Reed

by Mariska Hutchence

  I half expect the metal detector to go off anyway, but when it doesn’t, I realize that the revolver was the only thing I currently have to my name other than the clothes on my back. Well, that and maybe a woman whom I can’t even be with.

  I find an open computer and sit down next to an elderly woman who looks like she’s struggling a bit. I pull up the web browser and start typing.

  “Excuse me, young man.” The woman says next to me. “Can you help me?”

  Glancing over at the screen, I see a ‘page not found’ address. “I can try. I’m not really the whiz kid.”

  “Well, your generation is way ahead of mine. I don’t even have one of these things at home, but the grandkids insist on email.” She says, shaking her head.

  “What are you trying do?” I ask.

  “They put pictures on this Dropbox thing and it’s the only way I can see them, but it’s not working right today.”

  I lean over as best as I can, feeling the water dripping from my shirt sleeve.

  “You look like you got a bit of a soaker.” She says, smiling.

  I return the smile as best as I can. “Yeah, just got stuck in it.”

  Turning back to the screen, I see the issue and correct the typo in the website address she was trying to open.

  “That should do it, Ma’am.” I say, respectfully. Her eyes light up and that’s reward enough for me.

  “Thank you…” She pauses.

  “Cal.” I say, mostly habit, but there’s really no point in the lie. I don’t know if my face is plastered on television screens yet or not, but that’ll do it more than the name will.

  “Thank you, Cal.”

  A moment later, I’m back to my own screen, and the forum pops up. Logging in with my username, I wait for the unread posts section to load. There’s quite a few, but a quick scan doesn’t show any that I’m interested in. Really, it’s just a hobby board, but I’m hoping that she remembers me talking about it. It’s a longshot, but I don’t have much to do besides waiting for my ship to come in. The thought makes me laugh.

  I go to the ‘Introductions’ sub-forum and create a new post.

  SUBJECT: DES

  Trouble in Duluth at Fairfield with my CC.

  It doesn’t seem like much, but I don’t want to give much more. It’s the closest hotel, but the only option I have right now is to wait. I realize I don’t have any idea what is happening in the life of the person I care about most in the world. It depresses me. The woman next to me is closing things down, apparently not having found any new photos.

  “You have a nice day, young man.”

  I smile and nod, thanking her. I watch her walk out, then refresh the page, like Des would have been able to respond in five minutes. I check a few other incidentals online, and I’m about to pack it in when one of the library staff comes up behind me. A chill goes down my spine and I’m picturing a cliché television scene where the suspect’s wanted poster slowly rolls out of the antiquated fax machine.

  “Sir?” She says, and I’m already trying to remember where all the exits are, ready to bolt for one.

  I turn around slowly, having already closed out the browser. I give her a smile and she extends her hand. “The woman next to you wanted you to have this. She said she didn’t think you’d take it.”

  Reluctantly, I take the twenty-dollar bill out of her hand and she smiles big at me. “She said you were sweet.”

  “I have my moments.” I say, sliding out the chair.

  “Jeez, you’re going back out in that?” She says, gesturing to the front windows, the rain pelting them so hard the street is barely visible.

  “Don’t really have much of a choice.” I say as her face turns up to follow me as I rise a good half-foot over her head. “I appreciate this, though. Having a rough day.” I gesture to the bill.

  “Do you want to have lunch?” She says, then after another glance at me she adds. “On me?”

  I start to refuse, but the plucky little receptionist isn’t having it.

  “Hell, you look like you haven’t slept in days and you still have it in you to help out an old lady.” She says. “The least you can let a girl do is buy you lunch.”

  Chapter Ten

  Tuesday Morning – Des

  Some vacation. I was up half the night and I spent all morning watching HBO on the television. I’ve been throwing on my clothes for the last ten minutes, though, having hoped it would only take me five. It’s almost laughable that I had decided to check the forum again simply because I was trying to IMDB one of the actors in the movie I had been watching. Fairfield Inn in Duluth. I had already plugged it into my phone’s GPS. A glance in the mirror tells me that I’m not at my best, but I don’t really give a shit.

  Throwing the rest of my things back into the rucksack hastily, I swing it over my shoulder, remembering at the last minute to grab the keycard before I head out the door. In the lobby, I rest it on the counter and the desk clerk looks at me funny.

  “I need to check out.” I say.

  She looks at the room number, then tells me what I already know. “You were booked for the whole week. Is there anything wrong?”

  Not really wanting to waste time, I say the first thing that’s in my head. “Just having an emergency.” I say.

  “We can setup…” She starts, reaching under the desk to get some forms.

  “Just mail me a receipt.” I say, already turning despite her protestations.

  I’m in the car, headed to Duluth less than two minutes later.

  “Are you really doing this, Des?” I ask myself.

  Merging onto the freeway from the ramp, the question goes unanswered, obviously. Well, until I’m safely into the left lane, watching the needle on the speedometer creep up to a little bit over what’s allowed.

  “Yes, you’re really doing this.” I say, firmly.

  A few weeks ago, I was a rookie FBI agent, with a promising career ahead of me, one that I had fought not only my family, but the Academy as well, to achieve. Hours, days, and months of studying, qualifying, physical testing, psychological testing had all culminated in that badge. Natalie Desjardins, Special Agent. Currently, Des, dumbass, is on I-94 West for a five-hour drive to meet up with the gun-runner she’s inexplicably fallen in love with.

  The little Neon is humming along, with enough gas to at least get me to Eau Claire. I reach down and turn the radio on, to provide a little distraction for my brain that seems to be travelling even faster than the Dodge. Doubts and insecurities are plaguing me, and I just want to shut them out. I know that what I’m effectively doing is turning off reason and reality, but at the moment, I don’t care. The voice on the radio succeeds at doing at least one thing; turning the voices off in my head.

  I avoid the Minneapolis traffic fortunately, and end up in Duluth just after dark. I follow the GPS until I get to the Fairfield, only having to recalculate once or twice due to construction. I don’t really know what I had been expecting, but I’m disappointed that Reed isn’t standing there at the pull-through waiting for me when I arrive.

  Circling the building through the parking lot brings no joy, either. Did something happen? Was he picked up by the police, or worse, his own people? I’m trying not to let the worry take control, but I’m losing it rapidly.

  “Go inside and get a room, Des.” I tell myself. “Maybe he left a note at the front desk.”

  I pull into a parking space and cross the parking lot into the lobby.

  “Can I help you, Miss?”

  The desk clerk is an older guy, and his coughing punctuates every gap in what he says throughout the check-in process. Nothing sparks in his face when I give my name, even when I tell him that I’m waiting for someone. Not a thing. I try to keep my emotions in check as I finish the paperwork and accept the keycard, turning to head to the elevator around the corner.

  I laugh as I open the door. “Good work, Des. Same fucking hotel room, different state.” I say as I throw the rucksack on the spare bed. I
immediately pull out my laptop, setting it up on the identical workstation.

  Nothing. There’s no more messages on the forum, and try as I might, it doesn’t let me register in order to leave a response of my own. There’s really nothing left to do for me but wait, and I do a bit of that. Well, there’s something. It’s time for a drink.

  I grab the keycard and head back down to the lobby. Either because of or despite of the emotional state I was in when I had arrived, I had noticed the little snack area and that there was beer there. A quick glance at the time on my phone shows me that it’s after one, though I doubt I would stop myself even if it had been nine in the morning.

  The selection isn’t good, but the two longnecks feel good in my hand and I rest them on the counter, waiting for the coughing guy, though not quite yet ready to ring the little silver bell on the counter. I hear the main doors slide open and I turn around, my heart already hoping that it will be him.

  It’s Clark.

  “Des.” He says. The rain that had been kind enough to let me go from my car to the lobby during a brief respite hadn’t been as kind to him.

  “Clark…” I try to find other words, but what the hell am I supposed to say to him? He beats me to the punch, probably with the luxury of having prepared his words for the last few hours in the car; a luxury I don’t have.

  “Des, I’m worried about you. Ever since it happened,” He says, and it doesn’t go over my head that he still can’t use the word. I was kidnapped, I want to say. “You just haven’t been the same. Whatever happened, we can talk about it, or we can find someone to help you through it. I know you need to feel strong, but sometimes you have to lean on someone, especially after the trauma you’ve been through.”

  Coughing guy comes back to the counter. “Great. I see your other guest has arrived. He’ll have to sign the papers too.” I glare at him, my eyes darting to him quickly, then back to Clark. Thanks for the terrific timing, buddy.

  “Clark, I don’t want to talk.” I say, making a conscious decision not to confront the elephant that just walked into the lobby with us.

  “What’s going on, Des?” Clark says. I can see the flush on his face and I feel for him, I honestly do.

  “I’m sorry. It’s over, Clark.” I say, my heart telling me that I just need to get this done and over with, for both of us. “All that happened to me is that I realized I wasn’t going the direction that I wanted in my life, and I’m going to change that.”

  “What does that mean, Des?” Clark says. “I thought we were good, up until…”

  “I was kidnapped, Clark. Why is it so hard to say the word? “I was fucking kidnapped!” I can feel that I’m starting to get emotional, and that can go one of two ways; weepy or angry and defensive. The latter feels like the direction things are headed.

  “We should take this outside, Des.” Clark says, his eyes going to the coughing guy, who appears to be unsure what he should be doing.

  Okay, so it’s one thing I agree with him on. The doors swish us back outside into the sound of the downpour, though the covering of the drive protects us from all but the overwhelming presence of the deluge around us.

  “I love you Des.” Clark says. He tries to approach me, but I step back. “I just want to help you.”

  “I don’t need your help, Clark.” I say, trying to let the presence of the rain assuage some of the fire that’s starting to burn inside of me. It’s always been a go-to for me; standing in the rain for just a few minutes has always been worth all the therapy in the world, washing away all of my doubts and apprehensions. Unfortunately, it’s not working this time.

  “There’s someone else, isn’t there?” Clark says. He takes another step towards me, and I wave him off.

  “It’s over Clark. We’re broken up. Stalking me to fucking Duluth isn’t going to fix that. I need to be alone.” It’s the first moment that I wonder how the hell he found me, but my mind just lets it be pushed back.

  Clark’s face turns from caring to something a little bit more hostile. “It doesn’t sound like you were planning to be alone.”

  “Doesn’t matter, Clark.” I say, feeling like I’ve gone a little on the defensive. I’m not liking that. “Go back to Milwaukee. This isn’t doing you any good. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

  I can hear the anger in my own voice and I know that this is only going downhill from here but I don’t see any way to escape. I can see his face trying to suppress his own anger, and he seems to be doing a much better job. The tender Clark face that I’m used to makes a return appearance, as he tries to approach me once again.

  This time my backwards step takes me out from our protective cover, and the rain immediately sinks into my scalp and shoulders, spreading its cold embrace rapidly from there.

  “Des, don’t.” Clark says.

  “Go the fuck away, Clark!” This time it’s a yell, and I know that I’ve lost control. Not even the soul-cleansing downpour can help me now.

  I can see that I’m crushing him, and I hate myself for it at the same time that I’m defiantly standing there, arms crossed with water coursing down my face, matting my hair to my head. The two of us stand there for a solid minute, not a word spoken.

  “Please, Des.”

  He’s right at the edge of the covering, and I’m thinking about the picture tableau we’re presenting. Less than five feet apart in the concrete world, miles away in the more abstract of my emotions. I can’t help but think for a fleeting moment that if he stepped out and took me in his arms, I would break. The next thought is that this one slice of my life is the reason that the two of us would never have worked out. I don’t admit that the little girl in me is still there, but she is. That little girl’s knight would be there, with no thought of his own safety, to slay the dragon and carry her away.

  Through the rain in my own face that is masking my tears, I watch Clark shake his head. He turns and walks away. I stand there, still in the rain as he jogs to his car, still watching as he pulls out of the parking space, my eyes following his car as his blinker turns on as he pulls out of the lot.

  “These too.” I say, clinking two more longnecks, as well as a stream of water from my sleeves, onto the counter.

  Coughing guy looks at me as if I’m a potentially dangerous animal. “I’ll just bill them to your room.”

  Two beers in each hand, I stand in the elevator shivering, waiting for the doors close out this terrible chapter of my life. A moment later, I remember to press the button for my floor.

  Collapsing into the chair by the desk, I can feel the cold down in my skin, but it also feels like it has a hold on my heart as well. I rummage for my keys, since I don’t have a bottle opener. Hell, haven’t done this since college, I think as I’m working my way around the crenellated bottom edge of the cap.

  The short, almost apologetic knock on the door of my room rekindles the anger that the beer bottle seemed to be trying to breathe back into a flame.

  Okay, you want a fucking scene, you’re going to get one, Clark. The words actually come out as a whisper as I unlock the door, steeling myself for this one last confrontation, the one that I hope will finally convince him that it’s over.

  I pull the door open hard, my hastily prepared words stopping in my throat like a car hitting a bridge abutment. The soaked figure in the doorway isn’t Clark. It’s Reed.

  That blond hair, those eyes. He looks as rough as I feel. Wordlessly, I step forward and kiss him for the very first time.

  The cold is suddenly gone, from both my body and my heart, whisked away by the fire in those lips as his hands come to my cheeks like in my fantasies; as if wanting to draw me even closer into his embrace. They burn on my skin as he steps forward and I step back into the room, only hearing the door slam behind us as my own hands are already wrapping around him in the embrace my soul has been craving for weeks now. It doesn’t even feel awkward; this first outpouring of passion, and I find my fingers suddenly working the tail of his shirt from hi
s jeans. We’re still moving backwards, our bodies leading us like marionettes until my backside hits the desk and beer bottles clatter as they fall and roll to the floor. The one I had been working is the last to land, and I hear the hiss as it strikes the floor. Figures.

  My hands are up under his shirt now, and that’s all that matters. The hard edges of his back thrill my fingers and palms as they finally touch him, the goosebumps they generate an odd counterpoint of sensitivity to the strength I feel in him. I have to relinquish that impassioned touch as he pulls my shirt up over my head, my hands having to go with it. There’s an instant where the eye-contact between us breaks, and in that very moment, I don’t know if I can ever be without him again. Those eyes return a moment later, and the lips that follow are icing on the cake.

  Either the cold or the moment is making it hard for me to work the buttons on his shirt, but when I finally get to the third one, working my way up while our lips never rest, I realize he’s been working his way down. I pull his shirt roughly open and halfway down his back and arms in one fluid motion. He shrugs it off as we pivot away from the desk and I feel his hands on my own back and our kiss only breaks for the moment it takes for him to roughly pull my sports bra over my head. The sensation of his overheated skin on my breasts is just one of the many sensations flooding me as I struggle with his belt. I feel his own hands go to it and I change my own response accordingly, pushing my sweats down over my hips along with my panties, feeling them pool around my ankles as I try to kick off my sodden running shoes. I can feel the smile growing on his lips, even as they’re still hungrily devouring mine. I want to laugh at the sheer spectacle that we’re making, but passion has a hold of me. Tight.

  His own struggle with his shoes pushes him forward and I lurch back, feeling the edge of the bed against the back of my knees. His lips are gone as I fall back to the comforter, but he’s only a moment behind, his weight on top of me as the two of us struggle awkwardly, inching back towards the center of the bed. I can feel him between my legs as we move, an enticing promise of what is about to happen that I am powerless to stop, if there was any reason for me to want to stop it. I don’t. Reed’s eyes are back on mine, two sapphires glittering with the same desire I feel for him. The heat that comes next has nothing I can compare it to in my heretofore apparently lackluster experience. As he pushes inside of me, I suddenly feel every single inch of my body where his flesh is touching mine, inside and out; yearning for each of those spots to experience the same sensation as that spot at the center of me. Those eyes aren’t touching me, at least not physically, but it feels as if they are penetrating my soul just as deeply as he is taking my body.