Forsaken Repose: The Restless Dead (4 page)

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 breaths, 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.