by Susanne Beck
She latched on to my lips, kissing me with a tenderness that was the antithesis of our previous coupling, yet no less arousing because of it.
Shifting again, she came up onto all fours, straddling my hips with her knees planted on either side, all without breaking the heart-stopping kiss or her tender, erotic stroking.
In a show of supreme control, she lifted her free hand from its place beside my head, and captured my hand, sliding it down her drenched torso to where she was all heated openness for me. Releasing my hand to continue on its own path, she collapsed down on her elbow again, moaning softly into my open mouth as I explored her softness.
I mirrored her movements against me as best I could. I must tell you, though, it was very hard. She seemed to have my entire body under her seductive control. I felt like a marionette in a puppet-show for adults.
I stopped trying so hard and gave my hand free rein. When she gasped and surged against me, I knew my instincts had been correct. I didn’t have time to gloat, however, as her touches turned more insistent and coaxing.
My own sounds of pleasure filled the cool night air.
The end came quickly. We were both too ready for it. I climaxed first and she positioned herself over me so that she could get what she needed from me during that eternal minute of blinding passion.
When it was over, she came to lie between me and the wall. With ease, she turned my pliant, nerveless body so that my back was to her chest. Slipping one arm around my waist, she tugged slightly till we fit snugly together as two pieces of a human puzzle. "I love you, my Angel," she whispered, laying a kiss to the back of my neck.
"I love you too, Ice," I mumbled, shivering with warmth as she nuzzled against my neck.
Within seconds, we fell asleep, spooned against one another, spending the first night ever lying in one another’s arms.
My dream had come true.
PART 13
I AWOKE THE NEXT morning to the sound of a heart beating steadily in my ear and the feel of gentle fingers tracing abstract patterns on my back. I blinked my eyes open to find gentle blues centered on my face. Ice smiled. "Morning."
I yawned, arching my back in a stretch. "Morning. What time is it?"
Her head tilted as she looked over to the clock hanging over the sink. "Almost eight. Sleep well?"
Yawning again, I dropped my head back down on Ice’s warm chest with a thud. "Best three hours of sleep I ever had."
Her chuckle rumbled through my ear, vibrating against my whole body.
We had woken up twice more during the night to make love. The second time had been near dawn. If the trailer had had windows, I would have loved to watch the sun rise with her, but since there were no windows, we performed our own little ritual.
Ice’s gentle touch against my back was making me sleepy again. "Mmm. I had the most wonderful dream."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. You and I were sitting on the porch of my cabin by the lake, watching the sun set over the water. I could smell the pines in the breeze and we listened as the crickets and bullfrogs came out to play. It was wonderful."
I could feel Ice stiffen beneath me as her heart picked up its rhythm. I slumped, damning myself for fifteen kinds of fool. Why did you have to say anything, Angel? You’ve just ruined the morning. Way to go, kid.
But Ice relaxed again, her hand picking up where it had left off, tracing over the lines of muscle and bone in my back. "Sounds like a nice dream."
When I looked up, I caught that look of almost infinite sadness in her eyes once again and in that moment I would have given up anything, even my chance at freedom, even my chance at loving her, to take it away forever.
I blinked and the look was gone, pushed down to whatever hell the demons of her soul resided in. "I’m sorry," I whispered.
Her smile was as sad as her eyes had been moments ago. "Don’t be. Dreams, sometimes, are the only thing that makes this place bearable."
And again, the next question came out of my mouth without my permission. "Do you dream?"
"Sometimes."
"About what?"
"Nothing as nice as yours. Mostly about those I’ve hurt or killed. Their families."
"Those aren’t dreams, Ice. Those are nightmares."
I could feel her shrug beneath me. "Nothing more than what I deserve."
I sighed. "Ice, I told you this before. Guilt can be a good thing. It can stop you from repeating mistakes. But you can’t let it rule your life. If you do, you’ll never be able to live it."
"That’s easy to say, Angel. It’s a whole lot harder to do."
"I know."
"You have given me something, though."
"I have?"
"Yes. Hope. That one day I’ll find another way of dealing with my anger. That I won’t become that person I was before I met you." Her smile was brighter as she ruffled my sleep-tousled hair. "You really are my Angel, ya know."
She sealed her words with a kiss.
* * *
When the knock finally came to put an end to our wonderful day, we were ready, packages in hand, orange jumpsuits once again covering our bodies.
I felt tired, pleasantly sore, and deliriously happy. We’d made love again before slipping off to the shower. The tight quarters, and resulting close press of our bodies, sparked our passions once more until it was all I could do to breathe, let alone think about moving.
Finally, we prodded ourselves to get dried and dressed. The packing came next. The clothing would be kept with our other personal effects in the huge storage room next to the warden’s office. My new piece of bonsai art, since I couldn’t keep it in my cell, would reside in the library where I could look at it daily. Ice promised to teach me how to care for it myself.
Keys slipped in the lock and the knob turned. Bright sunlight filtered in, causing us both to wince at the change from the dimness of the trailer. Sandra greeted us both with a friendly smile. I smiled gratefully back, beyond happy with her part in this wonderful experience for me.
Taking our clothing and tucking it under her arm, Sandra led us back down the fenced walkway and into the prison proper. After stepping inside the musty building, the door guard patted us both down, then Sandra escorted us down the long hallway and into the main square.
The sounds of talking and the quick rush of bodies was almost overwhelming after our short interlude in the trailer. I blinked, trying to get my bearings once again.
A noise started off to my left, low, then gaining in volume and pitch until I wondered, blankly, who had let a bird into the prison. Then I saw a flash of orange and white and stepped back, almost dropping the bonsai tree as Cassandra came running toward me, her mouth opened wide in a hideous screech while her manacled arms and legs jangled from the weight of the chains.
I stood there, dumbly wondering how she move so quickly, bound as she was, before I was shunted hard to the right as Ice’s long body smoothly interposed itself between me and the screaming banshee heading toward us.
Normally, I might, at some level, have resented the protective stance Ice took, knowing that I could now well take care of myself. But Cassandra was, as they say, a whole different kettle of fish and I accepted the protection of her strong back gratefully.
I was pushed further away as Sandra dumped the clothing in her arms into the grip of the door guard and moved to stand next to Ice, protecting me further from the impending explosion of blonde, insane fury that was headed our way.
Cassandra kept coming, her fisted hands held chest high as her screech continued unabated, it seemed. Startled prisoners automatically stepped aside to let her pass as her guards tore across the square after her, red faced and huffing.
Ice took a long step forward, neatly intercepting the enraged woman. Cassandra pounded my lover’s chest with her manacled hands, screaming obscenities in an abnormally high voice.
From what I could gather, both my ancestry and what I might have done for a living prior to being incarcerated here were being cal
led into question. Then, her head turned, insanely sparkling chocolate eyes meeting mine and I was left with no doubts. "You’re dead, little Angel. You’re nothing but a little whore who’s tempted my precious Ice away from her path with me. I’ll see you in Hell, Angel. Hell! Do you hear me?!?!"
Though I was well protected by both Sandra and Ice, I couldn’t help the fear that ran through me at her screamed invectives. If there was anyone in the prison who could easily carry out her threats, Cassandra was that person. Still, I captured the fear deep within me, determined not to give her the satisfaction of knowing she had slipped past my defenses.
The other two guards caught up to Cassandra finally, grabbing her around her skinny waist and shoulders and yanking her hard away from Ice. She refused to relinquish her grip and there was a loud tearing sound as Ice’s jumpsuit began to give up the ghost under the pressure of her insane strength.
Ice lifted her hands. grabbing Cassandra’s manacled wrists. Jabbing her thumbs over the sensitive nerves just under the skin, she forced Psycho’s grip loose and the screaming woman was pulled fully away, hissing and spitting like a feral cat in a hunter’s net.
"Call the hospital," Sandra shouted to be heard over Cassandra’s howling. "I think it’s time for her shot." After the women dragged her away, the guard turned to me, concern in her eyes. "Are you alright?"
"Wha--? Oh, yeah. Fine." I let out a shaky little laugh. "I guess I should be flattered, huh? Looks like I’ve become Public Enemy Number One with her."
Sandra patted my shoulder. "God willing, she’ll be in the hospital for more than twenty-four hours this time. When she gets back here, we’ll keep an extra close eye on her."
Like you did just now? I almost said aloud before thinking better of it. In a way, Cassandra was like a greased pig at the county fair. It seemed almost impossible to keep her from doing something once she had her mind set on it. I’d just have to keep an eye out and protect myself as best I could. "Thanks," I said finally.
Ice turned, not bothering to hold together the jumpsuit which had been totally rent at the chest. I found my eyes drawn to the swell of her bare breasts just visible in the ‘V’ of the parted fabric. "Sorry about that," she said in a low voice, totally unselfconscious.
"Hey, no problem. She didn’t almost rip my clothes off, after all."
Ice looked down at her exposed cleavage, then back up at me, and shrugged. Her gaze was intent as it locked into mine.
I smiled. "I’m fine. Really. Between you, the Amazons, Corinne and the guards, I’ve got more eyes on me than a rotten potato."
Ice screwed her face up at my analogy, startling a laugh out of me. Sandra and the door guard joined the levity and soon the fright of Cassandra’s murderous threats slipped to the back of my mind.
As soon as the coast was clear, Sandra led us onward to our cells.
* * *
Summer turned to fall, which quickly gave way to winter. Things went on pretty much as usual in the Bog. The gangs remained quiet, leaving the Amazons free to pursue other interests, namely, one another. After their spat, Sonny, who I always thought had a thing for the male gender, and Pony began courting one another in an amusingly old fashioned way. And I, being the writer of our little group, was pressed into love-note writing service for them both. I felt like a modern day Cyrano de Bergerac, sans the large nose, but it made the time pass quickly and so I did it with pleasure.
On a Thursday afternoon in the middle of winter, Phyllis came to me in the library telling me I had a phone call. Donita, sounding cool and collected as always, told me she had some news, though wouldn’t divulge the topic, and asked to meet with me the next morning. I, of course, agreed.
Needless to say, Thursday night’s sleep was all but non-existent.
I spent Friday morning in the visitor’s room, twisting the fabric of my jumpsuit into new and interesting abstract shapes while trying to calm my similarly twisting stomach. Finally, the door was unlocked and opened, and my lawyer, impeccably dressed and gorgeous as always, strode in, a sparkle in her eyes.
"Angel," she greeted, grasping my hand warmly, "good to see you again. Come, sit with me at the table. I’ve got some news."
Soon, we were both seated and sipping at the cool water the guards had so thoughtfully provided (at Donita’s pointed request). Opening her briefcase, she pulled out a thick file with my name emblazoned on the cover. "We’ve got ‘em," she said, her smile triumphant.
My heart picked up its pace. "What do you mean, exactly?"
"You’re aware of baseball’s ‘three strikes and you’re out’ policy?" At my nod, she continued. "We’ve got three huge strikes here. And when I say huge, I do mean huge."
Opening up the folder, she pulled out several pieces of paper and placed the flat on the table, turning them so that I could easily read the text. The first was a simple hotel receipt. I looked at her questioningly.
"You remember your across-the-hall neighbors, the Gracesons? Two of the star witnesses for the prosecution at your trial?"
I nodded again, remembering indeed. Tom and Maggie Graceson had each testified that they had heard me arguing and threatening Peter on the night of his death. I remembered no such argument, but their testimony was compelling, and obviously was believed by the jury. "What about them?"
"Well, if your original attorney, whom I’m seriously considering putting up for disbarment proceedings, had bothered to do just the tiniest amount of research, he would have found out, as I did, that the Gracesons weren’t even home on the night your husband died. They were in this hotel, participating in something that they probably didn’t want to get spread around."
"What do you mean?"
"They’re swingers."
"Swingers?" I asked, completely lost. The only swingers I knew were dancers. And even if they weren’t very good at it, I didn’t see how it would be something embarrassing to them. I said as much.
She grinned at my naivete. "No, not that kind of swinger. The kind where groups of married folks gather around and swap partners. Sexually."
My eyes must have widened to the size of saucers because she covered her mouth over the laugh that came forth.
"Exactly. Apparently, from what I gathered from other members of this particular group, the Gracesons were quite upset because they had asked your husband and you to join them and Peter told them that you had turned him down flat. It seems Tom really liked you, in that special way," she winked, "and Maggie was quite attracted to your husband."
"You’re kidding!"
"Nope. Do you ever remember a conversation of that nature between yourself and Peter?"
"Not at all! Of course, I would have turned him down if he had asked me, but he never asked."
"I didn’t think so. Apparently, on the night of Peter’s death, he had told both Tom and Maggie that you’d finally consented to give it a try and that, if they rented a room somewhere, he’d swing by the house and pick you up. Of course, that never happened."
"My God," I breathed. "I can’t believe this." I shook my head, my anger building. "They made up testimony about me because they were pissed that Peter stood them up?!?"
"That’s what it sounds like."
"Unbelievable!!!"
She laid a calming hand on my wrist as I thought I was about to burst out of my skin with rage. "That’s only strike one."
"There’s more?"
"Oh yes." Moving the hotel receipt out of the way, Donita pushed a white sheet of paper closer to me. It was what looked to be an Emergency Room treatment sheet. "Do you remember this?"
I looked at the date and nodded, remembering the incident.
Peter had come home from work and had tried to get me to go out to the bar with him. When I refused, needing to get up early to get some shopping done before work the next morning, he beat me quite severely, bruising my ribs and giving me a hairline fracture of my eye socket. I had managed to hail a cab which took me to the Emergency Room, convinced I was bleeding internally. Thank God, th
at hadn’t been the case, but I still felt as if I’d been hit by a truck. I remembered telling the ER staff that I had fallen down some stairs. The looks in their eyes told me they didn’t believe me but they didn’t press the issue. "I remember." I blushed, embarrassed.
"In one of his infrequent bouts of actual competency, your attorney tried to present this as evidence of Peter’s abuse of you. The prosecution, for whatever reason, argued it as irrelevant and the judge agreed to have it suppressed."
I sighed. "I told them I fell down some stairs," I mumbled to the table.
"Yes, I know. It’s in the report. But look at the last paragraph."
Pulling the sheet closer to me, I peered at the writing. Apparently, I had been right. The treating physician did believe that I was the victim of a beating and he further believed that it was done at the hands of my husband. I looked up at Donita. "Why didn’t he ever say anything to me?"
"That I don’t know. But it’s a law that when a member of the medical staff believes there has been abuse involved, he or she must report it to the proper authorities, no matter what the victim says or doesn’t say."
"Did he do that?"
"Yes, he did. He filled out the proper forms and sent them to the proper agency."
"But no one ever contacted me about it."
"No, they didn’t. My investigator followed up this lead and found that it had never been researched. They had everything they needed to open an investigation. They just never did."
"But why not?"
"I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that either. But the thing here is, Angel, that, by rights, this piece of evidence should never have been suppressed. Even if no abuse could be proven, at the very least, the treating physician should have been called to the stand to state what he found. This document shows that there was at least a possibility that you were telling the truth when you said your husband abused you. It would have gone a long way in helping you prove your case."
