It's almost nine, and still no sign of my father.
The dinner dishes are washed and put away. Naomi made some kind of chicken spaghetti casserole and although it was as repugnant as always, I ate every bite she gave me and asked for seconds. Even Nicole was a little alarmed by my behavior, not to mention my bruised and battered appearance.
Speaking of Nicole, Naomi apologized to her for yelling at her and for using such foul language. And to show that her heart was in the right place, she offered to let Nicole hold me after dinner.
So now Nicole is sprawled across her father's recliner, her head propped against one arm and her legs draped over the other. I'm lying on her chest, relishing the sensation of it rising each time she breathes. I'm curled up under the protective canopy of her hand, sore and tired beyond measure, but safe once again.
Naomi sits in her usual spot, smoking her usual cigarette. I gaze wearily in her direction, surprised by the level of affection I feel for her now. The worst part is, I know it's wrong. I know I should be angry. I know I should hate her. But all I can imagine is how good it would feel to lie beneath her warm, soft foot and kiss her beautiful toes...
"Poor thing," Nicole whispers, her fingers brushing my back. "You're so sleepy."
I smile up at her. "I don't want to go to bed, though. Can you hold me a little longer?"
"Of course," she says, giving me a gentle squeeze. "As long as you want."
"Thanks," I say drowsily, laying my head back down. "Love you."
"I love you too, Ray," Nicole whispers, and I can feel her heartbeat quicken through the fabric of her shirt.
Ever heard the term "deus ex machina?"
Literally, it means "god from machine." The ancient Greek tragedians used to resolve their plays by having the gods lowered down onto the stage to wrap up the loose ends. It was acceptable back then, but nowadays it's considered bad literary form. At least, that's what Dana told me.
"The protagonists should solve the problems with their own ingenuity and talent," she told me. "If something improbable happens out of the blue to end the story, then the reader feels cheated. Like if the hero is about to be killed, but the bad guy suddenly gets hit by a lightning bolt."
So deus ex machina is bad storytelling. But as has often been commented, truth is often stranger than fiction. And real life seldom conforms to the tight strictures of literary form. Or, in the words of a great, anonymous 20th century philosopher, "Shit happens."
The phone rings, startling me awake. For one horrible, confused moment, my mind struggles to ascertain just where I am. Then everything falls into place, and I realize I'm still lying on Nicole's chest. She's looking around and blinking uncertainly, so I guess she just woke up too.
Naomi snatches up the phone before it can ring again and answers it in an urgent voice. I rub the sleep from my eyes and ask Nicole what time it is. She yawns, then squints to look at the clock on the mantle. "Eleven o'clock," she informs me sleepily.
Eleven o'clock, and my father still isn't home. That's probably him on the phone, with another excuse.
"What?" Naomi shouts, leaping up from the couch. The sudden loudness of her voice startles me, and Nicole feels my body jerk beneath her hand. She strokes me gently with her fingers to calm me, while I watch Naomi pace frantically while listening to the voice on the other end of the line. I realize she's not angry, she's upset. As in crying.
Nicole realizes something's wrong about the same time I do, and she sits up. Naomi is standing in the middle of the living room, holding the phone in her trembling hand. Her mouth contorts spastically, and tears are running down her cheeks.
"Momma?" Nicole asks, standing up. "What's wrong?"
Naomi doesn't answer. She just stands there, blinking away tears and chewing her lip to keep from sobbing. Concerned, Nicole runs to her. Naomi doesn't say a word, but wraps her arm around her daughter and pulls her close.
After an eternity of silence, Naomi finally says in a dead, trembling voice, "I understand. I'll be right there." Still hugging Nicole (and me) to her, she turns off the phone and sets it down on the coffee table.
"What is it, Momma?" Nicole asks. "Why are you crying?"
Naomi releases us, then kneels down so she can speak to me as well as Nicole. "Your daddy has been in a car wreck. He's in the hospital right now."
"Is he..." My mind races, trying to formulate the question. "Is he going to be okay?"
Naomi breaks down as she shakes her head. "No sweetie," she says in a choked, sobbing voice. "I don't think so."
I know this makes me sound like some kind of horrible monster, but I'm having trouble working out just how I feel right now.
I know he's my father, and what happened to him is horrible. Tragic. But I'd be a hypocrite if I were to suddenly pretend that there was anything familial or loving in our relationship. Paul Dalton impregnated my mother, and it's there that my relationship with the man should have ended. He's my biological father, but even now I can't bring myself to think of him as my "dad." I was never anything more than an investment to him, a chance to make a lucrative deal with GenetiTech.
And now he's dying, and Naomi can't stop weeping. Nicole is crying too, although I suspect that might be more out of sympathy for her mother than any deep love she felt for poor Paul.
"Oh God, Ray," Naomi moans, her face streaked with tears and smeared make up. "Your poor, poor daddy!" She hugs me to her chest, sobbing fiercely. And I find myself actually moved by her grief. She must have really loved him, I realize. Seems like all they ever did was argue, bicker, and snap at each other, but on some weird level, she truly loved my father.
We're in the ER waiting room, huddled together in a corner, away from everybody else. Naomi sits in one of the thinly padded blue chairs, shaking with sorrow as she hugs me, kisses me, and nuzzles me against her wet, sticky cheek. "Your poor, poor daddy," she keeps chanting, over and over again.
Nicole sits next to her, her face buried in her mother's blouse. Naomi's arm is wrapped protectively around her daughter as she hugs Nicole to her.
Debbie sits on the other side, rubbing Naomi's shoulder and telling her how sorry she is. She keeps glancing at me, and I can tell that, even now, she's wondering if it would be inappropriate to ask if she could hold me.
And finally, Debbie's boyfriend Walt paces like a caged animal as we await news from the surgeons. Walt, with his mullet and his Steve Miller tattoo, who went to high school with Paul, who spent two years in prison for statutory rape, who has a nasty habit of smacking Debbie around whenever he loses his temper...
"Um, I can hold him for you, if you want," Debbie finally suggests awkwardly. "I mean, I don't mind."
Naomi ignores her and looks down at me, shaking her head sadly. "I shouldn't have gotten so mad at him," she tells me. "I shouldn't..." Her head bobs as the tears begin again. She squeezes her eyes shut and lets out a mournful wail.
A heavy man with a bleached crewcut and a Hawaiian shirt notices us from the door of the waiting room. He enters and approaches us, stopping about halfway across the room. Then he pulls out a camera and snaps a picture of me in Naomi's hands.
"Hey!" Walt shouts, charging towards the man. The photographer turns and bolts out the door, with Walt in hot pursuit. Debbie calls after him and chases him to the door, but stops and simply stares down the hallway, watching the pursuit. She walks back over, shaking her head.
"Fucking vulture," she says, sitting back down. "Walt'll beat the hell out of him."
An hour later, Walt is still fuming about "letting that son of a bitch get away," when the surgeon comes in. He's an African-American man, forty or so, with a kind and weary face. He's wearing a clean pair of scrubs, presumably because family members find it rather distressing to see their loved ones' blood splattered all over the presiding surgeon.
Naomi gazes at him hopefully, but it's apparent he doesn't have good news for us. Debbie and Walt are standing and flocking around him, but he takes the seat next to Naomi and offers her a sympathetic nod.
"How is he, doctor?" Naomi asks in a trembling voice.
"Mrs. Dalton, I'm afraid your husband's wounds were too... grievous for us to save him. He passed away at 2:26 this morning." He hangs his head and takes a deep, somber breath. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Dalton."
Naomi begins to whimper as she hugs me and Nicole to her tightly. "I don't know what I'm going to do without him..." she chokes out between sobs. Debbie begins to weep as well and seeks comfort in the awkward embrace of Walt.
"As for the woman that was in the car with him," the doctor continues, "it looks as if she'll pull through. However, there's no telling if she'll ever come out of her coma."
The sobbing stops with eerie suddenness, and the waiting room is deathly quiet. "What woman?" Naomi asks, her voice tight.
"There was a passenger," the doctor says, suddenly aware of the awkward vibe in the room. "I'm sorry, I thought you knew." He glances down at his notepad. "A Rachel Foster, I believe?"
Eventually, it all comes out. Paul and Rachel were both quite drunk when the accident happened. In fact, Paul's blood alcohol level was right around .21 when he was behind the wheel. The investigating officer found no evidence of any other vehicles being involved in the accident, and concluded that Paul had simply passed out and driven off the road.
They were on their way back from Quitman, where they had been checked into the Five Points Motor Lodge under the name of Mr. and Mrs. Fugazi. According to the clerk at the motel, they had been coming there fairly regularly over the past month.
And while Naomi is still reeling from the shock of all this, she suffers another blow on Saturday morning, when Alan Mackey, chief of SPECTRUM security, shows up at her door to collect me.
"I assure you, it's all quite legal," Alan informs her, showing her the document once again. "With the death of Paul Dalton, custody of Ray reverted to his mother. And she has authorized us to act in this matter on her behalf."
"No!" Naomi screams, clenching me tight in her fists and clutching me to her chest. "You can't have him! Not after everything we've gone through..."
"Mrs. Dalton, I can sympathize with your..."
"Fuck you!" Naomi screams at him. Then, suddenly, she glares down at me with the same fury in her bloodshot eyes that I saw just last night. "And fuck you too, you little bastard," she snarls. "This is what you wanted all along, isn't it? You're probably happy your daddy died!"
Alan's hand shoots out and catches Naomi's wrist, squeezing it until her fist opens into a shaking claw. He reaches over with his other hand and plucks me from her loosening grip.
"You son of a bitch!" she screams, struggling to pull away from him. "Let me go, you fucking Nazi!"
Alan looks down at me in the palm of his hand. "You okay, kid?"
I stare back up at him, blinking and still unable to believe that he's really here. That this whole nightmare is actually over.
"I'm fine," I tell him. "Am I going back to SPECTRUM?"
"Absolutely, kid," Alan says, flashing me his goofy grin. A pale scar runs down his freckled cheek, a souvenir of some past mission. I remember Rachel telling me once that she was the one that gave him that scar, and I resolve to ask him about it later, when things are back to normal.
Nicole stands in the doorway of the dining room, watching me and Alan with a forlorn look on her face.
"Hey, Alan," I call up to him. "Can you give me a minute with Nicole?"
Alan nods. "Sure, kid." He steps towards Nicole, who takes an involuntary step back from him. I can't really blame her. Alan's probably the nicest guy I know, but he looks pretty imposing. At least, when he's not smiling.
"Here you go, little girl," he says, placing me into Nicole's waiting palm. Then he walks back over to Naomi to keep an eye on her.
"I don't want you to go," Nicole says. She's been crying so much since last night, I doubt she has any tears left. But her face is so morose it breaks my heart. I never imagined how hard it would be to leave her.
"Listen, I'm going to come see you when I can," I tell her. "And I'm going to make sure you're on the visitors' list, so you can maybe come with Suzy to visit me sometimes."
"I'm happy for you, Ray," she tells me, petting me with her fingers as she smiles sadly down at me. "I know you're glad you're going back to all your friends, but I'm going to miss you so much."
"I'll miss you too, Nicole," I tell her. "I always wondered what it would be like to have a sister, and I couldn't ask for a better one." I wipe at the tears in my eyes as I smile up at her. "I love you."
"I love you too," she says, and gently presses me to her lips.
"I can't believe you made him live in this... cage!" Alan snarls as he gathers what few possessions I have left from the aquarium. He stands up and whirls on Naomi, who's watching him angrily from the doorway. She stands with her arms crossed, leaning against the wall, with a cigarette dangling from her scowling mouth. More out of habit than anything else, I glance down at her bare feet and see her toes twitching angrily. No doubt she's imagining me between them right now, fantasizing about the cruel punishment she'd love to inflict on me.
"If the little shit didn't keep trying to run away, we wouldn't have had to keep him like that," Naomi snaps back defensively. It's frightening to me how quickly she became angry with me again, after all her tearful promises last night. I know she's been through a lot, and right now emotional balance is something that only exists in theory, but still.
I wonder how long it would have taken, if Alan hadn't shown up. How long until her grief over my father turned into bitter rage over his affair. And how long until she would decide to take that anger out on me. Last night, I was afraid she was going to kill me. And now I realize that, had I stayed here, she probably would have eventually.
"Come on, Ray," Alan says, turning his back on her. "Let's get the hell out of here."
He strides out the front door, holding me in one hand and tucking what remains of my wardrobe in his pants pocket. I peer back, beyond his shoulder, at the front of the Dalton house. Nicole stands in the open doorway, watching sadly as I'm taken away from her. I wave goodbye, and she waves back until Naomi yanks her inside and slams the door.
"Jesus, kid," Alan says as we drive through scenic downtown Stasheff. "You look too skinny. Didn't they ever feed you?"
I sigh. "I can't believe it's over. It was..." I find myself unable to think of the words to convey just how overwhelmingly, gut-wrenchingly awful the past two months have been. There was nothing in my upbringing to prepare me for it, to help me equip with the constant teasing and torture and fear for my life. To help me cope with the degradation of having my spirit broken and my humanity methodically stripped away.
"Oh, God," I cry, as it all comes rushing back to me. The shame, the misery, the utter helplessness. I remember clinging obediently to Naomi's nipple or toes while she pleasured herself in the shower. I remember long, horrible hours at the beauty shop, being passed around as a plaything to Linda and the other girls. I remember cowering on the floor while Naomi and Cheryl toyed with me mercilessly with their bare feet, and struggling to climb Cheryl's nylon-clad leg while she watched, amused. Squirming under Cheryl's foot while she sat on the toilet, and masturbating onto her sandal in the dank, dark prison of that shoebox. I remember the feeling of sheer helplessness when Cheryl - feeling drunk, horny, and amorous - forced me inside her.
And as I collapse sobbing in the passenger seat of Alan's car under the emotional weight of everything that has happened, more memories bubble up, unbidden and unpleasant. Rachel's cold detachment as she brought me to orgasm between her toes. Dr. Taylor's creepy manner as she poked and prodded my naked body, and the perverse delight she took in rubbing her finger between my legs. Dangling helplessly from Kim's toes, or screaming and splashing in the commode as she looked down, laughing. Or being forced to eat the cookie crumbs I picked off the bottom of her foot. Naomi stomping on my little car, pulverizing it beneath her sandaled foot. Being taped and immobile, lying in the refrigerator, praying to die if only to end this horrible existence once and for all...
The pain, the horror, the humiliation... it all comes tearing out of me with such force that my cries become screams. For about ten minutes, it pours out of me like a toxin. Then, as suddenly as it came on me, the horror is gone. I'm left curled up on the car seat, weeping and hyperventilating.
Alan has watched all this sympathetically, knowing better than to interfere. I guess he knows a thing or two about trauma, and he waits patiently for me to exorcise my own demons.
I sit up and wipe at my eyes, my face burning feverishly from the intensity of my crying jab. I'm a little embarrassed, but Alan reaches over and gives me a friendly tap on the arm with his index finger. "Feel better?" he asks me.
And much to my surprise, I do. I have no illusions about my state of mind, you understand. I'm sure I'll be spending years in therapy, trying to work my way through all the horrible things that happened to me. But for the first time since Paul Dalton showed up in my life, I feel free. I feel happy, and I feel truly hopeful about the future.
"Um, where are we?" I ask Alan. We've been stopped for some time, and I had just assumed he'd pulled over to let me finish my tantrum. But that doesn't seem to be the case, as he's taken the keys from the ignition.
"Hudson House Bed and Breakfast," he tells me, smiling. "I need to get my bags and check out. Besides, there's someone here who'd really like to see you."
She's sitting in an overstuffed leather chair in the lobby, engrossed in the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly. I stare from Alan's hand, utterly transfixed by her and unable or unwilling to look away. Her silky, black hair cascades down over her shoulders, perfectly framing her beautiful olive face. She's wearing a short denim skirt that shows off her perfect legs, one of which is crossed prettily over the other. And she's wearing those same black, clunky shoes she always does.
Alan clears his throat. She puts down the magazine and looks up at me. Her face lights up with excitement, and she lets out a delighted squeal as she jumps out of the chair. She tosses the magazine onto the table and runs over to us.
"Oh God, Ray," she says, her beautiful green eyes brimming with tears. "You poor, poor baby. What happened to your face?" The swelling of my eye has gone down a little since last night, but I'm sure it still looks quite frightening.
Alan slips me into her cupped hand, and she immediately lifts me to her lips and covers me with kiss after kiss. As she gently nuzzles me against her cheek, she whispers, "I was so scared I'd never see you again."
"Me too, Suzy," I tell her, stroking her cheek with my fingers. God, her skin is so warm and soft, and just the sensation of it against my own is enough to make me tremble.
"Suzy and her family have been staying here for the past week," Alan tells me. "We've had them in protective custody ever since the hearing, while we were waiting to see how this whole thing would play out."
"Mom and Dad went home this morning," Suzy tells me, caressing me with her long, pale green fingernails. "But I told Alan I wanted to hang around and see you before you guys took off."
After all this time, I can't believe I'm being held by Suzy again. And all I can think about is how much I'd love to be alone with her, to make up for all the lost time...
"What time do we have to leave?" I ask Alan.
He shrugs. "We gotta hit the road in the next ten minutes, kid. I've got a one o'clock meeting in Dallas, and that's a two hour drive."
"Oh," I say, disappointed. I look up at Suzy, who smiles sadly. "Maybe next time," she tells me softly.
Alan runs his hand through his unruly red hair, and suddenly grins. "Aw, hell," he says, fishing his cell phone out of his pocket. He hits speed dial, then speaks. "Switch 389." A few seconds later, he says, "Cody? I've been unexpectedly detained in Stasheff... no, it's nothing serious. But I'll need you to cover me in the one o'clock. I'll e-mail you my report. Okay?"
He winks at me and Suzy as he speaks into the phone. "Good. Pass it on to Gary and Louise, please. Thanks." Flipping the phone closed, he slides it back into his pocket.
"Here you go," he says, handing his room key to Suzy. "Check out time's at three, so I should be back around 2:55."
"Thank you, Alan," Suzy says sweetly.
"No shit!" I exclaim happily, unable to contain my excitement. "Thanks a lot!"
"No problem," Alan says with a wink. "You kids have fun. And don't steal any change off of the dresser."
For over an hour, I am an adventurer, an explorer, scaling the landscape of my goddess. She lies flat on her back on Alan's bed, making every effort not to move as I crawl over her. I mount her nipple and stroke it relentlessly, making her squirm and moan with pleasure. Her own hands flutter over me, eager to reach down and press me into the warm, soft flesh of her breast. Several times, she controls this urge and slaps her hands back down to her sides. But finally, she can't stand it anymore. Her hand comes down on me, and she mashes me up and down, up and down...
"Hey," I call to her, feigning indignity. "I'm trying to work my mojo here!"
She giggles, and her hand falls back to her side. "Sorry," she says breathlessly. "You can't imagine how good you feel right now."
She's naked, except for a pair of white cotton panties. My own clothes lie in a wad on her stomach, where I discarded them in a hurry. Her long legs stretch out along the bed, crossed at the ankles. And there, in the distance, are her gorgeous feet. She offered to let me start there, but was delighted when I suggested starting at the top and working my way down.
Her skin is so warm and soft, and the feel of it against my own is intoxicating. I have this urge to just lie down and spread out, to touch as much of her with as much of me as I possibly can. I'm dizzy with the alluring smell of her - perfume and soap, sweat, and the faint smell of her arousal.
Her nipple is hard as a rock, and she's so close. I can feel her heart pounding, and the rise and fall of her chest as her breaths come more and more quickly. But I can't quite "close the deal," as they say. Suzy's a good sport, and I'm sure she's enjoying it, but I know she's craving more. And when I see her hand snaking down her stomach towards the elastic waistband of her panties, I'm suddenly seized with a bold idea. Something I never thought I'd be willing to do...
"Wait!" I call to her, sliding down her breast and landing in a crouch on her abdomen. I scramble along the taut, warm flesh of her tummy past her massive hand and straight to her waist.
"Oh Ray, you're not!" she exclaims, her voice anxious and delighted. I lift the edge of her waistband and burrow under into the soft darkness underneath.
The smell is amazing, like nothing I've ever experienced. Exotic and strong, not unpleasant but quite overpowering. It's the tantalizing smell of her sex, and the fact that I've done this to her excites me all the more.
I crawl through the soft, curly hair on my hands and knees, feeling the fabric of her panties pressing down against me. Outside, I can hear Suzy moan and slap the bed with her hand as my hands finally touch something warm and fleshy. I begin to stroke it, slowly at first, amazed by the heat and dampness.
Suzy's moans become regular as I massage her faster and faster. She squirms and writhes, pounding the bed with her fists and heels. Suddenly, I feel her bucking beneath me. Her hips thrust upwards, and her moans grow shorter and sharper.
Her flesh feels almost feverish against my damp, sticky hands. Her body wracked with pleasure, she finally screams, "Oh, God!" as she arches her back for one final, grand thrust of her hips. I'm suddenly drenched in a warm, sticky explosion. I take this as a sign that my work is done.
The cotton of her panties is drenched, as is the hair that surrounds me. I climb back out under her waistband, thrilled by the grin that greets me when I poke my head out.
Her face is flushed, and there are actually tears running down her cheeks. One hand rests on her heaving chest as she gasps for breath. And she's looking at me with such adoration that it makes my heart race.
"Oh my God," she says, between breaths. "That was the most amazing thing I've ever felt."
I squirm out into the open and climb shakily to my feet, drenched and sticky with her juices. "So," I ask, grinning back. "Was it good for you?"
"Jesus, Ray," she says, "I had no idea you were going to... I mean..." She finally just giggles and snatches me up in her hand. "God, I love you!" She falls back on the bed, hugging me between her bare breasts. "I love you so much!"
"I should have planned ahead," Suzy says, sliding off her damp panties and dropping them on the floor. "Looks like I'll be taking those home in my purse." She smiles and looks down at me, still standing on the bed. "That is, unless you want them?"
"What?" I ask. "I mean... what?"
"It's a tradition amongst teenage boys, isn't it?" Suzy asks, winking. "You're supposed to keep the panties of your first girl." She looks thoughtful. "I mean, I'm assuming it's a tradition. Unless John Hughes was lying in all those movies..."
I shrug. "I'm not one for tradition. Besides, Sally and them would have to build me an additional wing on my home to display them."
Suzy laughs and sits down on the bed next to me. "I was your first, wasn't I?" she asks.
A horrible memory flits into my mind of being tangled up in Cheryl's matted hair and pressed against her wet slit. I remember that sickening pop it made as her monstrous fingers pried it open, and I remember being enveloped in darkness. And perhaps the worst memory of all is her voice, raspy and hateful, growling, "Fuck me, you little bastard," as she slid me in and out...
"Ray?"
"Yeah, of course you were," I tell her, grinning up at her. "From now on, I'll call you Ms. Le because you were my teacher."
"Okay, you little smart ass," she says. "It's your turn, and I've got something to show you."
She picks me up and gently sets me on the floor at her bare feet. I stare, fascinated as always by her meticulously pedicured toenails, pale green like her fingernails. Her long toes wiggle slowly and seductively, no doubt for my benefit.
"Are you ready?" Suzy asks, looking down at me.
I have no idea what she's got in mind, but my entire body is tingling with excitement. "Ready!" I call up to her.
She raises her left foot and slowly advances it towards me, brushing me between the legs with her big toe. My erection is fierce and throbbing, and an involuntary moan escapes from me as she effortlessly grasps me between her toes.
I'm about to compliment her on her technique when she grasps me with the toes of her other foot as well. She passes me back and forth, playing with me, squeezing me, flipping me over, and stroking me. Finally, she holds me gently but firmly with one foot while the big toe on her other once again brushes me between the legs. I moan again and again as she relentlessly kneads my prick.
My stamina isn't nearly as impressive as hers, and I come in a frantic, noisy spasm, screaming her name. When I'm done, I hang limply in her grasp, stroking and kissing her sexy toes. I feel myself being lifted smoothly into the air as she crosses her leg. Turning my head, I look up into her face with awe.
"Okay, that was just incredible," I tell her, still out of breath. "When the hell did you learn how to do that?"
"After our date last month," she tells me, smiling a little sheepishly. "I practiced with a Star Wars figure. Han Solo, in case you're wondering."
Still dangling, I rub her big toe and rest my cheek on her smooth nail. "You're amazing," I tell her, without a trace of irony. "Did you learn any other tricks?"
"Well," she shrugs. "I was practicing flinging him into the air with my toes and catching him in my hand, but I accidentally snapped his head off. So I probably won't be doing that trick this afternoon."
"I love you, Suzy," I tell her, gazing up at her. "And not just because you have sexy, prehensile monkey toes."
Laughing, she plucks me from her foot and lies back on the bed, laying me between her breasts. Her fingers stroke me gently, and her warm flesh surrounds me. As I lie there, listening to the beat of her heart, I realize just how much I do love her. And the fact that I have to be separated from her again is the only thing that mars my return to SPECTRUM.
The rest of the afternoon is spent cuddling, playing, and talking. Suzy tells me how much she wishes she could take me to college with her. She has a lot of friends, but she's never been as close to anyone as she is to me. I can't believe I've only known her for two months... she fits into my life as if she's always been there.
She's younger than most of her friends, since her parents started her in school a year early. She loves her parents dearly, but she resented having to come back to Stasheff over the summer, where the only available jobs were babysitting and shifts at the Dairy Queen. Of course, she adds, she would have never met me if she hadn't been babysitting for Nicole, so she'll probably cut her parents some slack from now on.
I find myself telling her about my friendship with Nicole, about the bond that grew between us after I was rescued from Cheryl and Kim. I've never had a sister before, and I have to admit that I really, really enjoy being somebody's brother. I think of her now, dealing with Naomi's grief and mood swings, and I pray that she's okay. Suzy promises to check in on her for me.
And so on, and so on. As the afternoon wears on, Suzy suggests rather shyly that we take a bath to make ourselves presentable for Alan. And even after our intimacy of only a few hours ago, she's a little shy about the idea. I suppose I am too, because I've never had a good bathing experience. But I know in my heart it'll be different with Suzy.
And it is! I massage her feet and play between her soapy toes; I lie on her breast and massage her nipple while she lays her head back and sighs contentedly. The games are similar to the ones inflicted on me by Cheryl and Naomi, but the fact that it's Suzy makes the world of difference. It's like the vast gulf between love and rape.
When Alan comes by at 2:55, Suzy and I are clean and dressed and saying our rather tearful goodbyes. She says she'll call me as often as SPECTRUM will allow her, and she promises to come up and visit when she can get away from school. She also promises to bring Nicole to see me, if Naomi will allow it.
As we pull out of the hotel parking lot, Alan holds me up so I can wave goodbye. Suzy stands by her car, tears streaming down her cheeks from beneath her sunglasses, waving and smiling that sexy smile. I watch her recede in the back window until I can't see her anymore.
I sigh as Alan lowers me into the passenger seat, feeling my eyes grow teary as well. My carrier is in the back seat, but Alan said I didn't have to ride in it until we actually got to SPECTRUM.
"Thanks for this afternoon, Alan," I tell him, looking up at his face. He stares straight ahead as he drives, giving me a good view of the scar that runs down his right cheek. Once again, I remember Rachel telling me that she was responsible for giving him that scar, and I wonder if it would be inappropriate to ask him about it.
Alan turns towards me, an easy grin on his face. "No problem, kid. You know, that girl's crazy about you."
I laugh, unable to contain my joy. "I know! God only knows how I got that lucky!"
"You deserve someone like her in your life, Ray," Alan tells me. "You deserve a good family, and lots of friends... hell, you deserve to be outrageously fucking happy." He sighs. "And if I can do anything to make that happen for you, I will."
It hits me all of a sudden just how much I've missed SPECTRUM. And the closer we get, the more excited I get. I'm going to see Louise, Gary, Dana and the rest. I'm going to live like a human being, and eat good food, and go to the bathroom in private...
I'm going home...
EPILOGUE - TWO MONTHS LATER
Things have gotten back to normal around here, I suppose. I occasionally wake up in the morning trembling, with my stomach in knots, and then I remember that I'm not in that goddamned aquarium anymore. It's funny, the triggers that linger in my mind. The smell of cigarette smoke, or the slap of someone walking in sandals is enough to terrify me if I'm not expecting it. And I can't watch that horrible "Unpack Your Adjectives" on Schoolhouse Rock without wanting to vomit.
Poor Louise is really earning her money with me these days. I've got neuroses piled on top of phobias buried in a mountain of fetishes and guilty fantasies. She knows everything about me now, every sick and twisted thought I've ever had, but she still seems to like me okay. Last week, I asked her if she'd ever let me paint her toenails, and she just chuckled and told me she didn't think that would be a good idea.
Sally built me another car, and the guys in the lab actually put together a modular track for me. There's usually a pretty good crowd gathered around to watch me race, I suspect some money occasionally changes hands between the techs. But I've gotten really good at driving, and Gary keeps saying he's going to bring one of his remote control cars from home to race with me.
I haven't heard a word from Naomi since my father's funeral. I remember seeing her in her black dress and veil, looking so weak and frail. Even now, it's difficult to remember her as the terrifying goddess who tormented me for two months.
I get an occasional e-mail from Nicole, when she can get on the computer in the school library. She tells me everybody is fine, that Naomi is working full time in the beauty shop and has gone back to hanging with Cheryl from next door again. She really wants to come visit me, but Naomi won't let her have anything to do with Suzy, let alone travel with her to Dallas. Last time I wrote her, I told her I was planning on spending Christmas with Suzy in Stasheff, and that I would hopefully get to see her then.
Speaking of Suzy, she's coming up to visit in two weeks! She's skipping her Friday classes so she can spend a long weekend with me, and Alan has already made arrangements for her to stay at the Dallas Hyatt-Regency, and he's already made arrangements to take me off-site so I can be with her. God bless him.
Suzy's really excited about the trip, and keeps e-mailing me to make sure we're still on and that nothing's come up. Last night, she attached a picture of the new shoes she bought for the trip, these incredibly sexy thong sandals, light green and beaded. According to her e-mail, they're "kiwi suede." All I know is, I can't wait to see them up close and personal.
My mom was supposed to come visit me last weekend, but she didn't show. I suppose this should bother me more than it does, but I guess I never quite managed to get my hopes up in the first place. Wherever she is, I hope she's okay.
Rachel is still in a coma.
Dad is still dead.
I've been thinking about something over the past couple of nights. Actually, I guess I've been thinking about it since my father died in July, but it's really been on my mind this week.
I remember when I was first taken from SPECTRUM and handed over to the Daltons. Alan has always blamed himself for that, even though I've told him time and time again that I know it wasn't his fault. The image of him crying when he found out is one that has always stuck with me.
His promise has stuck with me as well. "We're going to get you back, Ray. I swear to God, I'll do whatever it takes to get you back."
I assumed he was referring to the custody hearing. But that came and went, and SPECTRUM's legal performance was less than awe inspiring. In fact, Oscar Bentz and Cindi Martinez (the two attorneys), as well as Judge Weining, have been suspended pending an investigation for misconduct. But that's neither here nor there.
I think of Alan's promise to me, and I think of what he said to me in the car on the way home from Stasheff. "You deserve to be outrageously fucking happy. And if I can do anything to make that happen for you, I will."
And I think of poor Paul Dalton, who died in the same car wreck that left Rachel Foster in a coma. And how everybody was ready to jump to the conclusion that Paul and Rachel were having an affair, because everybody had already been thinking it to some degree.
Rachel once denied ever having an affair with my father, and I believed her. She lied about a lot of things, but for some reason, her answer rang true that time. "There's no reason for me to be engaging in any kind of sexual relations with your father, and it would only serve to jeopardize the entire operation. And I assure you, I'm not attracted to him."
Plus, Rachel went everywhere in that damn limo. Granted, if she were having an affair and trying to be discreet about it, she might very well have been riding in my father's car. But it just doesn't set right with me.
The police said it was a case of drunk driving. There was no sign of a collision, or any indication that any other car was involved. And the clerk at the motor lodge claimed that Paul and Rachel had been coming there incognito for the past two months. But the police can be manipulated, and witnesses can be bribed or threatened. Hell, Rachel did that sort of thing eight times every morning before breakfast!
But in order for things to work out as well as they did for me, both Rachel and my father had to be taken out of the equation. Rachel Foster was single-minded in her desire to acquire me for GenetiTech, and made it apparent that there was no plan too depraved, no threat too sordid that she wouldn't employ it.
So what I've been wondering is, was my father's death really an accident? Or could Alan have somehow orchestrated everything that happened?
It's late, and Alan and I are watching The Godfather on the big screen TV in the lounge. He originally had a date with Dana, my English Literature tutor. But she backed out at the last minute, just like we all knew she would. Dana's a sweet girl, but Alan's just setting himself up for grief and heartache every time he asks her out.
So, Alan declared it to be Bachelor's Night and invited me to watch the movie with him. It's one of my favorite flicks, and Alan's a good friend, but that's not why I agreed. Right now, I'm watching half-heartedly as Michael Corleone weds the breathtaking Apollonia, trying to work up my nerve to ask Alan whether or not he murdered my father.
"Alan," I say nervously.
He turns and looks down at me, his goofy grin intact. "Yeah, kid? What is it?"
I hesitate, the question on my lips. I feel as if I'm standing on a precipice, about to plummet into a chaotic, swirling abyss. Then, something in me breaks and I just blurt out the question.
"How did you get that scar?"
Alan chuckles, and tells me a story about a liaison with Rachel Foster, some six or seven years ago, when the two of them wound up in a hotel room together and she attacked him with the broken bulb end of a lamp. And I listen and nod and laugh at the appropriate places, and I know I'll never ask him the other question, because I really don't want to know the answer.
If you really, really want a happy ending, you should never underestimate the power of denial.
THE END
Giantess World
Homunculus by Cayce