by Corey Brown
“Oh my---” Sawyer says, the words choking off as she gasps for air.
Before she can speak again, David kisses her on the mouth. It is tender and erotic and forceful. Sawyer allows it to take her for just a moment then slides her fingers between their mouths, breaking the kiss. “Are you coming in?” Sawyer whispers, breathless.
“Only if you want me to.”
“Oh honey, is there any doubt?” Sawyer presses against the hand between her legs. “Oh god, that feels good.” She shudders, and exhales a low, satisfied moan.
Pushing David away, Sawyer reaches into her purse and fumbles for the credit card key. Her nerves are cut with anticipation. Finding, then dropping it, Sawyer kneels to pick up the little plastic rectangle. Her burgundy dress stretches, rises up and David sees the ruffled, bottom edge of her slip. He can imagine her black, thigh-high nylons wrapped around her silky leg. It is all he can do to hold back, he can hardly wait until they are in the hotel room.
The electronic latch clicks, Sawyer turns the handle and pushes the door open. A few steps into the suite, Sawyer turns to look at David. From somewhere far below, city lights bathe the room in a silvery glow. Traffic sounds from Saint Charles Avenue murmur in the background. Sawyer is framed by the bedroom door, her face in shadow.
They stand in the semi-darkness for several moments, not touching or talking but simply looking at each other. Then they embrace, there is no hard-core rush of expectation or surge of passion, just quiet tenderness. For some time they remain this way, her arms wrapped around his neck, his hands stroking her back.
With a feather touch, David’s fingers find the zipper on Sawyer’s dress, and slowly pull it downward. The dress slides off one shoulder, revealing a maroon bra strap. Sawyer tips her head sideways and draws a sharp breath as David kisses her shoulder. Traces of her perfume fill his senses. She dips to the left and the dress falls silently to the floor, gathering at her feet. Sawyer steps out of her shoes, takes David by the hand, walks him into the bedroom.
Sawyer pulls David’s sport coat from his shoulders, dropping it to the floor. Taking off his tie, Sawyer begins to unbutton his shirt from the bottom up, her hand occasionally straying downward.
“You feel good,” Sawyer whispers as she caresses his bare chest.
“I---” David’s words catch as her fingers slip inside his pants. Gently lifting her chin with his fingertips, David runs his tongue over her lower lip, kissing her, exploring her mouth.
Pressing her backwards, he guides Sawyer onto the bed, removing her slip. Knees bent, her toes just touching the floor, Sawyer lies across the bed. David kneels and runs his hands over her legs. Stopping at the edge of her nylons David caresses Sawyer’s thighs. She trembles at his touch. David presses his mouth to her panties.
Sawyer moans, arching her back. David inhales deeply, hints of perfume mingle with her scent. He can taste her through the thin, cotton fabric; feels her moist seam against his lips. Like a drug, she is intoxicating, like a drug Sawyer breaks his sense of reality and David feels his balance, his sense of place fading away. David closes his eyes and inhales once more then hooks one finger into the thin waistband of her maroon panties and pulls them off. When he kisses Sawyer again there is nothing between them and she is slick against his tongue.
Reaching between her breasts, Sawyer unhooks her bra. “Come up here and make love to me,” she says, her voice a husky mixture of breathless pleasure and tantalizing seduction.
David struggles to his feet, struggles against the clumsy impatience of passion and removes his shirt.
“What---?” Sawyer says, her breath almost catching as she looks at the scars stretching from each collarbone. “What happened? I’m sorry, honey, I don’t mean to spoil the mood, but are you all right?”
David knows exactly what Sawyer is talking about. He swallows and glances down at the dark red wounds snaking across his chest. The marks are not wide, not as fresh as they were a few hours ago. Now, instead of looking as though he’d been whipped, his torso appears to be a network of maroon scars.
David’s eyes cut back to Sawyer. In the shadowy light she looks incredible. Naked except for her thigh-high nylons, almost the way he’d imagined her on his bed. David feels something stir in his groin, feels it coming back. His buttocks flex and simultaneously every muscle below his waist clenches as if his body is trying to hold something back. A tremor works downward from his pelvis to his feet.
It won’t happen, David thinks. This will not happen again.
Looking, again, at the inexplicable cicatrices webbing his chest, David frowns, considers the sight of his body. “It’s nothing,” he says. “An old sports injury, I’m okay, really.”
“Are you sure? They look… new.”
David removes his pants, shoes and shorts then climbs onto the bed. As he lowers himself to her, Sawyer wraps him in her arms, guides him, bringing him inside. In unexpected reflex, Sawyer rakes her nails down his back.
“Yes--- oh,” David says. “Yes, I’m sure, I’m fine.”
Sawyer moans, turns her head and presses the side of her face into the pillow. “If you say so.”
David brings her mouth to his, kissing her deeply. For a few moments their movements are awkward, ungainly, as they work to find rhythm. And then, without words or effort they become fluid, connected, making love as if knowing exactly what the other needs, knowing what the other wants. Together, they become desire in motion.
Somewhere just below the surface, David has a feeling of familiarity, a feeling of something new and of something inexplicable. We fit, he thinks. We just fit.
Then it starts.
The sensation begins in his thighs and rises up through his groin, into his gut, climbing his throat.
“Not now,” Davis croaks, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
“It’s okay, honey,” Sawyer says, eyes closed, her lips tracing a faint smile. “Just let go. We’ve got all night. We can do this again and again.”
“It’s not that.” David can hardly speak, his voice sounding thicker, deeper. “Remember what I told you?”
Sawyer’s eyes open wide, she looks at him, sees how his face has turned hard. For her, the sexual excitement washes away as quickly as it rushed in. She watches David plant his palms on the mattress, one hand either side of her face, sees him push up, arching his back.
Elbows locked, David’s body goes rigid.
“David, let’s stop,” Sawyer says, quietly, trying to disguise the alarm growing in her chest. “It’s all right, honey. Just relax.”
But it is too late. David’s body quakes in a sudden spasm and he starts to go at Sawyer, pumping her, grinding almost uncontrollably. David’s left hand clenches her breast, his fingernails digging into her skin.
“Hey,” Sawyer says, crying out. She pushes against David. “Stop it. You’re hurting me.” Sawyer struggles to separate herself from him but she cannot.
Then Sawyer sees what is happening to David’s body. The scars on his shoulders are starting to bleed and David’s skin seems to be stretching, cracking. His body appears to be expanding. He looks massive. David’s face looks different, too, like he is wearing a mask. Like his face is a mask of himself. Sweat rains from his body.
“Oh my god, David,” Sawyer says, almost gasping, the words rushing out. “Come on, honey, don’t do this, please stop.”
As if in response, David freezes. He remains inside Sawyer but isn’t moving, isn’t grinding anymore. Now, he is perfectly motionless. Sawyer can’t be sure, but she worries that he’s stopped breathing. Sawyer frowns. What is happening? Is he dead?
Sawyer can feel David’s skin growing cold, becoming frigid. Most especially, his erection feels icy between her legs. What, at first, had been concern for her own well-being, fear of what happened to the actress on Oscar night, now gives way to worry about David.
“Are you okay?” Sawyer says, surprised by the calm in her voice. “David? Come on back to me.”
But her wor
ds are lost in the haze of sexual violation enveloping David’s mind. Sawyer’s voice is no longer a soothing, gentle sound, now what David hears is a scratchy hiss. He tries to think, tries to get control, but just like Sawyer’s words, he is lost; lost inside himself.
Somewhere just below the surface David wants to take her, to make her satisfy his every urge. He wants to rape her. But a deeper, silent stream of thought is coursing through his mind, pushing away his desire for violence.
With a sudden jerk that makes Sawyer cry out, David cranes his head backwards and clutches his throat. He opens his mouth as if to speak but all that comes out is an unintelligible gurgling sound. Another spasm locks David’s muscles and his body becomes rigid again. In the next instant, he rolls off her and falls to the floor, still grasping his throat and making strange, choking noises.
From the bed, Sawyer looks down at him, stunned by what she sees. The scars across his chest are growing wider, bleeding, several new splits have opened. Blood seeps from the corner of his mouth and runs into his ear.
The gurgling noises choke off, David’s eyelids flutter open. Sawyer stares in shock at David’s empty eye sockets. She tries to scream but, like David’s eyes, her voice is gone. David’s eyelids clamp shut again and Sawyer immediately rolls to the other side of the bed, vomiting on the carpet. Her stomach lurches several more times but she has expelled everything in that first retch.
Using the sheet to wipe her mouth, Sawyer grimaces as she swallows the bitter taste in her mouth. Sawyer feels paralyzed, her naked body sheens with sweat, she wants to run but at the moment she can’t even marshal the courage to get off the bed. Sawyer checks for her clothing; panties and slip are just a few feet away, at the foot of the bed. Bra still within reach, shoes and dress are.… where? Oh my god, where is my dress? I can’t leave without my dress. Panic is quickly taking over.
Sitting upright, Sawyer looks once more at her lover lying on the floor, splitting apart and bleeding, the mental image of those empty eye sockets still vivid in her mind. Nausea roils up like a thunderhead and she collapses back onto the bed. Sawyer closes her eyes, tears squeezing out at the corners and she draws a hand to her mouth, fighting the urge to vomit again. Flushed, light-headed, Sawyer takes several deep breaths, trying to relax.
Mercifully, the hot flash and wooziness retreat, she hears David cough. He makes another burbling sound. This time it is weaker. Without looking, Sawyer can tell he is dying.
The cough seems like a plea, like a cry for help. Hearing it, Sawyer sits up, her thoughts becoming clear. She can’t just leave David. Sawyer glances out of the bedroom, sees her dress lying in a pile near the suite’s entrance door.
In her gut, Sawyer wants to grab her bra, pull on that dress and run. But, without being conscientious of it, she remembers their time together during dinner. Without realizing, she thinks of how they walked arm in arm through the French Quarter. Sawyer remembers what she had felt in that one, captivating moment on the airplane when their eyes had met, their gaze holding.
Sawyer crawls off the bed and leans over him. “David, can you hear me?” She says, her eyes brimming with tears. She touches his cheek and whispers, “David?”
Another bubbling gasp and David’s body twitches. Surprised, Sawyer draws back for a second then regains composure.
“Oh, David, hold on honey, I’ll get help. Just hold on.”
Chapter 21
Cody had awakened before dawn. Maybe he had been awake all night for as tired as he felt. In bed, restless and fitful, Cody kept opening his eyes, kept glancing at the clock, waiting for the alarm. Finally, he decided to give up on sleep and make a pot of coffee. Anyway, it was odd sleeping alone, sleeping without Jamie. It just did not feel right.
At sunrise Cody is riding in silence, the radio off, letting his mind wander. The car, he decides, isn’t bad for a rental. With his vehicle being held as evidence in an attempted homicide, Cody had gone to Hertz last night and picked up a white Ford Focus.
Even this early in the morning Cody has to use the air conditioner. No doubt the day will be another scorcher. Over his right shoulder the first rays of sunlight clear the horizon, light spreading across Interstate 10. The roadway is deserted except for an occasional semi-trailer.
Driving below the posted limit, Cody takes his time. The meeting is four hours away. He’ll stop in Baton Rouge, fill his gas tank, and check to see if anyone is following. But that doesn’t seem likely, unless they are driving a big rig.
Yesterday, Cody had spoken at length with Jamie after his encounter with Lucas. He had told her about the look on Todd’s face, the odd smile that wasn’t really a smile at all. Alarmed, Jamie called Lucas and arranged to meet at his condominium.
“Are you sure?” Cody had said to Jamie after she’d seen Todd. “You think he’s okay?”
“He seems all right to me,” Jamie had replied. “He wasn’t too happy about what you said to Lucas, but I think he’s fine.”
“I don’t know, Jamie. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“He’s just mad about how you treated Lucas,” she’d said. “I really think that’s it.”
Cody had sighed, looked away. “I’m sorry about that,” he had said. “I had no idea Todd was listening. I tried to apologize.”
“It’s okay, forget it. I know Lucas can be a son-of-a-bitch.”
“Thanks.” Cody had exhaled hard, taken both of Jamie’s hands in his. “Listen,” he had said. “There’s more to this. I’m not trying to scare you, honey, but Todd is in trouble. I know he is.”
Jamie had wanted to come home, wanted to talk about what kind of trouble Todd might be in, but Cody refused to let her return. Things were still out of control, especially with Slater and Hansen in the mix, still part of the background. But Cody missed Jamie, so they had agreed to meet for dinner.
Over shrimp pasta and drinks they talked about everything that had happened, re-lived Julia’s death and Jamie’s harrowing escape, the shotgun attempt on one, or both, of their lives. They talked about Todd and whether or not he was really in trouble. In the end, on Todd, they agreed to disagree. Cody sensed something was wrong, but Jamie was certain the only problem was the growing rift between her husband and her son.
Throughout dinner, Cody had avoided the topic of his temporary dismissal, but he knew keeping it from her would be a mistake. With another round of drinks in hand, Cody had told Jamie about his situation at the police department, carefully omitting the video evidence of his strange behavior. The news worried Jamie. She wanted to know why he had been put on administrative leave. Did he do something wrong? Would he lose his job? Cody just shrugged it off as routine, considering all that had happened.
Now, twenty-five miles west of Baton Rouge, driving on U.S. Route 190 through Saint Landry Parish, Cody is thinking about breakfast. The refinery town of Krotz Springs is just ahead, where Cody intends to get some food and a fresh cup of coffee. From there, Opelousas is less than half an hour away. Cody will be early for the meeting but a few extra minutes will give him a chance to get his mind around what might happen next.
Cody nods and smiles to himself. Opelousas: Zydeco music capital of the world. Cody thinks of Jamie, recalls how they had danced the Zydeco at their wedding. He remembers one-year old Todd bouncing on Jamie’s hip, holding tight, laughing. Cody thinks about his wife, thinks about how much he loves Jamie, how much he loves Todd.
Images of that happy little one-year old boy wrapped in Jamie’s arms chain into thoughts of Todd as a teenager, chain into thoughts of Todd and his natural father. An unidentifiable pain stabs at Cody’s heart, he should have noticed sooner, he should have been there for Todd. Jamie is mistaken about their son. There is more to Todd’s sad expression than his wife understands. Jamie hadn’t seen the boy’s face, hadn’t seen the look in Todd’s eye. Jamie had not seen the smile-mask. Something is wrong. Todd is in trouble, Cody knows it.
Cody shakes off the feeling. Todd will have to wait. The Zydeco music capital i
s less than a half an hour up the road and this New Orleans police detective has an appointment to keep. Krotz Springs is just ahead, a cup of coffee from some nameless café will give Cody one last opportunity to think about things, give him one more chance to see if someone is following.
Out of nowhere a tractor-trailer blows its air horn, a massive chrome grill fills Cody’s rearview mirror. The oval of a Peterbilt logo stares back at him like a long-haul cyclops. Cody’s first instinct is to ease up, give the trucker room to pass, so he takes his foot off the gas pedal. Then Cody remembers he’s in the right lane, the slow lane. The truck driver can pass on the left. He takes his foot off the brake pedal, moves it onto the accelerator.
Not here.
Cody flinches. The words, despite being soundless, pierce his mind. “What?” He says. “Not where?”
Behind Cody, the truck accelerates, that Peterbilt oval looms, and the semi taps his rear bumper.
“Holy shit!” Cody yells, cutting the steering wheel, swerving into the left lane.
But he turns too hard, too fast, and the little rental breaks wild, fishtailing. The bridge over the Atchafalaya River is just ahead and Cody’s imagines his plunge over the edge, imagines a nosedive into muddy brown water.
The Ford Focus pitches violently back and forth. Cody is about to plow into the guard rail, he anticipates the crunch of car body against steel. But, to Cody’s complete surprise, the semi lurches forward, nudging his front passenger fender, the bump correcting his skid. And, just like that, Cody finds himself rolling along in the left lane as if nothing had happened.
