Double Grades

by Kristine Robinson

  We’re going too fast to stop. The car leaps up out of the ditch and plows through a fence. It bumps into a field and rides through rough grass. A farm house sticks up out of the field beyond some trees, and I head for it. Maybe the people there can help us, but the car breaks through the bushes and plunges into a stream I didn’t see. It collides nose first into the bank and fizzes to a stop. A cloud of steam rises from the hood. That car isn’t going anywhere anymore.

  Michelle kicks the passenger door open. “Run for it! Get to the house. It’s our only chance.”

  We drag petrified Cory out of the car and haul him toward the house. I spot the Civic on the highway. It turns up the farm house driveway. They’re heading for the house, too, to cut us off. Michelle and I won’t let Cory slow down. We have to reach the house first.

  The meatheads get out of their car as we run up the steps. I grab the knob and give it a tug, but it doesn’t budge. It’s locked. Meathead #1 levels his rifle at us. Michelle seizes Cory in one hand and me in the other. She throws us off the porch as the first bullets hammer the door.

  Michelle dives into the dirt on top of us. “There must be a way in.”

  “Look, Michelle,” I exclaim. “Over there.”

  I point to a window in the foundation. It’s propped open, and Michelle gives it a hard wrench. It opens wide enough for her to slither through. “Come on. It’s all clear.”

  I belly flop through the window into the basement with Cory right behind me. Michelle looks around when we hear a blow above our heads. Wood splinters and gives way. The meatheads are kicking in the front door.

  Michelle heads across the basement. “Get upstairs. We might find a gun or something.”

  We come out in a nice living room full of very clean, almost new furniture. The people who own this place must have just stepped out. They haven’t been away long. Maybe they could have a gun. This is North Dakota, after all.

  The front door caves in, and the two men rush into the front hall. One says to the other, “Fan out and find them. They went into the basement, so find a way down there.”

  Michelle holds her finger to her lips, and we sneak out of the living room on tiptoe while they search the basement for us. She guides us to the house stairs leading up to the second story. If there’s a gun in this house, it will be in or near the bedrooms.

  At the top of the stairs, she signals me to go one way while she goes another. We don’t have time to make more than a hasty search, but these must be the only people in North Dakota without a firearm. We find nothing, not even a gun safe.

  We meet back on the landing when the two men come into the living room. They decide to head upstairs, and we don’t have anything to fight them with but our bare hands.

  Michelle herds us into the master bedroom. She keeps backing up until we’re huddled in the bathroom corner with nowhere else to go. Cory clings to me with shaking hands.

  Michelle tears open the cabinet under the sink and finds a bottle of vinegar. Then she rips open the medicine cabinet and brings out a box of baking soda. Before I can ask what she’s doing, she opens a shampoo bottle and dumps it down the sink. She fills it part way with vinegar. Then she dumps in the baking soda and screws down the lid.

  She shakes the bottle good and hard. Then she holds up her hand to signal me to stay in the bathroom. I don’t want to let her leave. I don’t know where she’s going or what she’s doing, but when I try to hold her back, she pushes me back into the corner. She peeks around the door to make sure the men aren’t in the master bedroom yet. Then she steps across and scoots under the bed.

  All of a sudden, the master bedroom door flies open. It crashes back and the knob sticks in the sheet rock wall. The first man sweeps the room with his rifle, but sees nothing. I watch through the crack in the bathroom door, but my heart sticks in my throat. I can hardly breathe.

  The first man moves into the room with his comrade behind him. They pass the bed, and Michelle pulls her head farther under it to stay hidden. What has she got planned? They cross the room and make for the bathroom.

  They stand on either side of the bathroom door with their rifles poised. They get ready to make their last big explosive entrance, and that will be the end of us. Then, through the door crack, I see Michelle ease out from under the bed. The men don’t notice her. They leap around and kick the bathroom door open.

  Lucky I saw the whole thing and moved out of the way in time, or I would have had a broken nose. I put my arms around Cory and cover him with my body between the wall and the shower stall. At least he won’t have to see them gun him down.

  I can’t resist watching, though. The two men barge into the bathroom. They know they’ve got us cornered and defenseless, when Michelle charges into the bathroom with a war whoop to stand your hair on end. The men spin around to fight, but Michelle opens her shampoo bottle and points it in their faces. The lid flies off, and a powerful stream of foamy liquid shoots into their eyes.

  Meathead #1 screams and drops his rifle. He stumbles back and steps on Meathead #2’s foot. Meathead #2’s finger tightens around his trigger and the gun erupts into the ceiling. Sheet rock dust flutters down on our heads. They both trip over each other, and since neither can see anything, they tumble into the bathtub.

  Michelle charges forward. She gives them one last shove that sends them down into the bathtub in a hopeless muddle. She grabs me and Cory. “Run!”

  We don’t need any further encouragement. We hit the stairs and fly through the broken front door, out into the fresh air we never thought we’d see again. Michelle burst into fresh enthusiasm and waves us toward the Civic. “Come on!”

  She pops open the driver’s door. The keys dangle from the ignition. We’re free! The sound of an engine and wheels on gravel make all three of us turn around, and Cory’s shoulders slum. “Oh, no!”

  A gold Lexus purrs to a stop next to the Civic, and who do you think steps out of the driver’s seat? Mr. Fancy Pants, Nicholas Bastion himself, Cory’s father. He surveys our little group with his nasty twisted grin. He tosses his car keys into the air and catches them. “Well, well, well. Look who we have here. There’s Cory, and Aimee Springfield, and....I don’t know you.”

  Michelle growls under her breath. “I’ll deal with this scumbag.”

  Before she can move, though, he sticks his hand into his suit jacket pocket and pulls out a pistol. It looks familiar. It’s the same gun he used to try to kill Cory. “Stay where you are. None of you is going anywhere.”

  None of us has to turn around to know those feet running across the porch are the two meatheads coming out. They’ve wiped the foam off their faces, and now they’ll be more than happy to exact Mr. Fancy Pants’ revenge on us.

  Cory stands immobile and passive. He’s already given up. “How did you find us?”

  “That was easy,” his father replies. “After you ran away, I found Aimee’s concert tickets in the garden. It didn’t take me more than a few phone calls to figure out where they came from. When I found out she hadn’t come into work at the bank, I put two and two together. She was outside the house when I shot at you, so she must have seen it happen. After that, I used my contacts at the bank to track her credit card spending. You people really ran me a wild goose chase, but none of you is all that smart. I was bound to catch up with you sooner or later.”

  “What are you going to do with us now?”

  “Do you with you?” he exclaims. “Why, kill you, of course. I can’t let you blab all over the Western US about my activities, can I? You only made it easier for me by bringing yourselves out here where I can dispose of the bodies without anybody finding you.”

  I can’t hold back anymore. “You rotten lout! You’ll pay for this. You would kill your own son to cream a few stolen bucks off your innocent account holders?”

  He snarls back at me. “My son? That? No, that’s not my son.”

  “He’s not?”

  Mr. Fancy Pants sneers at Cory. “You’re not my son. Your bl
eeding heart mother adopted you. She wanted to do her good deed for the day by taking in a poor homeless orphan and raising it as her own. I never wanted to have anything to do with you, but I couldn’t exactly tell her that. Now the world will finally be rid of you, and she’ll never know what happened to you.”

  Cory stares at the man he thought was his father. A cloud passes over his face and clears. The terrible burden of turning this man over to the authorities lifts off his shoulders. This man is a stranger, an evil stranger. Cory owes him nothing. He can turn him in with a clear conscience.

  We don’t have time to think about that right now, though. Meathead #1 jabs Michelle in the back with his rifle. “March!”

  Chapter 6

  Cory, Michelle and I crowd into the cellar. Nicholas tells his two meatheads to keep watch at the top of the stairs while he finishes us off. So much for another nice idea. I try to catch Michelle’s eye, but she’s not looking at me or anyone else. She’s looking around the basement at the shelves behind us. Glass jars of pickles and preserves line the shelves in rows, but I don’t see any guns. We’re done for, and no mistake.

  Mr. Fancy Pants comes back and waves his gun at us. “Well, let’s get this over with. I have a business meeting in Chicago.” He grabs Cory by the hair and jerks his head back. “That was stupid, running off that way. Now three people will die instead of just you.” He digs the memory stick out of Cory’s pants pocket. “I’ll take that.”

  He hurls Cory to the floor at my feet. I try to help him up. “Hey! You don’t have to do that!”

  Nicholas spits on the floor in front of me. “Did you really think you could stop me? I had the jump on you from the very first day. You’re nothing but a cheap gold-digger, just like all the others I’ve had.”

  Cory tries to break out of my arms to attack. “You rotten…..”

  Nicholas aims his pistol at the boy. “Keep still, or I’ll put a bullet in you.”

  Michelle isn’t paying any attention to this. She’s staring off into space.

  “Now turn around, all of you,” Nicholas orders, “and don’t try any funny stuff.”

  What can we do but obey? I hate to think what’s coming next when all of a sudden, Michelle starts shaking and convulsing all over. Foam bubbles out of her mouth, and her hands twist into claws. Her eyes roll back in her head. I’ve never seen her like this. She starts shrieking in a high pitched voice, “I need a fix! I need a fix! Aargh!”

  Nicholas draws back in horror. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s a junkie,” Cory tells him. “She’s going through withdrawals.”

  Nicholas makes a disgusted face and spins Michelle around by the shoulder. He shoves her forward hard against the counter. Her hands shoot out and close around something on the shelf.

  In a flash, she flings him off and whirls around on him with a glass jar in her hand. She wrenches the lid off and hurls the jar at Nicholas. Chili peppers and red liquid fly out. The liquid splashes Nicholas in the face. His gun falls to the floor and he claps his hands over his eyes. “My eyes! My eyes! They’re on fire! I’m blind!”

  Michelle doesn’t waste an instant. She tackles him and punches him until he lies still. She never has a chance to catch her breath. His cries attract the meatheads from the top of the stairs, and they run down to the basement with their guns drawn.

  Michelle snatches up Nicholas’s pistol. She doesn’t hesitate, but fires at the first man through the door. He pitches down the stairs, never to move again. Michelle fires again at the second man, but misses. He freezes. His friend and Nicholas lie unconscious on the floor and Michelle takes aim to fire again. He throws down his rifle and runs off. A minute later, we hear his footsteps crossing the porch and the Civic screeching away down the highway.

  Michelle aims her gun up the stairs, but it’s all over. Nothing moves. She lets her arm fall and catches her breath. Cory rushes forward and plucks his memory stick from Nicholas’s hand.

  “See if you can find something to tie these men up,” I tell him. “I’m going upstairs to call the police.”

  An hour later, the police drive off with Nicholas handcuffed in the back of their car. A plain-clothes detective leads Cory away. “You’ll come down to the station to give your statement, but if that stick shows what you say it does, this case won’t take long. You three did all our hard work for us.”

  Cory smiles at me and Michelle. “Thank you both, for everything.”

  Michelle and I take turns hugging him. “It was our pleasure. You’ll be safe now with your mom, and from now on, stay out of other people’s computers.”

  He gets into the car and waves to us before the detective drives him away.

  The crime scene investigators tape off the house, and all the other police personnel drive away. Michelle and I stand on the front lawn and watch. There’s nothing more we can do.

  I study Michelle from the side. She’s fidgeting again. “Are you okay?”

  She nods. “The cravings disappeared in all the excitement, but now that it’s over, they’re coming back.”

  I take her hand. Her hand shakes in mine, and a cold sweat seeps between my fingers. “Let’s go back to the motel for the night, and then we better find you a rehab facility. You’ve held out these last few days, and that’s better than anyone could expect. We don’t want to push you too far.”

  She clings to my hand. “You won’t leave me to go through the rehab alone, will you? You’ll stick around, won’t you?”

  I hug her around the shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ll have to try a lot harder than this to get rid of me. We’ve got a lot of work to do to plan going back to school and the rest of our lives together.”

  She rests her head on my shoulder. “Good.”

  Back at the hotel, we curl up in bed and she rests in my arms. I protect her tender heart from the ravages of drugs and monsters and evil bankers. She surrounds me with clouds of love. We talk about the future, where we want to live and study and work. We let our dreams grow as large and grandiose as we dare. Nothing can stop us, as long as we’re together.

  Then we kiss, and our lips say more than our voices ever could. Our tongues mingle in shared pleasure. Her kiss sparks a deep uprising passion that could topple my whole life. I never knew anyone could experience such passion for another person, but it goes beyond that.

  Michelle brings out my passion for all living, for facing the future and seizing my destiny. I couldn’t have found that without her. When I look into her eyes, I see the same passion for life and destiny reflected in her eyes. I bring it out in her, and that passion excites me more even than her skin and hands and body.

  I can’t wait to see what will happen next. Dreaming about our future together gives me visions of riding her bucking torrents of passion to our mutual delight.

  She peels off my clothes, one piece at a time and lays me bare for her to see. Her hands warm my skin, and I pant through parted lips. She kisses every inch of my bare body, stopping to linger at delicate openings and dripping fonts. She sucks my excited flesh and leaves me gasping for more.

  Then her body enfolds me, and we merge into endless coils of flesh and bone, eternal windings in and out through labyrinthine passages of orgasmic rapture. Nothing could be sweeter than the droplets dangling from her petals and the steam of her delirious climax.

  At the moment of completion, my vision blurs and behold the years ahead, filled with potential and happiness, togetherness and challenge. I hold her tighter, and we ride into that bright dawn together on burning waves of ecstasy.

  The End.

  Private Investigator

  ~ Bonus Story ~

  A Thriller & Suspense Lesbian Romance

  Chloe

  She’s too smart for her own good. We had a perfectly good chance at happily ever after and she threw it away before it could spoil. Before being the operative word, meaning there was nothing rotten about it! Let’s see how she handles a situation that, unlike our relations
hip, actually is fraught and perilous! Will she fight for us now that our lives are on the line?

  Hannah

  I’m a woman with a plan. My life makes sense. My decisions are based on logic and calculation; letting go of Chloe was the hardest decision I ever had to make. I never thought I’d have to revisit it under life and death circumstances. Now I’m afraid I can’t avoid finding out how much she really means to me. What if it’s more than I can afford?

  * * *

  Chloe

  A cloud of dust lifts off the bedspread when I throw my suitcase down. Wrinkling my nose, I pick the suitcase up again and lay it on the floor instead so that I can pull the blanket off. Stepping onto the front stoop of the little cabin, I give the blanket a good shake to removes as much dust as possible. The sun has set and even Northern California is cold at night, especially in the higher elevations. I always loved this cabin, the serenity of having no close neighbors and the perspective that comes with elevation. I need that now, both the serenity and the perspective, to help me feel a little less like a pathetic, kicked dog who has crawled back to its kennel to lick its wounds and more like a lofty visionary, come to my mountain sanctuary to work on my next novel. At least the last part is true. Giving the bedspread a few more violent, unnecessary thwacks against the porch railing, thereby dislodging the last of the dust and some of the stitching from the blanket, I turn back inside to unpack and get the cabin in order.

  I like to set myself up for success. Tomorrow, I intend to wake up and immediately begin working. If the cabin isn’t tidy and comfortable, I will not be able to concentrate. So, I spend the evening sweeping out the dust and putting my possessions in their rightful places: hanging a threadbare yellow towel on the hook in the bathroom and, on the bureau, propping a small, framed photograph of myself as a baby, cooing in the arms of my big brother who is all of 5 years old in the photo. I smile every time I see that photo. I catch sight of my face in the mirror above my dresser. Even my slight smile looks sad and my green eyes appear tired beneath my short, sandy blond hair. Some part of me believes that putting my cabin in order will put my life back together too. But Hannah is as intractable as she is beloved and as infuriating as she is gone from my life. I should be relieved, but I’m just angry and heartbroken.