To her, he was poetry. Why can’t he see what he is? Just look at him. Doesn’t he know? “You should come to Chicago,” she said. “Someday soon. Stay a while.”
When his fingers brushed her right breast he felt the pleasure run through her. He could tell she needed to be held more firmly and his hand responded, cupping her flesh. He felt her pulse quicken. He watched her nipple swell and sensed a stronger, deeper reaction taking place, deep down inside her.
She felt him put a finger — no, two fingers — into her, and she remembered New York, her embarrassment thinking about his well-trimmed fingernails. She smiled.
And then, her pulse was racing.
He was on his right side, she on her back. He began to move his left leg over hers.
“No. This way,” she said.
She turned on her side, her back to him, snuggled the tight roundness of her behind against him, getting him to spoon her, lightly trailing his fingers across the skin of her smooth flat belly. She arched her back. His learning hands slipped upward between her thighs. He wasn’t sure exactly what to do. It seemed obvious that he had to spread her thighs a little as he slid forward — and found one of her hands already there helping him into the right place. It didn’t feel as though he would go in. Just the tip, a bit more, so he moved gently back and forth and she became moist . . .
“Experience isn’t wasted on you,” she laughed lightly.
“You feel so good inside . . . .” he whispered back.
And she did.
She let him raise the knee of her top leg, the one with the brace, and slide his own between, around the lower one, pulling himself inside more deeply.
She raised her left thigh several inches.
Suddenly there was another unfamiliar sensation between his legs. “Whh — Nnnggg,” he gasped, then recognized it. She had slid her hand between her own legs, back between his, and scooped her thumb beneath his bottom testicle. Cupped fingers around the upper one and pulled him tightly against her.
She was holding his balls.
“It gives me a feeling of control,” she said, “to have you like this.”
To give her such control didn’t scare him. He liked it. Her pulling up slightly forward. A strange and wonderful sensation. It made them feel even more connected. But the intensity of it rose violently within him. And what she said then surprised him: “Give it to me! Now!”
And that strongest of desires welled up from deep inside to comply. To give, to deliver — he felt her squeezing his testicles more firmly, pulling him up against her, arching her back against him, calves and feet pulling him toward her, deeper into her, up inside and there was nothing — nothing he could do but give her what she wanted in one long tortuous release. And she howled as he yelled out something between a cry and a wild scream. Penetration . . . ownership . . . they held each other . . . separate yet together . . . until, he deep inside her, they drifted off and fell asleep.
An Odd Invitation
The phone rang. Franklin pulled one of Victoria’s arms across his chest.
“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” he said.
“Me neither,” she laughed, “ever again.”
He leaned over her and grabbed it off the night stand. “Hello?”
“Dr. Franklin Reveal?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Hyram Millar. I’m a doctor of archaeological religious studies at the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.
“How can I help you, Dr. Millar?”
“I doubt you’ve heard about our recent discovery. It’s been a well-kept secret for the last two days. But we’re about to release it to the press.”
“Uh — what discovery is that?” Franklin’s pulse began to rise.
“God has chosen to restore the ancient Plates to us, from which the Book of Mormon was originally translated.”
Franklin was silent.
“Dr. Reveal?”
“You’ve found the Mormon Plates?”
“They were rediscovered in what is apparently an old cave in New York State, in Hill Cumorah, one of our holiest of places.”
“That’s quite astonishing, Dr. Millar.”
“We believe the New York bomb set up a kind of shock wave that split the earth, revealing a long-buried opening to the cave. It’s a very exciting time for us.”
“I can imagine. It’s an astounding discovery, I’m sure, but why are you calling me? What have I got to do with it? I’m not Mormon. I’m a Congregationalist.”
“We’re inviting select representatives from different branches of the Judeo-Christian world to review these important artifacts. We’d like you to join us in Salt Lake City.”
“That sounds very exciting, Doctor, but why —”
“Why you? Well, first off, you’ve become very well known, Dr. Reveal. The things you did in New York were quite extraordinary. Clearly the Lord is with you. Also, I understand you’ve read the Bible in French, Spanish — several languages. We need you as much for your faith as your understanding of Scripture.”
Obviously I’m being stroked, Franklin realized, noting the stream of suggestions embedded within the man’s language. “I’ve read the Book of Mormon, but I wouldn’t say I’m any expert.”
“That’s not necessary. We feel you would be a valuable part of our independent verification process. Would it be possible for you to come out here tomorrow morning? Just for the day?”
“Tomorrow? In Salt Lake?” Franklin shook his head. Interesting, but ridiculous. He ran fingers over the non-ministerial stubble of a day-old beard. Cyn’s face flashed across his mind. A different environment for a few hours —
And what about the people who need me at the church?
“Are the airlines even running planes?” he asked.
“Commercial and private by special permit only. We can have a ticket waiting at the gate in Erie, a seven a.m. flight.”
He caught Victoria’s enthusiastic eye. Wow! She mouthed at him.
“I don’t believe I can —”
“I wish you’d think about it, Dr. Reveal.”
He’d barely put the phone down when it rang again. It was Ralph Maples.
“Dr. Millar called?”
“Yes.”
“He contacted me through one of the church members,” Ralph explained. “What time do you leave?”
“I told him I didn’t think —”
“What? It’s a very prestigious opportunity for the church! I want you to go.”
The Book of Mormon is baloney, Franklin thought to himself. Besides, he didn’t really want to go —
But Ralph said, “Go — I told him you speak French, Italian. They have no idea about your knowledge of ancient languages. If anyone can throw cold water on those Mormons, it’s you.”
Franklin was just not interested. “I have appointments tomorrow.”
“I’ll handle your people!” Maples almost yelled at him. “You can work on your sermon on the plane.”
Ralph waited.
“Not all of God’s work is done in the church office, Franklin,” Ralph urged with sarcasm — more subtle than Everon’s — but without the goodwill. He heard us! He had to!
“Call him back! Tell them you’ll do it!”
Maples disconnected.
At least Ralph didn’t come right out and say something about sexual adventures on my office desk.
Franklin looked at Victoria.
“Sounds really interesting,” she said. “I have things to do tomorrow anyway. You should go.”
Franklin called Millar back.
A thin smile played across Millar’s lips.
“Thank you, Dr. Reveal. We’ll be looking forward to having you. Someone will meet you at the airport in Salt Lake.”
Millar hung up the phone.
“Well?” said the short man with the bulldog neck standing next to him.
Millar ignored the man’s gaze, looking instead at the gold plate on the nearby labo
ratory bench. “He’s in.”
The Change
Cyn’s eyes staring down. Slowly spinning, holding Steve tight to herself in that damned Aztec blanket. And Franklin could feel her pain as that unstoppable rod of rebar slowly pierced their bodies.
He saw the death of Cyn’s mother. He felt the Nevada mine caving in, the deaths of his own mother and their father, and felt more alone than ever. Franklin’s eyes ached in their sockets. Trapped by confusion, hurt and anger . . . pain cycling through him again and again . . . rising acid burning his throat. Swallowing it back down . . .
And he knew it for what it was: A repeating negative obsession within a quarter-state of sleep — an endless half-waking dream with no conclusion.
But categorizing an abstraction only makes it stronger, he thought. And the pain increased. Four days of nothing real — television, radio, Internet. No word from the government. It’s too much for anyone!
If I ever needed a voice speaking to me from above . . . he opened his eyes — shocked wide open, to see Victoria above him in the half light, body moving, rocking, back and forth against him, riding him!
He was hard — already inside her? How? Her face tilted back in ecstasy in the dim bedroom light. What is she? Voracious? Undeniable? What am I?
Yet he felt more alive than ever.
He could feel her opening wider, he sliding more deeply inside. Warm, wet, accepting. She moved those beautiful long legs farther apart. Are they my legs or hers? Where does she stop and I begin? One person. Together. She wants me . . . the only man in the world. Here inside . . . inside her sex . . . she is sex . . . we are sex . . .
And she reached with her right arm, down and back, pulling upward on his right buttock. He slid smoothly forward and she moved her rear toward him at the same time. He could feel the tip of his penis grazing the end of the inside of her. And something else. Once again he could feel that pressure building, building in his testicles — almost as if he had to urinate, yet so, so different.
She was the answer he wanted. Desperately needed. How am I to look at this answer?
And then he exploded into her and something exploded in his brain and he thought: Like Eve out of Eden — urging me to follow. To follow what, a serpent toward destruction?
No!
He shook his head.
How odd to think any such thing like that, at a time like this! To think anything at all, intense waves of pleasure washing through, a change so deep within. Like — feels, like — is . . . anything other than destruction!
For the first time in his life he felt he was becoming completely whole.
Faith Versus Sex
While they dressed, Victoria took her first look around his bedroom in the morning light.
A tall oak bookcase took up the wall left of his bed. Its lower shelves were filled with what looked like religious texts: The Teachings of Buddha. The Vedas of India. Myths of the Goddess Isis and The Gods of the Greeks. The Jewish Torah — the Pentateuch and Wisdoms; The Kabbalah. Shinto Historicals, and Taoist Teachings. The Confucian Analects, and The Words of Zoroaster.
The top two shelves were filled with language dictionaries.
A huge chart was taped to the wall in front of the bed. Small rectangular boxes ran in columns down the wall — some red, some green. Each box contained a word.
The green boxes atop each column were labeled Greek, French, Armenian — a whole line of them. Some had check marks in the corners. Others contained a small ‘+’ symbol. None of the red boxes were familiar — things like Bactrian, Khotanese, Khwarezmian. She counted nineteen checks; many more pluses.
She heard a bell chime. It sounded like he was doing something with his computer in the kitchen. “Are these all languages?” she called out.
“Mmm-hmm,” he said as he came back and pulled on a fresh white button-down shirt that contrasted nicely with his hair. “My sister made that for me,” a touch of rough pain in his voice.
“What are the plus marks?”
“The ones I’m working on.”
She frowned, shaking her head as she counted the green boxes in amazement. “I still can’t see how anyone could have learned nineteen languages.”
“Mostly bits and pieces of a few more.” He smiled at her, “Spaciba, Arigato, Shi-a-shi, Gratsí, Mercí, Khob khun, Danka — I can say thank you, for being with me — in thirty-one.
“Now you’re showing off.”
“I know,” he laughed, “It’s kind of fun. I’ve never done it before.”
“Well I can only really say thank you properly in one.” She rose on her toes and kissed his mouth. It was a kiss that reached down into his toes. The pleasure of it didn’t stop when she was done.
Victoria was suddenly struck by the way he concentrated on whatever it was she said to him. Did to him? He didn’t merely listen. He absorbed. He was aware of everything — what she felt happening, even her appraisal of his thought process.
She didn’t want to leave him. It was beginning to bother her again. And something else too. Inside these new feelings a newly activated secret grew. She wouldn’t let herself be too worried. Not yet.
As he pulled on his leather jacket, Franklin looked around for Cynthia’s bank statement. He was starting to want to carry it everywhere. Another thing he didn’t understand lately.
Usually he left it on the table. My office desk. Jumbled in that mess we picked up off the floor. Then he remembered. He pulled open the left side of his jacket. Still in the pocket.
He drove Victoria to where her car was parked in his space at the church. Ralph’s space was empty.
He slipped an arm around her waist, helped her negotiate the ice around to the driver’s door. As she sat down, his eyes followed the white plastic brace on her left knee.
“Does that thing get in your way?” he asked.
“It’s no problem with an automatic,” she smiled, gingerly lifting her leg inside, adjusting her skirt, pulling the door shut. The window came down as she started the car.
“Remember what I said about coming to Chicago. I’m bound to be a little bored over the next few weeks.” He heard her rap a light knuckle against the plastic on her knee — “So . . . anytime sailor, okay?”
She handed him a slip of paper. “In case my cell’s not working, the second number’s where you can reach me. I’m staying with a girlfriend in Cleveland for the next couple days. My Chicago number’s on there too.” She reached out and grabbed behind his head and pulled him down for a long kiss.
He watched her back out of his space and drive away. There was an Ohio license plate above the rear bumper.
As the plane lifted off from Erie, Franklin could still feel her long dark hair in his hands, her full soft lips against his. He could feel that strong supple insatiable energy inside her . . .
He sighed, Friday, then Saturday. Two more days! He pulled out the pad he’d stored in the seatback, intending to begin an outline for Sunday’s sermon. He shook his head, remembering the many times Everon had said: “You need a girlfriend, Bro!” Is that what she is? Victoria’s my girlfriend?
It had been a long, long time . . . fifteen years . . . since he’d had anything even approaching sex. His only real girlfriend had allowed things to go right up to the moment of intercourse, just beginning to enter her, when suddenly she pushed him away. “It’s a sin before marriage!” she said. That stopped him cold. Though he hadn’t felt so cold at the time. He’d felt revved up and awful and deficient somehow. Like something was wrong with him.
Sex with Victoria had done something to him. Changed him somehow. There was a moment in the middle of the night he knew something was different. The moment that orgasm began. It was a personal confirmation way down deep on some biological subconscious level that said: You’re valuable. You matter.
The plane bounced uncomfortably. His right hand tensed a moment, gripping the armrest. Through the window he caught a glimpse of dark lake water off the
plane’s right side. Then it was gone, obscured by dark heavy clouds. Turbulence rocked the wings. The seatbelt sign lit up overhead. His fingers felt tensely at the roughness of the seat cushion fabric between his legs.
Victoria. What an extraordinary woman! Encouraging me to go back into the city like that. Maybe my suggestions helped her, but the whole time in the helicopter she never complained once about her leg. Then arguing with that little dictator Kone. And getting Walter van Patter and Everon to go along with me, to make that final try. Such bravery. I wouldn’t have found Cynthia and Steve and rescued Melissa without her. Maybe she’s the answer to my prayer.
Empathy. Companionship . . . fornication?
That’s the answer to my prayer, God? Tapping my head on my office floor. Pleading. Begging you. That’s my answer, God, great sex?
He smiled painfully. Ralph definitely heard us having sex in my office.
He thought about Victoria at lunch. How she saw a different side of the owl, my own natural disdain for its owner’s religion. If she’d been a woman of moderate intelligence and narrow goals he wouldn’t have been so attracted to her. She wouldn’t have affected him the way she did. The sex wouldn’t have meant as much.
His legs tensed against the floor as the plane rattled through a long pocket of turbulence.
He frowned. Is it only non-specific prayers God answers? Help me find a girlfriend, God. I need a job, God. Please, God, help me to get well. So does getting what you ask for, even if the request is vague, not time-critical, something non-specific, really mean God did it?
Whatsoever you shall ask in my name, that will I do.
Ask, and it shall be given you;
For everyone that asks receives.
BAM!
The overhead lights flickered, went dark . . . came back on.
Franklin grimaced, tried to swallow. Get me out of this plane alive, God! he huffed. I guess if that doesn’t work no one’s ever gonna know — Please bring Cynthia back to life, God! Tonight! Exactly as she was! Dear God, please restore New York City to the way it was before the bomb! That would really be something. He frowned. Something really specific. Those always fail.
Search For Reason (State Of Reason Mystery, Book 2) Page 34
