by R.M. Haig
September 10th, 2016. 10:00PM
Burlwood, Indiana
"So, are you gonna tell me your name?" Nikki asked as she fastened her safety belt in the passenger seat of Jake's Malibu.
He started the vehicle and backed out of his parking spot quickly, determined not to face the Elsmere PD officers that were surely on their way... officers who were likely briefed on the unwelcome nature of his presence in the township. Slamming the transmission into drive, he spun the tires on the gravel lot and tore away.
"Where am I taking you?" he asked, ignoring her request for a formal introduction and lighting a Newport with a heavy draw.
"I live in The Meadows," she replied. "Fourteen Forty Applewood. Do you know where that is?"
Swirling, swirling and his blood ran cold. He felt a paleness overtake him, one that was sure to be visible, even in the darkness of the passenger compartment.. Of course he knew where fourteen forty Applewood was. It was right fucking next door to fourteen thirty Applewood, a place he wanted to avoid at all costs.
Christ, he would be right there. Unless he decided to dump her on Woodstock Boulevard and make her walk the quarter mile to her trailer, that is. As rude as doing so would be, it was certainly an option being weighed in his mind. He'd done nastier things to nicer people, he didn't owe this woman anything.
His hand was shaking with the fallout of adrenaline, and the anxiety about what awaited him on Applewood wasn't helping to calm his nerves. He took a long drag at his cigarette, trying to suck down as much smoke as was possible, hoping to achieve a comfortable high. A nice nicotine buzz, like the one he'd gotten from that first cigarette after leaving Rambo's house, might make it easier to take the girl all the way to her destination, but that remained to be seen. Holding the noxious chemicals in his lungs, he didn't answer her question.
"Should I take that as a yes?" she snapped, apparently taking affront at his silence as she dabbed her fingers to her bleeding lip.
"I know The Meadows," he replied plainly, letting the smoke flow slowly and lazily from his mouth and nose.
Nikki nodded, shivering in his coldness to her. She'd never experienced anything quite like it from a man. Guys were normally open books to her, even those that held back at first generally caved once they'd taken the time to survey the curves of her breasts and waist. If they held out through that, it was usually over once they'd had an opportunity to gaze at her ass. It was obvious from the jump that this guy was different, though. That he wasn't of the same breed, wasn't cut from the same cloth as the others she had known so many of before.
She wondered, for a moment, if his disregarding of her was due to the fact that he was married and trying to stay true to his matrimonial vows. A wedding ring had never been an obstacle in her past interactions with the testosterone fueled opposite sex, so even that wall would crumble away with time. Looking at his hands upon the steering wheel, though, she noticed that the band he'd worn the night before was absent now. That was curious, because it meant that something had changed.
Either it hadn't belonged there in the first place, or he had suddenly decided that he was in the market for some strange with anonymity and no strings attached. As she sat, she longed for it to be as simple as the latter... longed to be that strange piece of ass for him. She'd hoped to end up underneath him from the moment she first laid eyes on him, when he strolled into her life as just another customer of Uncle Jim's Pancake House. If that was his desire, he had a very odd way of showing it -- right from the beginning.
She'd recognized him as the man from the diner straight away when he threw her date to the ground, his was a face that she wouldn't forget easily. The exchange they'd shared with their eyes at Uncle Jim's was among the most erotic moments she'd ever experienced in her life. She was very familiar with salacity, so there were plenty of similar experiences to compare it to and measure it against. It took the cake, hands down, and it would be etched indelibly on the walls of her memory forever.
When their psyches were intertwined in that moment, when their spirits were making passionate love, she saw a fire and lust in his stare that was deep and intense. He wanted her, and she wanted him, that much was obvious on the surface. There was more to their connection than lollipops and blowjobs, though, there was also a sense of profound sorrow and detachment in the depths of his emerald eyes. Beneath the surface of the fleshly intimacy they fantasized of in tandem, there was a strong current of despair that she recognized just as well as she did the lust.
Without a word from him, without the learning of a single fact about him, before she even knew his name, she knew everything about him. She knew who he was at his core, where he was coming from in his life, what he was facing on the horizon and the battles he was fighting within the mysteriously curved enclosure of his mind.
He was a denizen of a dark realm, a place that she too had once called home. They were born of the same universe, had their roots in the same Cimmerian land of heartache and suffering. The only difference between them was that he was trying to navigate that place alone, without the proper guidance or tools to succeed.
While his physical body -- which was stunning and ravishing to her eyes -- was alive and extant in this, the reality of the droids, his inner self was far removed from this facade. The true man inside of him was hidden away from this land of foolish hope and blind faith. Within himself, where his spirit lie, he walked the mile in a cold and lonely expanse where only a cursed few are condemned to tread. A desolate, lonely and silent place overseen by the tyrant Mars. The realm of war and inner conflict, of battle with oneself and with the clowns of the real world. With the masses of unenlightened who drone away as slaves to sanity, the buffoons who believe that their reality is the only one that truly exists.
This man, this tall dark and absolutely fucking gorgeous man, was aware, and he knew the truth that was hidden from the world at large. He knew of that other reality. The realm of suffering, of agony and of torment. The realm of depression, a place where Nikki was no stranger, in any sense of the word.
She knew the alleys of that place well, she had dwelled in those screaming streets for most of her young life. It pained her to think that he was walking that plane alone, that he didn't have anyone to show him how to live in the misery, in the darkness.
She wanted to help him, but she knew that a person held in the bondage of the heavy chains he bore is beyond the reach of anyone who would act to interfere with the suffering. A person like that, a person like him, is a prisoner. Until they, themselves recognize the shackles. Until they, themselves wipe away the tears. Until they, themselves decide to exalt what can be salvaged of their lives and take the step to reach out a hand for help. Until then, they are lost. Until then, they are hopeless. Until then, they are the living dead. There was nothing she could do to help him, until he decided to help himself. She could give him physical release, she could ease his mind, but she could not rescue him.
What troubled her the most was the evident fact that he was actively struggling against the sea of black water that surrounded him. In her experience, struggling for air was the worst thing that someone caught up in the rushing tides could do. When it becomes too much to keep your head above water calmly, when it's simply beyond you to continue struggling in peace, a floatation device is required. A life preserver is necessary, a chemical intervention is indicated.
This man obviously didn't have access to any of those things. That meant that either he hadn't felt the water filling his lungs severely enough to force a cry for help, or that he was the stubborn type and was too proud to suck it up and seek proper care. Whichever was the case, he was obviously on his own at present. That couldn't end well, she figured. It never does... it nearly hadn't for her.
Summing him up as she did, she felt like the two of them were brethren. In that light, she examined the fact that his ring was gone and tried to calculate exactly what its absence meant. Possibly, it meant th
at he was open. That he was receptive, in his broken condition. That he might accept the limited help she could provide. That he desired that physical and mental release, the most primal of all releases.
Had he shut himself off entirely, had he flipped all of his emotional switches to their off positions, he wouldn't have bothered to remove the silver band from his finger. Even if it didn't stand for anything anymore, if his marriage was in ruins or long over, the act of keeping it on erected a barrier between him and the fairer sex. Even the ones without scruples would take pause in seeing it, because it indicated that he would have to be won instead of simply being had.
Its disappearance was a sign, it was a dropping of the guard he shielded himself behind. She was determined to figure out exactly what it was a sign of, and she intended to see if she might slip in through that tattered guard and reach him. If he was open to being helped, she wanted to try and help him. If he just wasn't getting any from his wife and was suddenly feeling horny, she wanted to satisfy his appetite in that regard.
Whatever it was, whatever taking off his ring meant, she wanted to know... and she wanted to be close to him. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically. She wanted to be inside of him... she wanted to have him inside of her... in every way that was possible.
"My name is Nikki," she said, trying to coax even the slightest lowering of his shield. "Nikki Spencer. We met last night, at Uncle Jim's."
Jake nodded in the light of the dashboard's gauges, refusing to let her in... refusing to reach out to her.
"Thanks for what you did back there," she continued. "I don't know what the fuck got into that guy, he's a whack job, I guess. I should've known when he started drinking, when he kept drinking. He had way too many, I should've known he was some kind of nut."
"He said you took his wallet," Jake declared in a firm tone, "did you consider for a moment that that was his problem? I imagine I'd be pretty pissed if you took my wallet, too."
Nikki looked over to him as they sped down Route 4, both surprised that he managed to speak more than a single sentence to her and angered at what the words insinuated. His voice was deep and manly, the bass of it sending chills through her body. The sonic vibration radiated from her ears, where it entered her, to a space between her legs, where it resonated and reverberated.
Any degree of pleasure she took in the breakthrough of his engaging her died a hard death when she looked at him. He was looking back at her, between glances at the road, and his eyes were filled with accusation and contempt.
"So you believe him?" she asked, irritated. "You just accept the word of a drunken bum who likes to use his fists on his date?"
The cold stare he returned indicated to her that he did, which pissed her off beyond belief.
"It figures," she chirped, wiping at her busted lip. "Bros over hoes, right?"
Shaking her head, she realized there was quite a bit of blood on her hand. Apparently, her date had gotten in a pretty good shot at her before she was so valiantly rescued. She must've bitten her lip when he did, because it hurt like hell and she could taste the injury.
"Do you have napkins?" she asked, scanning the darkened floor of the vehicle for anything of use.
"In the glovebox," he replied.
Without asking permission, assuming it was implied, she opened it. Several things spilled out when she did, including a bottle of eye drops and the vehicle's registration. Left inside were several Burger King napkins, a handful of which she snapped up before stuffing the other junk back in and slamming the door shut. Ever the opportunist, she took a peek at the name on the registration before returning it... Gigu?re Investigative Services LLC, it said. Boy, was that a lot for her to consider.
The napkins themselves still stank of Whoppers and fries, which made her hungry as she tended to the blood. It was more than a simple meal she wanted as she smelled the musk of sweat, adrenaline and Acqua Di Gio in concert with mayo, mustard and onions, and it was more than her mouth that longed to be fed.
If he only knew how his stubborn and adamant dismissal of her made her want him. Maybe he would've hated it, maybe it would've inspired him to handle this encounter differntly. Alternatively, perhaps he was working her methodically, pulling her strings in just the manner he wanted to. Maybe that was just his style.
Hard to get is sexy, no matter which gender is playing the role.
"I didn't take his wallet," she insisted, dabbing the brown napkin to her lip.
"Well it certainly wasn't on him," Jake proclaimed, his tone still firm and hard. "I felt every inch of the man's clothes while we were wrestling, it wasn't in his back pocket!"
Nikki made a dirty face and turned up her palms, taking an attitude to match -- and likely dwarf -- his own. "How the fuck should I know?" she snapped. "I told you, he was drunk! He probably left the fucking thing at the bet window, or at the concession stand when he bought his seventh beer!"
Based upon the look he wore when she spoke the words, it was clear to Nikki that this Gigu?re guy wasn't buying it. Maybe he wasn't playing hard to get after all, maybe he was just a straight-up dick. Even that idea made her want to mount him, in her twisted sensabilities.
Approaching the park, they turned onto Woodstock and then onto Oakwood. From there, he took a strange route that made her wonder if he knew the place as well as he claimed he did. Eventually, after traveling far out of their way and winding around from the backside, they pulled up in front of her trailer.
Jake had consciously taken this route, which allowed him to avoid driving directly passed fourteen-thirty Applewood. It was right in front of them, though, as he pulled over to the curb and parked. Looking down to his lap, where things were still stirring, he tried not to dwell upon the horrific thing he now knew was still there. It wasn't pink anymore, at least it didn't look it in the dark, but the shadow of the home situated where Tracy's trailer used to be looked very familiar to him nonetheless. It was the same trailer at fourteen-thirty Applewood that had been there in the nineties, and that royally sucked.
"Well, thanks," Nikki said with a snark. Realizing that this moment may be the last time she ever saw the man, that it may be the only chance she'd ever have to reach out to him, she tried to tame her wild sarcasm. If this was to be the end, she wanted to leave his life on a positive note. She liked this guy, even if it was unrequited. Offering an olive branch, she took a softer tone and offered up the praise that he had, after all, earned with his chivalrous actions. "Look," she began, as warm as she could possibly be. "Whoever you are, what you did was very noble. I appreciate it, and I thank you."
As hollow as he figured her words might be, she delivered them with a sincerity that worked to soften his heart. She was young -- though certainly not innocent -- and regardless of what may or may not have happened between her and her date, she was vulnerable as they sat, at this moment. He was actively trying to hide his inner self from her, just as he had back at the diner. This wasn't the result of anything she had done, but was instead because the intensity of the connection he felt in locking eyes with her had jarred him. She was not to blame for his retreat from her, he was.
This wasn't something unique to her, either, he never let anyone inside with him. Tracy and his son were the only exceptions, and the backdraft he exposed them to in being open with them had ruined everything they held dear. He kept people out to protect them, because he was embarrassed of what lived beneath the hard exterior he projected to the public at large. He was rancid beneath his skin, beneath the suit of armor he wore through life. Even Hephaestus would stand at attention in admiration of his expertly forged chainmaille, it was just that solid and impenetrable.
Initially, Nikki's attempts to pierce the veil had irritated him. Deep inside, he knew that his reluctance to let her do it was just a reflexive response he'd developed to stave off all intruders. She was exposing her inner self to him as they sat in front of her home, a place that wa
s only ten or twelve trailers away from the one he would live in for at least a week or two. He would likely run into her again, and she would likely continue to try to break his defenses.
With that on his mind, he started to wonder whether it was his hiding from the world that led him to this cold and lonely place of darkness, this fog that he was lost in. For the first time in his life, he felt a strange compulsion to open the door and let her in. Maybe there was comfort in her light? Maybe she could bring him a degree of peace in the days to come? He'd never know if he pissed all hope of that away by remaining stoic in this moment.
The uncertainty was uncomfortable, he couldn't decide whether to chase her away with a pitchfork or to snatch her up in a tight and passionate kiss. On the surface, he was inclined to run her off... but there was a little voice inside of him that longed for company, that begged for anyone to be by his side for the trials that were to come. That person couldn't be Chucky, because he was indisposed. It couldn't be Donnell, because he had a life to live. It couldn't be Clyde Rambo, because he was an old man without the energy to climb the mountains that lie ahead. It certainly couldn't be Tracy, because she had written him off.
Could it be Nikki? Could she be his Sherpa?
He didn't know... wasn't sure if dragging her along was a good idea or an awful one... couldn't say if he wanted her as a confidant, as a partner in crime or perhaps even something so intimate as a fuck buddy in these, the last days of his life. If she could be any of those things, though... if she could fill any of those shoes for him, that would be more than he had at present. Certainly, it would be more than he would have otherwise for the remainder of forever, as it applied to him.
Many seconds of uncomfortable silence having passed, the girl resigned herself to not receiving a response and opened her door sharply. Hurt and pissed, she slammed it shut once she was clear of it and started storming toward her front door.
Still uncertain, still hesitant, Jake made a snap decision that he couldn't just let her walk away... he couldn't shut her out of his life, the way he shut everyone else out... he couldn't walk the road ahead totally alone. Wherever it may lead him, whatever he might find waiting for him at its end, he wanted someone to be beside him when he got there.
"Wait!" he called after her desperately, hopefully and cautiously.
She stopped and turned, locking eyes with him again in mutual consent... locking eyes with the same intensity and depth of emotion they had shared the night before.
"It's Jake," he declared.
Nikki stood frozen in the darkness, staring back at him with her hunger, staring back at him with her desire. The answer not enough, not sufficiently complete in her mind, she begged the rest. "Jake what?" she asked, wanting the exchange to be in full disclosure, even though she suspected she already knew the rest.
"Ob," he replied, still guarding the rampart just a bit.
"Huh?" she furled her brow in reply. "Ob? What the hell kind of name is that? Jake Ob?"
Their ocular coupling was broken when she rolled her eyes, deciphering what he meant and shaking her head at his sarcasm. He smiled in return, and the smile melted her where she stood. As the Malibu pulled away, she felt a moisture that was no stranger to her, no stranger to her at all.
God, she wanted that man... shattered, mending or put all together, it didn't matter. She'd take him as he came.
Jake locked his stare on the surface of Oakwood, refusing to pay any mind to the former Swete home as his car rolled right by it. He didn't intend to go directly back to Chucky's, so he headed back to Woodstock to make his way out of The Meadows. The decision was based equally on the influence of two factors, two distinct issues that he decided he could not ignore.
His first objection was to Nikki knowing that he was living so close to her, but that concern was a distant second in his reasoning. More urgent and more pressing, so far as he was concerned, was a tingling sensation he felt... a phenomena that was independent from and unrelated to the things that were stirring in his pants. It was something he hadn't felt in quite some time, but that made it no less disconcerting this evening. As he turned back onto Route 4, he had that old overriding sense that he was being followed.
Someone was on his tail, someone who wasn't a friend of his and didn't wish him well... someone he intended to shake and to identify, lest things go sour and spoil his night.
TWENTY-SEVEN
