Red Light

by J. D. Glass

  She was probably right, so I sat down, Samantha passed me a glass of juice and a plate of scrambled eggs and home fries, and that was that. I stopped protesting after the first bite—Sam made some mean home fries, and sure enough, I was starving.

  “You know, I had the weirdest dream,” I told Nina and Samantha while we ate. Sitting there and eating breakfast with them was a little like when we were kids and Nina and Nico used to watch us smaller ones. They made breakfast, and while we all ate, we’d tell each other what we’d dreamed.

  Since I’d moved into Nina and Samantha’s, on the rare occasional mornings when we all caught each other, we fell into the same habit.

  “By the way, I’ll get breakfast tomorrow,” I offered, since they’d gotten it this morning.

  “Sure,” Samantha agreed, as she reached for the salt. “So, what was it, the dream, I mean?”

  I recounted it to both of them.

  Nina sighed and studied her plate before speaking. “Tori, you were eight when that happened.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, you cried yourself sick over it, and Nana took care of you. You don’t remember?”

  I frowned as I focused. “I remember…I think it was the first spring or summer we moved here…I was really sick and…yeah, you’re right—I do remember that. Hey!” I smiled as it hit me. “She made you sing to me, right?”

  Nina nodded and chuckled. “Yeah, she did, and you wanted show tunes, nothing but show tunes!”

  “Huh! I did not!” I felt the burn in my cheeks and Samantha raised a brow at me.

  “Well, there was at least one,” Nina teased.

  “Hey, ‘The Rose’ is a rock ballad, it doesn’t count,” I parried as I loaded my fork. I chewed thoughtfully for a moment and remembered another detail. “Or if you sing it in cartoon voices,” I added innocently.

  Samantha’s eyebrows shot to her hairline as she goggled at her wife. “Cartoon voices?”

  “She was eight years old,” Nina countered. “Should I have explained to her about the heroin addict instead?” She smiled.

  Samantha shook her head and took a hearty swallow of her juice. “Cartoon voices,” she muttered.

  We ate in silence for a few moments.

  “Hey, Tori, you know Nana was kind of a rescued bird herself, right?” Nina asked.

  “Huh?” I swallowed my coffee.

  “Nana, you know, the story?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, yeah, the whole castle on the black mountain thing, blahddy blahddy blah,” I dismissed. “I’ve heard that story about a million times.”

  “Well, I don’t know it,” Samantha chimed in.

  “Oh, it’s actually kinda cool, in a weird way,” Nina faced her animatedly and said, waving a hand.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, “it is kinda cool, if you haven’t heard it every day of your life.”

  “So?” Samantha asked.

  “What?” I asked back.

  “The story?”

  Nina told her the family legend.

  It was really all about our great-grandmother, Blanca Monte Negron. When she wouldn’t let our great-grandfather keep his lover in the house, he stole her infant daughter, whisking her away to the working ranch high in the Andes Mountains. At gunpoint our great-grandmother took two horses and forced a campesino (a ranch hand) loyal to our great-grandfather to take her across the mountains in the dead of winter, then back to the city when she recovered her daughter. The fight for her daughter switched the campesino’s loyalties—and from then on my family considered his children and grandchildren as friends and cousins. In fact, they still lived and worked on the ranch back in the mountains.

  At the same gunpoint our great-grandmother shot a would-be kidnapper who killed her husband during an attempt to steal her baby, our grandmother, and it was her—Blanca Monte Negron and that indomitable strength, will, and courage that had let her face and triumphantly overcome what should have been insurmountable odds for anyone, especially for a woman in that place and time—we celebrated whenever the clan got together.

  Samantha choked on her coffee and with an uncharacteristic clumsiness knocked the rest over somewhere during the attempted kidnapping story.

  “Are you all right?” Nina asked in alarm.

  “Fine, just fine,” Samantha croaked, waving her away. “What a waste of good coffee,” she observed as she wiped the table.

  I got up and brought her some more, and since no one was dying, which was a good thing because I wasn’t licensed to do anything about it yet, I started to go.

  “Kick ass.” Nina smiled at me as I thanked them both and excused myself from the table.

  “Yeah,” Samantha agreed, “kick it hard.”

  I smiled nervously as I double-checked my belt and my holster. I had everything I needed and they each gave me a hug.

  Samantha’s hug was strong, steady, and sure, while Nina’s was just as strong, but with an added something, something that made me feel secure. But there was another element, something off that set a buzz in the back of my head.

  I visually examined her carefully, wondering if it was because she was pregnant. “You feel okay?” She did seem paler than usual.

  “I’m fine, Tori. I’m not puking or anything,” she laughed, “so go kick some.”

  *

  I was so focused on getting to the campus that it seemed I suddenly materialized in a parking spot.

  My hands were a bit sweaty when I walked up to the registration table and was sent to my first testing station, but my nervousness disappeared as I fell into the role.

  I went through all stations, covering a range of medical and trauma emergencies, and I don’t remember any of them, except the difficult breather. I had a patient sitting in what’s called posturing, or tripod, leaning his hands on his knees, raising his shoulders to maximize lung surface. That was an immediate hint, and when I asked for skin coloration, I was told the lips had a faint purple tinge, as did the fingernail beds. I was pretty sure I knew what this was, but I needed to know one thing for sure. I listened for lung sounds and asked what I heard: wheeze on exhale.

  I smiled because I’d nailed it—and I knew it. “Asthma,” I said, straightening, and ran through the treatment protocol.

  Roe, the instructor who was running this station, smiled. “You know, you’re the only one who asked about lung sounds? Good job, Tor.”

  At Kathy’s station, I remembered her frequent admonitions during practical lectures (occasionally reinforced with a cuff to the head for the less swift) to describe the applied triangular bandage as having a “snug” fit for the state exam—or fail the station. If I failed? That wouldn’t be the reason why.

  I wasn’t surprised when Bob asked me, Roy, and Bennie to stick around and play victim for the next three testing sessions, but I was surprised when Bob took us out to eat after the practical. As we waited in the diner for our food, I was bursting to know how I’d done, and I was certain Roy and Bennie had the same anxiety.

  Bob grabbed a piece of buttered toast. “You’re gonna give yourselves a heart condition,” he commented mildly.

  “Oh, no, this is a heart condition,” Roe joked, and poked another of our instructors, Ray-Ray, next to her. “Ready?” she asked him, and quirking a grin our way, she picked up her coffee mug, holding it before her in readiness.

  Ray-Ray grabbed his as well. “Any place, any time, Roe.” He grinned back.

  “Yeah, JVD race!” Joey, another instructor, called out. “I’ll time it!” He stood, displaying his watch to all. Everyone except Bob joined him and grabbed their coffee mugs.

  Bob remained seated and calmly ate his home fries. “Check this out, kids,” he told us, indicating Joey with his chin. He wiped the egg yolks on his plate with his toast.

  Roy, Bennie, and I just watched in confused amusement as Joey stared at his watch, holding his hand up for a countdown. “Three…two…go!”

  Every tech, medic, and fire person there downed t
heir coffee in swift gulps and almost in unison slammed their mugs back down. They stared at each other.

  “Yeah…there it is!” Ray-Ray crowed, touching his fingers where his veins began to bulge out of his neck. I goggled at everyone else and, unbelievable but true, I could see the soft swell of a vein on most necks—jugular venous distension—except Roe’s. The crew muttered good-naturedly as to what the exact nature of the winning prize was.

  “Tori, what side’s the blockage?” Bob asked sharply, quickly.

  “Left,” I answered, not even really taking time to consider as I reached for the home fries. They weren’t bad, but Samantha made them better, I thought as I chewed.

  “What else could it be, Roy?” He pointed with his toast.

  “Late-stage congestive heart failure, both sides.” He shrugged and buttered his toast.

  “What about trauma, Bennie?”

  She looked over her coffee. “Tension pneumothorax.”

  “And that’s why,” Bob started as he salted his eggs, “I’m comping you guys for the instructors’ course.”

  I almost dropped my food into my lap. “We passed? Are you kidding?”

  “Well, yeah, you passed,” Bob grinned, “and notice you’re the only students here?”

  I nodded dumbly, as did Roy and Bennie. Even though it would be a week before we got our official grades, I had suspected that Bob and the crew would know who had passed and who hadn’t before we even walked into the practical, but I’d been so nervous, I hadn’t thought he’d tell us.

  “I take the top two scores and scholarship ’em for the instructors’ course. Since you guys scored the same, I used a little…discretion.” He grinned. “All three of you are fee-waived.”

  That was fantastic news, and I felt really good about it, but I felt even better moments later when Trace walked in.

  “Hey, how you doin’?” I asked as I stood, happy to see her. We’d spoken a couple of times since that night, but we hadn’t really seen each other. “What are you doing here?”

  “I know where you guys hang out,” she said smugly, “so I’m looking for you.”

  We gave each other a hug.

  “Hey, Roe, Ray-Ray,” she said. “Bob.”

  “Yo, Trace,” and “Hey,” they returned.

  Someone found a chair and everyone shifted to make room. Trace sat next to me and casually laid her hand on my thigh.

  Bennie glanced at me sharply from across the table, and I smiled blandly as I covered Trace’s hand with my own. Bennie could go get her own girl.

  Trace’s thumb stroked against the inside of my thigh, a very soothing gesture that reminded me that I wanted to know more about her, as talk at the table turned to our options once we got our cards in the mail.

  “You guys might not even take the instructor course,” Ray-Ray told us. “If the next academy class opens up in time, you guys will probably fast-track it.”

  The thought hadn’t occurred to me, and I pondered it as the group reached the universal decision that the day was up.

  “You kids, call me if you need a reference, wanna chat, whatever,” Bob told us as we walked out the door en masse.

  “Thanks,” I said, Trace’s hand warm in mine.

  “Hey, yeah, thanks a lot,” Bennie added.

  “Hey, you’re my kids, gotta look out for ya, right?” Bob told us with a grin.

  He patted each of us on the shoulder, and we dispersed to our cars. Trace walked with me.

  *

  “Drop your car off and spend the next two days with me,” she said, draping her hands across my waist. “I want to celebrate with you,” she added as she closed in on me.

  Normally, I wouldn’t, but the stirring of her hand on my leg and the electric scrape of her teeth along my ear made my mind up for me. Well, something did, anyway. Besides, I liked her and wanted the opportunity to show her.

  “Howzabout I go home and change, then meet you back at your place?”

  She agreed, and it seemed like two minutes later I’d showered, changed, and headed back out. Nina and Samantha weren’t home when I left, but I figured if they needed to get in touch with me, they knew my cell number.

  I got to Trace’s condo a few minutes later and took a deep lungful of the ocean-scented air before I walked to her door.

  It swung open before I could even think of knocking. For all of three seconds, I saw Trace wearing something other than scrubs, her hair soft and loose, before she twined her arms around my neck and pulled me inside.

  “Missed you,” she said simply, and pressed her lips to mine. I smoothed my hands along her ribs, then down the channel of her spine until they rested on her hips. Her mouth was wonderfully soft as I explored it and enjoyed the sensuous return of her tongue. It lit a pleasant fire that tingled from my thighs to my diaphragm.

  But I didn’t want to rush, not like last time. I reluctantly broke that kiss.

  “So…you wanted to do some premature celebration?” I drawled, smiling into her gray eyes as I hooked my fingers into her belt loops. I shifted my hips and my groin brushed against hers.

  Trace’s fingers trailed down my neck, leaving a delicious shiver in their wake. “Kiss me like that again,” she warned, “and it won’t be the celebration that’s premature.”

  I used the belt loops to pull her closer, so that she landed solidly against me. I dipped my mouth close to her ear. “I thought we might go slower next time,” I whispered, then nibbled lightly on the delicately curled ridge.

  Trace burrowed her lips into my neck, and she pulled my shirt out of my jeans as she led me to her room. “Next time,” she agreed in that sexy, throaty buzz as we crossed the threshold, “not this time.”

  I kissed her to seal the deal and let go of her pants. Instead I undid the buttons of her shirt one by one, baring and smoothing the skin beneath, tasting her skin as it was revealed.

  “Mm-hmm…” she sighed as I sucked on a spot in the hollow of her collarbone she was particularly responsive to, and she slid my pants down.

  I flicked slightly to open her jeans and everything else just melted away, left to fall where it would as we stepped to the edge of her bed. She pulled me down on top of her and we wrapped around one another, her arms and legs warm and smooth along my body as I languidly tasted her tongue again.

  I explored her further, trailing my lips and tasting her, drinking in her skin as I passed over the defined ribs, delicate, horizontal channels across her chest, my fingers clasping one slight breast, letting the hard tip slide between them and against my palm as I licked the underside of the other.

  Trace shifted under me and etched a lovely line up my leg with her foot, sending a shiver through me, and ran her fingers through my hair, gripping strands that drew me to her until her breast was in my mouth and I played her nipple with my tongue.

  “You do that well,” she said breathily.

  I glanced up at her. Her face held an interesting expression, a cross between arousal and something I couldn’t quite define. It was time to shift gears. I stopped and slid back up her body, drawing her legs up higher around me, and let my tongue glide between willing lips. I eased my hips so my cunt rested against hers and rocked against her, a slow and calculated pace that she answered.

  “Do you want to fuck?” I made my words a distinct and deliberate whisper against her ear. I could feel her cunt moving under mine, hot and slick as we rocked.

  Her hands had dug into my skin, short sharp streaks that sparked into my spine, and I slipped a hand between us to swirl my fingers in the rich heat that bathed and licked at my clit. Hard. Wet. Open. My favorite combination of things. She caught her breath and exhaled with a shudder that snaked through us both.

  “You want me to fuck you?” I asked again, and caught her throat gently between my teeth. I entered her slightly, just enough to feel the warm welcome of her.

  “Uh…” she breathed, and bit my ear in response.

  I closed my hand a bit as I slid into her, and once I f
illed her, I opened it again so that the upsweep of my palm would spread her lips farther and stroke against the sensitive underside and head of her clit. She jammed her hips up against me.

  I groaned at the gratifying feel of that hard, hard push against my skin, her clit pressed against my palm, the sleek fit of her around me.

  “Yes…” she answered, a soft sound that cut through the early afternoon silence and tickled against the light hairs on my neck. “I really like…the way you do that…”

  “I like doing it,” I told her, then kissed her again, fucking her as deliberately as I spoke.

  Once again her hands moved on my ass, and Trace urged me on and in, and it was almost enough, just kissing her and fucking her, the blood surge in my clit moving in time to my fingers inside her, while she clutched at me and her legs pressed against my shoulders.

  “God, yeah, fuck me, just…fuck me,” she groaned, her body a wave under me, her fingers painting new lines up my back as I did her harder.

  One hand came off me as the other slid back down, and finally her fingers came to my cunt, sliding along the fucking ache she’d built, and then I felt it; she must have gotten it from under the pillow or something, but there was no mistaking the skim of the cock that skated my wanting edge.

  “Christ…” I groaned as she pressed it against me. I breathed hard—wanting, craving—and my head sank involuntarily. I rubbed my cheek against her neck. Oh…fuck. Yes…no…God. What…what would she want? “Do it,” I told her, the words jerking out of my throat as she continued to play me.

  She pushed, slowly, firmly, and for a moment I hung, once again suspended as my shoulders lifted and my back arched to meet her. The wordless sound that came from my chest led me deeper into her as she rammed me.

  “Don’t stop,” she begged, “don’t…fucking…stop.”

  “I won’t,” I gasped as her fingers worked that dick inside me. Oh, fuck it, I was slamming her hard, her cunt riding my fingers so easily that I added another.

  “That’s it,” I encouraged when I felt that unmistakable squeeze, the crush that made me thrust harder, push deeper, past that resistance that builds as the body gets ready to come and come good while she fucked me, an unremitting, unrelenting push that left me ragged because the weight in my cunt told me there was another side to this, created a pressure I knew wouldn’t be relieved until I had that part inside her.