“Not if we take down the house first,” Jenna says, smiling broadly. “I have a co-worker whose husband does a lot of construction work. We could have him bring in some heavy equipment to help level the house.”
Ian returns his phone to his pocket. “I don't know. Derick won't stand still while the house is destroyed.”
“No matter what plan we settle on, this thing is going to be risky,” Jenna says. Extending a hand toward Ian, she adds, “The sooner we move, the less time Derick will have to come up with a way to stop us.”
Taking Jenna's hand, Ian slides out of the booth. “Okay. What do we do first?”
“Go back to the house,” Jenna says, turning and walking toward the playground. “I have the number I need to call written in my address book. We'll get the number, leave the house and make the call. Once everything is scheduled and the big day arrives, we'll go back to the house and do what we can to stop Derick from interfering with the demolition.”
Jenna leads Bryce from the playground and into Ian's car. Polite and friendly conversation is made on the ride back to the house, and Jenna can't help but notice the small smile that appears on Ian's face whenever he looks at Bryce.
Pulling into the driveway, Jenna finds that both the police car and the moving van are gone. As Ian rolls along, stopping directly in front of the house, Jenna can find nothing of the two slain officers – no blood, clothes or even bones remain.
Jenna turns in her seat to look at Bryce. “I need to run into the house for a minute. You'll be okay out here, alright?”
Bryce casts his gaze up as he looks out his window into the night sky. He then turns to face his mother. He nods once, but the way he's biting his lower lip indicates he's not so sure.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Ian asks.
A moment of silence passes before Jenna forces a smile, wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “No. I'm fine.”
Unfastening his seat belt, Ian tells her, “I'm going with you.”
Jenna lets loose a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”
Ian turns to face Bryce and says, “Your mom and I are only going to be gone for a minute. Do you want to listen to the radio while we're gone?”
Bryce shakes his head, bites his lip a bit harder and stares out the window. Ian and Jenna exchange concerned glances before stepping out of the car.
Jenna shuts the door, looks at Ian and props her elbows on the roof of the car. “Can you put a number in your phone for me? Just in case things in here don't go well, I want you to be able to call -”
“Nothing is going to go wrong,” Ian says reassuringly. “We're still related to Derick, after all. He's not going to kill us unless his back is against the wall.”
A slight smile forms on Jenna's lips. “Still, I'd feel better.”
Ian nods and pulls his phone from his pocket. Looking up, he asks, “Okay, what's the...Jenna?”
Ian looks left and right, but can't find Jenna anywhere. The night is too dark to see into the woods, but the loud squawking accompanied by the flapping of wings coming from the trees signals that dozens – perhaps hundreds – of avian bodies are preparing to emerge.
Ian ducks his head a bit and finds Bryce looking out his window, his head tilted down as if staring at something on the ground. Before Ian can investigate, his heart jumps in his chest as Jenna pops up past the passenger's side window.
Standing tall and using his phone as a pointer, he glares at Jenna and demands, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Slight change of plans,” Jenna answers, grinning broadly. “The one thing I've always been missing is a family. I like you Ian, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the good of the family.”
Ian's eyes go wide as clawed hands latch onto his ankles. He opens his mouth, ready to scream his denial, but he is violently yanked underneath the car before he can speak, dropping his phone on the roof of the car as he's dragged down. Jenna reaches out and lifts his phone from the roof of the car, then opens the car door and takes Bryce's hand.
Bryce exits the car and walks hand-in-hand with his mother toward the house. Looking up at his mother, Bryce asks, “What's happening?”
Crossing the porch and opening the front door, Jenna ushers her son inside amid the wrenching sound of a car being rapidly lifted off the ground. She turns and begins to close the door as the car crashes to the ground. Just before the door slides completely closed, Jenna catches sight of the ebony forms of a murder of crows descending on the torn and mangled mess of Ian's remains.
Turning and leaning her back against the door, Jenna reaches out with one hand and flips on the light switch. As the lamps flicker to life, Jenna holds up Ian's phone, smiles at her son and says, “You and I have a family reunion to plan.”
The Bloom Is Off The Rose
Despite what you might think, you never really know a person.
As I watched Rose walk out the door, I knew without a doubt that just because you've been intimate with a person, doesn't mean you really know them. What's most strange, I think, is that when Rose entered my life, I felt that things were turning around for me. It's strange to find the opposite was true.
Ah, Rose. She and I met only recently, yet it seemed that she and I were made for one another. Things between me and Claire, my wife of seven years, had gone cold. Rose became the warmth in my life, although the way she and I met certainly requires some explanation.
Shortly before Christmas, the office where I worked hired a temp named Susan Hollis. I didn't recognize her at first – she'd gained a bit of weight and her hair was shorter and dyed blonde – but Susan and I dated for a short time in college. We were hot and heavy for awhile, but she unexpectedly left school for personal reasons for a few weeks and, by the time she returned, things weren't the same. I'd met Claire during Susan's absence and, although Claire and I hadn't done anything, we were certainly headed in that direction. When Susan returned and seemed...off, she and I broke up and I began dating Claire. Susan and I split amicably, wishing each other well as we went our separate ways. I can still remember the bright, cheerful smile she had on her face. Seeing Susan in the office after so many years was a pleasant surprise. She and I chatted about our present and reminisced about our past for a short while before tending to our respective tasks.
When the office Christmas party rolled around, Susan gave me a single wine glass. The glass was an off-shade of red, with a thin stem that spiraled to the arched base. I figured it was the usual cheap piece of junk people usually give each other during these sorts of things. Hell, I gave Susan a twenty dollar coffee maker that I bought on sale for ten.
I took home the wine glass and removed it from the white box that held it. The glass lay inside the shoe box that contained it, cradled by mounds of blue-colored tissue paper. Without much thought, I opened the dishwasher, placed the glass on the top rack, closed the dishwasher door and walked away. I then promptly forgot about the glass and went back to my normal routine.
A few days later, the weekend rolled around and Claire and I were in our usual slump. It's not that Claire and I were arguing or were angry with one another – we'd just run out of steam. There was comfort in our marriage, but no passion. She was as frustrated with the way things were going as I, and she took to going out on weekend nights with her friends rather than hang around the house with me, watching whatever we could agree upon on TV while passing time until bed. I certainly didn't resent her for going to be with her friends. If I had any of my own, I'm certain I would have done the same. I had always been shy and introverted...until Rose brought me out of my shell.
Claire left to go be with her friends, her hair teased up, her face made up and her body dressed up. I wondered if maybe she and her friends were doing more than just dancing, drinking and gossiping, but I never made a fuss. I smiled, kissed her and, when she said I shouldn't wait up, I promised her I wouldn't in one breath, while urging her to go have fun in another. My heart might have been strong enough to allow me both those b
reaths, but my heart was too weak to believe in any of the words I said.
Still, I said it.
Still, she left.
I smiled right up until she shut the door, at which point my smile dropped like an executioner's ax and I stormed into the kitchen to pour myself a drink. For whatever reason, when I opened the cupboard, my gaze fell across the off-red wine glass that Susan gave me for a Christmas gift. I plucked the glass from the shelf and set it on the counter, at which point I filled it to the brim with a fifty/fifty combination of vodka and apple schnapps – a little cocktail I like to call the Bedtime Brew.
Raising the glass to my lips, I allowed the liquid to flow over my tongue and down my throat, my eyes wincing shut at the stinging sensation the beverage produced. Inexplicably, the temperature plunged and I had to fight back a violent shiver. When my eyes opened, my gaze dropped to the white, tile counter top. A folded, pink sheet of paper rested on the counter between the bottle of vodka and schnapps. Curious about where the paper had come from, I lowered my glass to the counter and lifted the note. Bringing the paper close to my face, I detected the scent of fresh flowers – roses, to be exact.
Opening the paper, I read the words inside:
There is only us, my love.
No one else in the race.
No one else will rise above.
Just you and I, in eternal embrace.
Confused about what the note meant, as well as its origin, I dropped it back onto the counter and lifted the wine glass. Leaning back my head, I endured the burning brand as it seared its way to my stomach. I set the wine glass on the counter (somewhat more forcefully than I intended) and made my way to my bedroom. Disrobing quickly to my underwear and tossing my clothes into the hamper, I climbed into bed and reached for the TV remote on my nightstand. I hit the power button and allowed whatever passes for entertainment these days to blare on the screen as my eyes began to glaze over from a combination of alcohol and ambivalence.
My eyelids weighed a ton and my resolve to hoist them quickly flagged. My body slumped in the bed and the din of the TV faded into unrecognizable gibberish. My breathing slowed and my body relaxed. I'm not sure how long I lay tottering on the brink of sleep, but I do recall noticing a warm breeze wafting gently across my right cheek. My head lolled to the side and my eyelids cracked open enough to allow me to stare into a pair of emerald eyes. Long, red hair framed a pale, slender face. Moist, red lips whispered words to me that I could barely hear.
I suppose the sight of a strange woman lounging beside me should have caused me to leap, fully awake, from the bed. Strangely, the perplexingly slight twinge of panic creeping through me could not unfetter me from the hypnagogic chains restraining me from true wakefulness.
She leaned close to me, caressing my bare chest with her warm, soft hand. Her naked leg slid across my thighs as she positioned herself atop me. Her face, partially shrouded in shadows, hovered above me. Despite that her face was mostly obscured, I could tell she was in her late-teens or early twenties, and her green eyes gleamed brightly in the darkness.
“Take me,” she whispered, her voice equal parts lullaby and summons.
“I...I don't understand,” I stammered, for my mind was unable to decrypt the puzzle of events rapidly coalescing before me. “You want me to -?”
“Don't ask me. I want you to take me.” Her tone was different from the first time she made the request. She was soft, yet decisive, her words having become a velvet-draped sword bearing a naked edge.
Claire and I had, what some might consider to be, a very tame sex life. Even when we were first married, sex was something to be done in the dark, under the covers, finished quickly and never – ever – spoken of outside the bedroom. The lovely redhead that loomed above me was different...and I was eager to indulge her request.
I threw up both arms, taking her behind the shoulders and pulling her toward me. She fell on top of me and, as my arms wrapped tightly around her, I forced my tongue between her soft, wet lips. I didn't use my tongue as a dance partner for hers, rather my tongue became as a snake that twisted and writhed, forcing her own aside as it forced its way as far down her throat as I could manage.
I dragged her to her side and rolled on top of her. My manhood, already standing at full attention and ready for action, was loosed from my underwear by a swift movement of my hand. I took a fistful of her fiery locks into my left hand and pulled up her left leg with my right hand. Driving myself deeply into her wetness, I grunted my satisfaction into her ear. A moan of carnal satisfaction surged from her throat. Repeatedly I plowed into her, rejoicing in the suction of her womanhood until I could bear it no longer and released the sticky fruit of my arousal into her.
“Andy?” Claire's voice shoved aside the curtain of slumber that had enveloped me.
“Huh?” I mumbled. “What...?”
“Are you going to work today?”
“Wha...what?” I stammered, raising my head from the soft pillow and peeking through half-closed lids at the glaring light of my alarm clock. “What?”
“You're going to be late for work if you don't get up and get moving,” Claire urged me.
A wave of lust washed over me, a tide of surging passion that swept aside any sense of restraint I had. I turned to Claire and used my left hand to push her right shoulder, rolling her flat onto her back. I mounted her, despite her feeble, feigned protests of resistance. I threw myself on top of her, latching both of my hands onto either side of her head and holding her steady as I forced my tongue deeply into her mouth. I rode her then, like a wild mustang desperate to be broken, until she whimpered for the release that I eventually granted her. Her fingers clawed at my naked back, (leaving deep, red welts that marred my back for a full day before fading) as she screamed in ecstasy and her entire body twitched involuntarily in orgasmic bliss.
I did go to work that day, wearing not only a suit, but a smile as well. I managed the people under me with a finesse I'd never before possessed, and dealt with the supervisors over me with a deft cunning that I'd never before employed. All the while, throughout the entire day, I could faintly detect the scent of wine in the air.
I was the master of my fate...and I knew it. I arrived home and prepared dinner for Claire and myself. Suspicion was written on her face as she took in each forkful. The romantic dynamic between Claire and I had shifted, and she knew it.
I didn't protest when she told me she had made plans with her friends the night before. I only walked her to the door, kissed her deeply and reached around to squeeze her buttocks with both hands before releasing her to do as she wanted. Her eyes opened wide as my fingers tightened around her nether end, and I detected clearly an interest in her that she wanted to explore further at a later time.
I closed the door behind her, went to the kitchen and threw open the dishwasher to retrieve the off-red wine glass that I knew Claire had placed there the night before, prior to coming to bed. Again, I filled the glass with the 50/50 mixture of vodka and apple schnapps. I didn't hesitate, guzzling the drink with such gusto that my eyes watered at the brutal intensity.
Again, I went to my bedroom and disrobed, tossing aside my clothing and climbing into bed. I eschewed entertainment off all sorts (neither television, books nor magazines held any allure) in fevered anticipation of what was to come.
I was almost asleep when she appeared, whispering into my ear more words that I could not discern. I turned to her and reached out, but she brushed my hands to the side. Confused, I slid closer to her, pressing my body against her own and asked, “What's wrong?”
“Do you really want me?” she asked, her words carrying notes of unintended rejection.
“You know I do,” I whispered breathlessly, reaching up to caress her red tresses.
“What do you want to do to me?” she asked. Her voice made clear that my answer would determine if she and I would do anything at all.
There were fantasies I'd always had...fantasies I'd never shared with Claire. The idea
of being fully in charge, of having a woman bound and helpless as I both dominated her and satisfied her, had always played dimly in the back of my mind. Now, with this gorgeous, willing woman before me, I felt the need to vocalize my desires.
“I want to tie you up,” I whispered into her ear. “I want to tie you to the bed posts and fuck you until you and I are one – nothing more than a single, joined flesh.”
“I'll fight you,” she warned me, but her words lacked anything resembling sincerity.
I stopped talking then, and simply threw myself on top of her. Her hands pushed at me, but there was no strength behind them. I reached up and took a corner of a pillow. Shaking the pillow free of its sheath, I then used the pillowcase to tie one of her wrists to the bed post. I repeated the procedure with the other pillow and her other hand. With both of her hands restrained, I straddled her waist and leered down at her.
“Who are you?” I growled lustily.
“I won't tell you anyth-,” she began to reply, her eyes dripping with frustrated passion.
“No,” I barked, interrupting her. I reached out to squeeze both her cheeks between the thumb and fingers of my right hand. “I asked you a question, goddammit, and you're going to answer it. Who are you?”
She was quiet for a moment as she regarded me with lusty aspirations in her eyes and a grimace of feigned defiance on her mouth. Finally, through puckered lips, she told me, “I'm your whore. I'm whoever you want me to be.”
“That's right,” I concurred, releasing my hold on her face. On my knees, I moved up her body, stopping when I reached her beautiful face. Claire didn't care for oral sex, but I could tell by the gleam in her green eyes, and the wet tongue she drew across her lips, that this woman certainly did.
Forsaken Repose: The Restless Dead Page 3
