Body of Ash

by Bonnie Wheeler

  She would have had me hung, drawn, and quartered years ago.

  Although he never took a liking to his wife’s parents, many times, Brian found himself curious about Perry. From the photos plastered all over Sylvia’s house, he looked a lot like his mother. He wasn’t big boned like Ralph and he didn’t have his father’s wide spaced eyes. Instead, Perry had an average build, not much over five seven from the images of him in the snapshots, with coloring much darker than either parent. It was his smile that caught Brian’s eye. None of the Bennetts relaxed enough to do that.

  Angela used to talk about her brother a lot – especially in the early years of their marriage. When the anniversary of his death came along or it was Perry’s birthday, she would become down and find the need to revisit her memories of him, of their life growing up in Long Island before moving to Sharon, Connecticut. The two had been close, in a way Brian could never relate. From the stories, it sounded like Perry was good at getting under her skin and could annoy the crap out of her, but it was all in good fun. There wasn’t a warped history between them like what Brian and his siblings shared. Perry looked out for her and made her laugh. It was too bad things ended the way they did.

  When Angela and Brian were planning on having several children, she always insisted their first born son be named Perry, in honor of him and how short his life was. She told Brian that if it made him feel better, he could name their other sons after his brothers, Jonah and Ethan. Brian snorted at that thought – he would rather name his boys Lucifer and Judas, but never bothered pointing that out. Since Angie didn’t get pregnant again, it didn’t really matter. Names came and went, just like their plans for a houseful of kids.

  After a quick splash of after shave, Brian headed downstairs to leave. Despite still feeling the grogginess of his buzz, he would try his best to hold it together. Some people did it every day; surely he could act sober if they could. He thought of the old-timers who worked for his dad’s farm and what they used to say when arriving at work smelling like booze – “you’ve got to bite the snake that bit you, son, otherwise ain’t no work getting done.” From what he could recall, half of them were either hung-over or working their way through a bottle of dandelion wine, while the other fifty percent were proclaiming Jesus saved them from the devil of drink – sometimes switching places within the week. Shaking his head, he stepped out the door and fumbled for his keys.

  “Happy Halloween Pastor Jones,” a small child in a lion’s costume stared up at him. Two arms jutted out, shoving a candy sack in his direction.

  “Oh, well happy Halloween to you, also,” he smiled. Trying to keep his voice steady and body from swaying, he turned to his door, locking the house tight.

  “What’s wrong? You don’t have any candy?” The child asked, but was unwilling to move. He stared from Brian to the door and back again – waiting for the reverend to change his mind and produce a bowl of chocolates.

  “I’m sorry Buddy, I’m fresh out and need to get some more. Why don’t you come back later when my wife’s home. She’ll have something good for you.”

  Finally taking the hint, the child turned and bounced down the sidewalk. Glancing about, Brian could see an entire grouping of children heading his way.

  Oh shit.

  Swiftly, he headed to the Cadillac. With his gut still nauseous, the ground felt like it was rolling beneath his feet. Dragging the back of his hand against his forehead, his skin was beaded with sweat. Despite washing his face and using mouthwash, the smell of the booze seeped through his pores.

  My neighbors can’t catch me like this.

  Grasping for the auto lock, his thick fingers jabbed at the buttons until he heard the audible chime of his doors unlocking. Climbing in, he could hear the children halt at the bottom of his driveway. Their painted faces confused as to why the big house on the corner of Maple and Oak wasn’t passing out treats.

  Sorry kiddos – no goodies here for you tonight.

  Sighing, he remembered how the bounty of candy once gave him pleasure. Now-a-days it wasn’t candy that brought him joy, but women. Daisy, the waitress he had a thing for at Lucinda’s Diner, tasted sweet – he would be willing to bet his life on that one. Her curves, her smile – she really got him going. It was the hair though that really turned him on. Often he fantasized about her going down on him, her red tresses slipping through his fingers while she ran her tongue over the length of him.

  A few times he had thought about slipping her a little note with his number on it. Daisy didn’t wear a ring so he figured she wasn’t attached. Brian was a good looking man and she seemed to brighten up when he paid her a little attention – his hardest thing was knowing whether a woman wanted him for his body or if she just had a respect thing going on because he was a man of the cloth.

  Brian wished women were as easy to read as men.

  For him, he just had to glance down at his boner to know he was turned on. Women needed to be coaxed and encouraged to let go of their morality before they were willing to put out. They needed to be seduced and romanced, all while given the permission to let go of what was right and wrong. As if a man wanting to fuck gave a damn about a woman’s conscious, but still, they needed to hear it.

  Now that he was growing tired of Marge, Daisy would be the recipient of his efforts. It might take a little time because she worked with the public, but if he could learn her address and whether or not she lived alone, he could stop by with the excuse of wanting to offer her a little something special for all she does for everyone else. A little something to make her open her door and invite him in, maybe a gift card or spa basket, where without the accusing eye of the public, the two could really get to know one another.

  Adjusting his balls, Brian’s dick was hard from fantasizing. Despite the bottle of whiskey he emptied, he still managed to get it up. The porn he was watching earlier was hot. There wasn’t much of a storyline but he was just about to cum when his damn wife walked in. He hadn’t been caught masturbating since he was sixteen. No wonder her face was shocked, the two of them hadn’t fooled around in years and there he was, dick out and going at it in the fucking living room.

  Closing his eyes, Brian leaned back in seat. His hand cuffed his groin, giving it a light squeeze. The pressure got him stirring and he didn’t want to ignore how good it felt. Thinking about laying one out right there crossed his mind, but there were too many damn kids on the streets. The last thing he needed was for one of his nosy fucking neighbors to accuse him of jerking off to little children in costumes.

  He would go see Daisy if he knew where she lived. That, or call on one of the other women in town who were content in their marriages but needed a good lay when their husbands weren’t around. Those fucks weren’t usually that great though – the guilt those women carried kept them from doing anything but missionary style in the back of their minivans. When it was done, they looked at him like he was the dirtiest douchebag they ever met, even if he did blow their minds.

  Taking a deep breath, Brian ignored the pain building in his skull. His head throbbed but not as bad as his cock. If he didn’t find a woman to finish him off, he would have to go back home and rewind his porn. Sliding the SUV into reverse, he glanced in the rearview mirror. As if by divine intervention, there stood Marge Finch, in her tight ass blue jeans, squinting at the front of his house while bathed in the Cadillac’s rearview lights.

  “Oh hell, yeah.”

  Although their time together was coming to a close, one last night was worth a bang.

  44

  MARGE

  Friday 6:57 PM

  Stepping forward, Marge tried adjusting her eyes to the dim lighting. After hours of crying and being ignored by Katie, her puffy lids burned. The remnants of her grief left streaks of Cover Girl mascara dotting her cheekbones, but she didn’t care. Grasping for a tissue, she dabbed what was left of her tears and blew her nose. The evening would end on a high note. She vowed no more crying and no more waiting. Her life with Brian was a
bout to begin, and she was born ready to be the new preacher’s wife.

  Once she realized it was Brian climbing out of the Cadillac, her heart began thumping wildly in her chest. She had pictured arriving at the door to be greeted by Angela, not her lover. Marge needed a few minutes with Brian’s wife without him intervening. All evening she had been psyching herself up for it – ready to fight for her man, imagining the look that would cross Angela’s face and the words she would use in the exchange.

  It was clear to her that Brian, although in love with Marge for quite some time, felt beholden to Angela and was hesitant about ending the marriage. What other reason could he have? But Marge knew that Angela no longer belonged at his side. The woman had to go and Marge was ready to make her listen.

  That bitch doesn’t want Brian. Angela just wants the life he gives her.

  No matter what life Brian felt responsible for giving Angela, it was nothing like the one he could have with Marge. Their last three months together were the closest thing to heaven that Marge ever experienced, and from the pleasure she routinely gave Brian, it was monumental for him as well. For the first time in her life, she felt wanted and desired, and could see herself married to Brian Jones. The life was hers for the taking, no matter what anyone else thought. Brian may not have been strong enough to make the break from Angela last night, but Marge was up for handling the task.

  The plan was simple. Persuade Angela to leave quietly on her own, or come back with the gun. She almost brought it – almost stuck the firearm under the seat of the car, but ended up leaving it at home. The Ruger was still hidden in her lunch tote. Katie sat right down on the couch practically on top of it where Marge left it when she came home from work. If she asked Katie to pass it over, her daughter may have questioned what was inside. Marge wasn’t going to risk having Katie get all judgmental, not after her threat to move.

  It wasn’t an easy decision to steal the gun. Veronica would fire her ass if caught, but after Williston’s demand – Marge knew she had to be bold and stop pussyfooting around. If Angela refused to listen to reason and had the gall to threaten Marge again – she would find herself on the receiving end of threats.

  Marge wouldn’t shoot her; she wouldn’t even aim it at the bitch although nothing would give her more pleasure than sticking the barrel in the woman’s big mouth. That was crazy talk and although Marge had been drinking for a good part of the day, she hadn’t lost that much common sense. No, she would just let Angela see that she had it and demand that the woman no longer interfere with Marge’s plans. One glimpse of the weapon would be enough for Angela to understand – if it came to that.

  Now that she was here, her feet felt oddly stuck to the driveway. How could she confront his wife with Brian standing right there? A quick survey of the cars told her that Angela’s green station wagon was missing. A red BMW was parked on the street, but it could have belonged to trick-or-treaters. Without house lights on, she assumed Brian was home alone – perhaps Angela was out with Rachel for the evening.

  So much for my final threat...I guess it can wait ‘till later.

  Brian was usually agile, but as he straightened himself upon standing, he teetered to the side. Quickly catching himself, he motioned for Marge to come closer.

  As she approached him, one eyebrow rose. Whisky and Davidoff wafted off her lover, a scent she wasn’t accustomed to smelling on him. She and Brian liked to drink together when they had sex, but finding him already drunk was a first.

  Draping his arms around her, his lips brushed the side of her ear. “Baby, I was just thinking of you,” he slurred.

  A smile pulled at her lips, she loved it when he called her that. “So, you’re talking to me now?”

  “I was just playing earlier,” he cooed, “building the tension.”

  Taking her hand, Brian led her out behind the rear of the house. In the darkness and surrounded by trees, neighbors couldn’t spy. Instantly, he pressed her against the side of the building, his mouth crushing down on hers. Moving against him, Marge was stunned with his urgency. Already his body was hard and responding to hers.

  Someone missed me today.

  “I am frozen out here. Can we go inside?” she asked, hoping to get beyond the foyer and see what it was like. Maybe live out her fantasy and screw on his bed.

  Ignoring her, Brian rammed his tongue in her ear; his breath was hot on her skin. Pulling free, she turned to meet him mouth with her own, preferring he kiss her lips instead. His hands raked her body, forcing their way up her blouse until they slipped under her bra and cupped her breast. Forcibly he tugged at her nipples, causing her to squirm against him.

  After a few seconds, she tried again. “Really, it’s too cold to do it out here. Why don’t we go in the house?”

  Brian nipped at her chin, working his way down her neck. “I want you so badly. Tell me you want me, too.” His mouth was back on hers, pushing her lips apart with the force of his tongue.

  “Of course I do,” she said, gasping for air. “I love you.”

  “Shhh…” he whispered, putting his fingers to her mouth. “For Christ’s sake, don’t ruin this by talking.”

  Slapping his hand away, Marge stared up at her lover. Angered by his refusal to listen to her, his lack of consideration was bringing back her bad mood. “Don’t tell me to stop talking. I said I’m freezing out here and I told you I love you because I want you to say it back.”

  “Say what?” he asked, annoyed. His hands pulled at the waist of her blue jeans, trying to undo her belt. The button on his own trousers was unfastened, he wanted her now.

  “That you love me.”

  Brian froze. Stepping back, he ran his hands through his hair, exhaling loudly. Marge could tell from the strain on his face, that he desired her. Brian’s constant sexual need was unmatched. It thrilled her to keep up with him.

  “Angie will be home soon, so I can’t take you in the house. If you can’t fuck out here, we’ll have to go to your place.” With that, her lover zipped up his fly before turning to head toward the front of the house, leaving Marge to make a decision.

  Pulling her blouse down, she rubbed the chill off her bare arms. She wasn’t used to Brian being forceful, but was willing to look past it. Going a whole day without him taking her calls had left her feeling vulnerable and on edge. Her fight with Katie just made matters worse. Having him come back to her place wouldn’t be a bad thing. Once in her room, she could get him to relax and remember why they were meant to be together.

  Why he needs me more than he thinks.

  “Make up your mind. I need to be out of here before Angie gets home,” he snapped. Gone was the seducing tone he used earlier. His booze was talking; she had enough experience with liquor to know that.

  “I’m coming,” she sang, hoping to calm him. “A party back at my place sounds perfect.”

  As she rounded the corner, he was standing there waiting. Although impatient, he still held the look of heat in his eyes. Running her fingers lightly down his chest, she bit down on her lower lip suggestively. “I have a bottle of vodka and a scratch only you can itch.”

  “Well, let’s get going then,” he grinned.

  45

  KATIE

  Friday 8:15 PM

  Climbing out the second story window in her bare feet, Katie stepped carefully until she made her way to the edge of the roof. With her pumps in one hand and her clutch purse in the other, she lowered herself to a sitting position without dislodging the shingles or rain gutter. Under the safety of the stars, she searched for a sense of calm.

  Agreeing to go to Davey’s party seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she wondered why she allowed Darla to talk her into it. She may have had a killer outfit, but the mood to party with the same kids she had known since kindergarten didn’t appeal. Her life was messed up and after fighting with her mother, Katie felt too numb to force a smile.

  Through the opening, sounds of laughter swirled with the scent of marijuana and beer. An
old song by People in Planes blasted from downstairs. Bass pumped through the sound system, vibrating the floor. It was early; most of the crowd wouldn’t be heading over until after nine. But no matter where Katie went, it was always the same thing. Girls who made it their mission to hate on Katie were giving her caustic looks while the boys with the sole mission to get in her pants were offering her booze.

  Then there was Mike Tanner. As soon as Katie walked in, he made it a point to center all of his attention on her. The kid considered himself God’s gift to Canaan, but she wasn’t in to the farmer type. Because his Dad owned a large cow farm on the outskirts of town, Mike was given a four wheel drive Chevy with a lift kit. He always cruised around blasting country music and showing off. Each time he spotted her walking, the oaf made a point of pulling beside her, promising her a good time if she would just get in. Katie knew what he was thinking. Mike heard some of the rumors about her and was wondering when he would get his turn. Although he wasn’t a bad person, Katie didn’t need to get herself into a tight situation. Mike was at least two hundred pounds and liked to drink. He could hurt her if he felt she was playing games.