Witch

by O'Rourke, Tim

  A well of heat spread out from my stomach, warming every part of me. The music continued to play in the background as my heartbeat sped up, my fingertips and toes tingling with growing pleasure. With the heat, wetness, and feeling of unimaginable pleasure growing deep within me and between my legs, it became so consuming, that I had to break our kiss. I buried my face in the pillow again as every muscle in my body locked tight. The feeling of sexual pleasure was like nothing I had felt before, and I tried to hold onto it for as long as I could, my skin feeling as if it had been set alight. Suddenly, my body gave way to a series of turbulent spasms which rippled throughout me.

  I screamed out, my back arching, drawing myself up onto my knees as I trembled and shook on all fours.

  “Vincent!” I cried out. “Please don’t stop.”

  With my body still reeling from the aftershock of the orgasm that I’d had, Vincent rolled me onto my back, and pushed himself into me.

  I cried out again, throwing my head back and arching my body so he could push himself deeper into me. Vincent groaned. Dropping onto his elbows, my legs locked around his back, he looked down into my face and said, “I never want this to end, Sydney. I want to stay locked inside of you forever.”

  Looking up into his face, I wanted to tell him I loved him, but that was just stupid, right? I couldn’t be in love with him. Wasn’t I just in love with what he was doing to me? The music filtered in from the other room.

  ...I want to know what love is...I want you to show me...the song played all around us like a wall of sound, shutting the rest of the world out. It felt like it was only us who were truly alive at that moment in time. I didn’t want to share it with anyone else other than Vincent.

  Maybe the intense feeling I was sharing with him was love? I’d certainly never felt anything like this before. It was more than just lust, that needing, yearning to come – it felt deeper than that with Vincent. I felt a deep, overwhelming happiness inside, as strong as the feelings of sexual ecstasy which had just torn through me. Was it such a deep sense of happiness, love? If it was truly love, it was the first time in my life I had felt it. I couldn’t tell Vincent that, however much I wanted to. I was too scared.

  “Hold me,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around his back, pulling him deeper into me. “Don’t let go.”

  “I won’t,” he said, moving himself back and forth on top of me. “I won’t ever let you go.”

  I ran my hands up and down his back, gripping his butt as it moved slowly but firmly up and down.

  “Harder,” I whispered in his ear, smothering his shoulders, neck, and face in kisses.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered back, his hips moving faster and harder.

  That well of burning built within me again. I clung to him, wanting him. “Harder! Faster!” I cried.

  Vincent pushed deeper into me, both of us now groaning. We clung to each other, our bodies hot and covered in a fine sheen of glistening sweat. The music seemed to grow louder as if competing with our cries of pleasure. It felt like the walls of the room were closing in on me, pressing us closer together. My head spun and my heart raced faster and faster in time with Vincent’s rapidly increasing thrusts. That pit of heat in my stomach exploded outwards, making every one of my nerve endings seethe with life. I bucked beneath Vincent as my body convulsed uncontrollably.

  “I love you,” he cried out.

  “I love you,” I whispered breathlessly, as his whole body seemed to lock, then spasm in my arms.

  “You have no idea how long I’ve loved you, Sydney,” he murmured as both our bodies weakened and we collapsed into one another’s arms.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Vincent rolled off me and onto his side. With our arms locked about each other, we looked into each other’s eyes. I could feel his breath, warm against my cheek. Fine beads of sweat glistened on his brow, just below the jagged-looking scar, which now seemed to be fading in the dim light. My racing heart was still thumping in my chest and I felt breathless and warm all over. The music still played gently in the background, in some way soothing us now. Part of me half expected Vincent to jump up now, put his clothes back on, and leave. That’s what usually happened with the others.

  “Aren’t you going to leave now?” I whispered.

  “Why would I want to leave when everything I want is right here in this room?” he whispered back, brushing a stray strand of my hair from my face. It was like he didn’t want anything to cover the view that he had of me. He wanted to see me completely.

  “Did you mean what you said?” I asked him.

  “I’m not going to leave you,” he smiled.

  “I didn’t mean that,” I said, looking straight into his eyes, searching them for the truth.

  “What then?” he asked.

  “When you said you loved me?”

  “I love you, Sydney Hart,” he whispered, leaning forward and planting a gentle kiss on my forehead.

  “But how is that possible?” I said, just above a whisper. “People don’t fall in love just like that, do they?”

  “I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ve never been in love before.”

  “So how, then, do you know its love you feel?” I asked, not really questioning his feelings, but my own.

  “I’m not very good with words,” he said. “But the only way I can explain how I feel is that the thought of never seeing you...being like this with you again...hurts so much. I’ve never felt like that before and...” he trailed off.

  “And?” I pushed gently.

  “You’re the first person who hasn’t laughed at me...treated me like a fool because I can be awkward at times, and I know everything I say doesn’t always come out just how I meant it...you know that can hurt...”

  “Why would I want to laugh at you?” I said.

  “Plenty do,” he sighed. “People think I’m the fool guy – they don’t take me seriously. It’s just like being at work. Straight away I’ve been relocated to filing instead of patrol, been given the old push-bike. No one thinks I can cut being a copper so they try and hide me away, relegate me to the broom cupboard. It’s like that song People are Strange by The Doors. When you’re strange...no one remembers your name,” Vincent quoted.

  To hear him talk reminded me of myself. No one had any faith in me, either. I knew how much that could hurt. I thought Vincent’s pain went deeper than just an emotional level.

  Running my fingertips gently over the scars covering his shoulder, I said, “How did you get these scars?”

  “Someone hurt me once,” he said, never taking his eyes from mine. “They hurt me real bad.”

  “What did they do?” I breathed. “Who was it?”

  “It doesn’t matter now. That life is over,” he said, holding me tighter in his arms. “I have a new life now.”

  With my head nestled against his chest, I listened to the sound of his heart beating gently. “Did you mean what you said?” he suddenly whispered.

  I knew what he was talking about. “Yes,” I whispered back.

  “So how do you know if it’s the real thing?” he asked.

  Lifting my head off his chest, I looked at him and said, “To be honest, Vincent, I don’t know. What I do know is, I have never felt anything like this before.”

  “How does it feel?” he asked.

  “Like I’m not alone, if that makes sense?” I said. “With other guys, even though I’ve been with them, there has still been a part of me that has felt alone...empty. Like you, Vincent, I guess I’ve been searching for someone to love me for who I am – rather than what they think I am or what I think I should be. Am I making any sense?”

  “Perfect sense,” he smiled at me. “I knew from the very first moment I met you, I’d found someone who liked me for just being me.”

  “How did you know?” I smiled back at him.

  “Because you didn’t tell me to piss off when you saw how badly my dancing was,” he laughed.

  “You are a pr
etty bad dancer,” I laughed back. “For a moment I did actually think you were throwing a fit or something.”

  “What else did you think?” he smiled, stroking the side of my face with his thumb.

  “I thought you were probably the craziest guy I’d ever met,” I said. “You do the strangest of things at times – but are the most caring and honest man I’ve ever met...”

  “Caring? Honest?” he smiled.

  “What you said earlier about being a cop and making sure always to do the right thing – to try and make a difference,” I reminded him. “You really care about people – you really want to help people. You really want to help Molly Smith. Even though she is dead, you want to help get justice for her. That says a lot about a person. That says a lot about you, Vincent.”

  “Do you think?” he asked, sounding unsure.

  “To stand by your convictions, even though there will be plenty of people who wished you hadn’t, takes a lot of courage. Only a strong person can do that,” I said. Looking away, I added, “That’s the difference between people like you and me. I didn’t have the strength to stand up to my father. When he suggested the idea of covering for me, I should have told him no. I should have torn up the statement he brought around here. I should have been strong enough to face the truth, whatever that meant for me and my future.”

  “And we will...you will,” he said.

  “But how?” I said, slipping from his arms and sitting up. “We have no proof about what really happened to Molly Smith.”

  “There must be something we’re missing,” Vincent said. “It’s probably staring us right in the face.”

  I sat looking through the gap in the bedroom door and into my living room. “It is staring me straight in the face,” I suddenly whispered, looking at the empty Coke bottle with the note Vincent had left on the coffee table for me.

  “What is it?” Vincent said, sitting up next to me on the bed.

  “I dreamt of a message in a bottle,” I breathed, turning to look at him. “In one of my nightmares, when I was standing at the bottom of the well, there was a bottle floating in the dirty rainwater.”

  “So?” Vincent frowned.

  “When I went looking for that well,” I started to explain, “I knew I’d found the right one, because just like in my nightmare, there was a bottle with a folded piece of paper sealed inside.”

  “So you think it’s connected to what happened to Molly?” he said, staring at me.

  “What are the chances of me dreaming about that bottle, only to discover one floating in the well?” I gasped, clambering from the bed. “Perhaps Molly was trying to show it to me. Perhaps that piece of paper inside is a message from her? Perhaps it has the name of the person who pushed her into that well written on it.”

  “That’s a bit farfetched...” Vincent said rationally.

  “Hey,” I said, pulling my clothes back on. “I thought it was you who said we had ourselves an X-File!”

  “I know, but...” Vincent said, starting to put on his uniform again.

  “Just come with me and take a look at the bottle,” I said. “If it turns out to be just a piece of litter that’s been tossed into the well, I promise I will go and see my father first thing in the morning and tell him I want to withdraw my statement about the crash.”

  “But it’s gone one-thirty in the morning,” Vincent said, glancing at the bedside clock. “Can’t we go and take a look tomorrow?”

  “I can’t go up to that farm in daylight,” I said. “If old farmer Grayson catches me on his land again, he’s gonna have my badge.”

  “That bottle is at the bottom of a well,” Vincent said, pulling on his boots. “How are we going to climb down to the bottom and get it? We don’t have any rope or...”

  “I know where we can find some rope,” I smiled at him, heading for the front door.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I could remember seeing a huge length of rope hanging in the barn on Grayson’s farm. I saw it the day I had led Michael into the barn, it was hanging by the door, next to the neat rows of tools. So, with our torches on, Vincent and I made our way along the desolate shore, to the coastal path and through the crop of trees to Grayson’s farm. We didn’t reach the brow of the hill until nearly gone two o’clock in the morning. There was no moon, as the sky was full of cloud, and the first cold drops of rain had started to fall.

  “We should turn off our torches,” I whispered to Vincent as we stepped clear of the trees and into the rain.

  “Okay,” Vincent whispered back, switching off his torch and throwing us in to near darkness.

  The wind whooped and howled across the fields, ruffling my hair and making the collar of Vincent’s police coat flap like a sail against his throat. The tree branches creaked and swayed behind us, the sound of the rain now drumming against the canopy of leaves.

  “This way,” I said, setting off down the hill towards the barn which stood below us like a dark smudge in the night.

  The rain fell harder now, falling horizontally across our path in the wind. Our boots sloshed and squelched through the muddy earth. It was cold, but I daren’t put my hands in my pockets for fear of slipping on the mud and being unable to break my fall. Vincent walked beside me, plumes of breath billowing from our lungs and disappearing into the cold night sky like tiny wisps of cloud. Apart from the roaring wind and the sound of the driving rain beating off the ground, the world seemed eerily silent.

  We reached the foot of the hill, and I could see that the farmhouse, which was a short distance away, was in darkness. There were no lights on that I could see, and no smoke tumbling up from the chimney. I guessed that both Michael and his father were asleep. Had I treated Michael too harshly because of what he’d done? I wondered. I pushed the thought away. I hadn’t come here to think about him. I had come to retrieve that bottle from the bottom of the well. Nothing must distract me from that.

  I looked at Vincent, who stood beside me in the dark, rain running down his face like tears. I nodded in the direction of the barn, not daring to speak now for fear of being discovered. God only knew what Grayson would do, should he wake to find me trespassing on his land in the middle of the night. Vincent followed me the short distance to the barn. I looked at him, took a deep breath, then pulled at the door. It was heavy. Vincent curled his fingers around the handle and together we pulled it open, then all hell broke loose. Jess leapt out of the darkness at us like a giant hound. It barked and yapped, its giant-looking paws in the air.

  Vincent instantly gripped my arm and yanked me backwards out of the dog’s path. The farmer’s dog barked and woofed, the sound deafening in the silent night. I glanced sideways at the farmhouse and saw one of the bedroom lights come on.

  “Shit!” I hissed. “Someone’s woken up.”

  “Look,” Vincent whispered. “The dog isn’t coming any closer. It’s been tied up.”

  I looked back towards the open barn door and could see Jess was secured inside the barn with a chain that was fastened to her collar. Old farmer Grayson must have been using her as some sort of guard dog.

  “We should go,” I gasped, seeing that one of the downstairs lights had now been switched on in the farmhouse.

  “This is our only chance of getting that bottle,” Vincent wheeled on me, his eyes big and dark. “I’ll see to the dog, you fetch that rope you told me about.” Then, heading back towards the barn door, Vincent started to coo at Jess. The dog barked at him, then mellowed as Vincent took a half-eaten pack of Jammie Dodgers from his coat pocket and tossed one towards the dog.

  Bent double, trying to make myself as small as possible, I raced towards the open door and slipped inside. Jess didn’t even look at me, as she woofed up the biscuit from the ground and ran a giant pink tongue over her snout. I reached around the inside of the door, feeling for the rope in the darkness. My fingers raced blindly over the set of tools, spilling from their housing, sending them clattering to the floor.

  “Shhh!” Vincent snapp
ed, looking back over his shoulder at the farmhouse, then back at me. “Hurry up, Sydney!”

  My fingers found the rope and they curled around it. I yanked it from the wall and nearly fell over. The rope was heavier than I had expected.

  “Come here,” Vincent said, rushing over to me. He bent down, picked up the rope, and hoisted it over his shoulder. “Now let’s just get outter here.”

  I pushed my butt against the barn door, desperate to hide our tracks, as Vincent set off back up the hill towards the well. There was a rattling sound as the lock was pulled back on the farmhouse door. I heard it swing open, followed by the deep, booming voice of Grayson.

  “What’s wrong, girl? Who’s out there?”

  Hearing her master’s voice, Jess started howling and barking all over again. With the sound of Grayson’s huffing and puffing drawing closer, I slinked around the side of the barn and raced up the hill and into the darkness. Vincent had climbed about halfway by the time I’d caught up with him. His breathing sounded heavy and laboured as he struggled with the rope. The rain was lashing down now, and progress up the hill was becoming treacherous. The mud had become as slippery as ice, and every step we took had to be carefully made, which slowed our escape. The rope had become wet, too, and it slipped around Vincent’s shoulders like a giant snake.

  I looked back into the darkness and could just make out Grayson’s outline, silhouetted in the light flooding from his open front door. I could hear Jess barking wildly. I couldn’t see any sign of Michael. I turned away, and was grateful there was no moon tonight. I slunk into the darkness and followed Vincent up the hill and to the well.

  I reached the top to find Vincent drawing deep mouthfuls of damp, cold air into his lungs. I helped him lift the rope from about his shoulders.

  “I just hope it will be long enough to reach the bottom,” he breathed, peering through the darkness and into the well.