned on the water. When it was hot enough, he popped the toggle. There was a slight wait before the water sprayed down. He undressed, stepped into the tub, and tugged the curtain shut behind him.
The water pounded down on him and felt wonderful. Burying his face in the blast, he let the steaming water massage his eyes. It soused him, matting down his hair. He lowered his head to let the water attack his neck. He thought back to the comment Natasha had made, about seeing him all the time.
Including in the shower.
He wondered if she were watching him right now. He felt nervous, yet hopeful, that she was. His penis tingled, started to grow. The possibility that her eyes were upon him sent a quivering sensation all over. David briefly considered covering himself while he showered, but decided against it. What would it matter? She’d probably seen him in this situation several times already.
He felt a fluttering inside. He was dizzy, light-headed. His body, no longer his, went weak under him. He leaned against the side tile, pressing against the cold surface of the shower wall.
He closed his eyes.
And saw Natasha.
She was in the bathroom with him now. Standing, her left leg be
nt, she glided her toes along the downy shin of her right leg. Her skin was white and creamy and milky. Almost translucent. Like a baby in the womb, there were fragments of her veins perceptible through her skin. She wasn’t whole. Generating. But she couldn’t keep herself from him. He wanted her, and she wanted to make him happy.
Her white gown hung loosely over her tight, curved body. It draped her like a loose blanket, barely covering her. The dark shapes of her nipples showed through the thin gown rigid and hard. Her upper chest and neck and shoulders were exposed. If she were to move her arms just a fraction, the gown would fall, granting David the sight of her naked flesh.
She twisted her lips, sheepishly smiling and adorable. Her dark as night hair draped her shoulders, hanging down to the small of her back. She knew what he wanted, could feel the yearning deep inside him, in parts of his soul that he never knew existed. She knew it was there, and could understand all his wants, his needs. She would grant them all. For she loved him beyond doubt.
She took a step forward.
The gown dropped to her feet. Her grayish wings expanded, nearly touching each wall. It felt good to flex them, for they had been folded under her gown, hidden. She was presenting herself to him. And he was accepting her. His sexual organ grew to an unyielding size and mass. He looked to be in pain from the swelling. She would ease that for him as well. He would ache no more.
David gaped at her, his eyes bulging. She ran her hands through her hair. It clasped around her fingers, light as air, soft as the clouds. She stood, letting him take it all in, posing for him. He felt the need to explode. He fought against it with all he had, hoping he could control himself.
She turned sideways, allowing him to ogle her in profile.
Every curve of her body was taut and athletic. He could see the pale side of her large breast. Her turgid nipple was purple against the paper-white shade of her skin. She sucked in her bottom lip and nibbled on it. Bashful…shy. He backed against the wall so hard it hurt, but was nothing compared to the pain he felt below the waist.
She faced him again and proceeded to walk forward, flinging her long hair out from her face. It bounced against her back with each marching step she took. Feathers fluttered down by her feet like flower petals during autumn. She was giving herself to him. Submitting. Enough of the teasing, it was time they were one. By flesh. She could wait no longer. Like the blood of Christ, she would course through his veins.
David watched in admiration and tranquility as she stepped into the tub. Her wings descended behind her back, the tips draping the mounds of her calves. It was odd how one moment she had been somewhere else entirely, and now was inside the shower. He couldn’t remember her coming to him, opening the curtain. It was as if she’d just emerged before his very eyes.
She came to him. He took her in his arms, and they caressed under the warmth of falling water. It began to soak her, plastering her hair back out of her face. It had made his chest ache just to look at her. But, feeling her, he thought he would die. She pressed harder against him, squashing her firm breasts against his torso. He held her tight, but she held him tighter.
They were all that remained in the world.
The bathroom was gone. So was the shower. Under Heaven’s pouring waterfall, they were all that existed. Gazing into each other’s eyes, beyond the scope of being, they explored eternally. David was trembling. Her high currents of passion were making him weak. She needed to hurry, for he wouldn’t last much longer.
She took a handful of his wetted hair, easing his head back to expose his neck. Burying her head in the nape, she kissed and licked, rolling her tongue over the tender tissue. Nibbled and sucked. He was convulsing—she feared that he might be dying—but that was not what made him tremble so. It was her. She needed him now, wanted him to have her. She found his lips, and they kissed.
He was no longer one with his own body but an onlooker outside and watching. Natasha placed her hands on his hips and guided him to a bed of flowers. All different colors, a rainbow of vegetation. She lay on her back, steering him down to her. He adjusted himself so that he was on top.
And she spread her legs, inviting him.
He positioned his organ at the entrance of her heated sex. It tapped the outer layer. She was so small. Afraid he would hurt her if he entered her, he didn’t want to try.
She squirmed against him. He was being cautious. He needed to be reassured. Lowering her hand to his pointing shaft, she wrapped her fingers around the length and gently tugged him closer. He gasped.
She was smooth, slippery, and wet.
She helped him. She knew what to do. She’d stood over his bed, watching him go inside other women. She would never forget the anger. The anger that he was with them and not her. It was envy. One of the deadliest of sins. But she had thought such feelings had been forbidden to her kind. Thanks to the one who had fallen, the angels were forever punished in that regard. But the circumstances had changed.
Those other women were gone, and she had him for herself.
Gently, he pushed into her. Taking it slow, she sheathed him as he went inside the tight, wet heat. He felt massive inside her, hot and swelling. She whimpered, gasped, and moaned. She was now the one that trembled. She dug her fingers into his back, pulling him farther. She shivered as he plunged deeper, taking him all the way inside.
They were connected before, but now they were complete. He began to thrust. With each motion she cried out, digging her heels into his thighs. They didn’t dare look away, keeping their eyes centered on each other.
David felt his release pulsating. He tensed up, every muscle tightening. Then, as climax took him, as he pumped inside her, he raised his head. Tears wetted his eyes and dripped down onto Natasha’s face, her chest. Using her hand, she smeared them over her snowy skin.
She held him, immobile and tight, listening to his fast breaths, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
Then he watched as her eyes changed from gray to brown.
David was back in the shower, alone. The heated water was now cool as it splashed him.
What happened? Where’d she go? This time he was certain she had been here. But again, the details were imprecise. He’d seen it all, felt it just as much, but couldn’t remember much of it. He could recall only glimpses.
Looking down at his penis, he found it softening, sleeked from her sweet juices. The familiar soreness told him that he’d ejaculated. He just wished he could remember more of it. Had it all been a dream? A fantasy so real that it caused this kind of reaction from him?
He used his toe to push down the toggle, killing the shower. Then he leaned over and turned off the faucet. He stood up straight and felt dizzy. Not bad, but enough that his vision altered, fuzzed. David felt extremely tired, but not nearly as bad as his other encounters.
Opening the curtain, he reached out and snagged a towel from the rack on the wall. He dried himself quickly and tied the towel around his waist. Had he washed? He couldn’t recall washing, but there wasn’t enough hot water left right now for it to matter.
He walked to the mirror, the floor cool under his feet. On his way, he checked the floor for feathers, but found none. His reflection was blocked by a sheet of steam on the glass. He wiped it away. Then recoiled at what he saw.
On his neck were two yellowish-purple bruises. A trail of darker splotches was encased by the larger, maiming marks. He turned on the light above the mirror, casting a soft glow that sparkled against the moisture on his skin. Tilting his head, he examined the strange markings closer.
Hickeys.
Two of them, half an inch apart, and on the inside were tiny indentions. Teeth marks. He’d been tagged. Labeled as hers, and she as his.
David rubbed a finger across the rough texture, wincing from the sharp bites of pain. “She really did a number on me.” A somber feeling came over him. A time would come when an ultimate decision would have to be made—a fork in the road that lead to two dif
ferent paths. He could choose only one.
The unexpected, thunderous pounding on the front door broke his concentration. He wondered who could be out there. He wasn’t expecting company. But from the constant banging—getting heavier with each blow—they weren’t going to leave without being seen.
Sighing, he shut off the lights and left the bathroom.
Chapter Fifteen
Amber pounded on the door. She was confident David was home. Being a hermit, her brother hardly ever went anywhere unless he absolutely had to. She heard some light scurrying inside. Footsteps trudging from one side of the room to the other. No doubt now that he was home, but she wondered if he were alone. She hadn’t noticed if Sam’s car was parked in the lot behind the building. But she hadn’t necessarily been looking for it, either. Now she wished she’d paid more attention on her way in.
Another second passed before she commenced assaulting his door once again. Amber heard a restrained creaking noise from behind her and whipped her head around to find that a neighbor from across the hall had opened their door just enough to poke their meddlesome nose out. A young man, probably twenty, watched her through narrow eyes and tight lips.
“What?” she shouted. “You got something to say, just bring it over, boy, and say it, I’m all ears!” She slapped her chest as the slurred words spat from her mouth. The neighbor, evidently wanting none, slammed the door. Immediately after, she heard the rapid turning and cackling of engaging locks. She snickered, enjoying the fact she’d terrified him.
Bringing her focus back to David’s door, she pressed an ear against the wood. The scurrying inside had stopped. If David was trying to really piss her off, he was succeeding. She clenched her hand into a fist and used it to hammer on the door. It quaked under each explosive hit.
Then came the rasping of footsteps. Faint at first, they grew louder as they approached the door. She glanced at her fist. It was red and bloated. It would probably bruise. There was no pain, but all the beer she’d been drinking today had more than likely numbed her. She’d feel it tomorrow for sure.
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