Here is a very short short story just for you.
The Dark Forest
Something captures your attention. Not a sound or sight, but a feeling, raising your fine hairs in awareness. Someone is near. You look up. A figure moves away from you, her long gown shimmering white in the intermittent slivers of moonlight. She slips with ease through the dense forest, like a whisper on a cool breeze. You glance over your shoulder only once before following, drawn to her mystery. You are close now, almost near enough to touch. She turns, the corners of her lips lifted in invitation, her beautiful, dark eyes beckoning.
The witch chuckles to herself as she flits away. Another, so easily, falls into her trap.
The Dark Forest
Something captures your attention. Not a sound or sight, but a feeling, raising your fine hairs in awareness. Someone is near. You look up. A figure moves away from you, her long gown shimmering white in the intermittent slivers of moonlight. She slips with ease through the dense forest, like a whisper on a cool breeze. You glance over your shoulder only once before following, drawn to her mystery. You are close now, almost near enough to touch. She turns, the corners of her lips lifted in invitation, her beautiful, dark eyes beckoning.
The witch chuckles to herself as she flits away. Another, so easily, falls into her trap.
Warning: This next work contains graphic material. It is for adults, eighteen and older.
This is a short story written for an online contest. As of 11/19/10 This story took first place in the competition, out of eight very good entries on writing.com. Bark at the moon Seleste stopped to listen. Had she heard something or were her fears fueling her imagination? She peered to her right into the
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mists crawling over the damp ground from the river’s edge, her heart hammering against her ribs. Nothing. She heard no sound other than the water lapping at the banks and a nearby Screech Owl’s call to his life-mate. She rubbed the heel of her left palm down over her thigh and winced. The raised, twisted lumps, she felt even through the thick material of her layered skirt, reminders of the horrible day that forever changed her life.
Ever cautious, she took in the surrounding woods before moving on. She prayed no one had seen her slip away. She’d never be able to outrun the witch-hunters who stalked her day and night, watching her every move, hoping she’d give them a reason…as Seth had. And then there were the others, those of her kind—no. They would not harm her, not yet. Not until she’d accomplished what she’d come here to do.
As she hobbled along, cursing her limitations, she glanced repeatedly to the sky. Her greatest nemesis on this night, could be the billowing clouds blocking the moon’s glow. Even more so than the villagers’ lusting for blood.
Seleste slowed as she neared the plot, once more listening and searching the darkness between the great, ancient trees. Still, nothing moved. Even the winds had died, as if the gods were on her side for once. Clouds parted and a little of the tension in her shoulders eased. She'd waited so long for this night, Hallowed Eve. Now, all was right for what she must do.
She knelt next to Seth’s unmarked grave and removed the satchel from her waist. By the light of the full moon, she layered herbs in her scrying bowl—Fireweed to heal his spirit after transformation, Belladonna to protect him on his journey and Black Nightshade she would use to call on the dark powers of the night. All the while, she chanted, beckoning the Goddess of Life to overturn the authority of the Lord of Death.
Her hands shook so, it took several tries to light a match. At last, one ignited. She dropped it into the bowl, careful to stay up wind of the lethal smoke. A minute later, naught remained but ash. Walking a circle, she sprinkled the ash around and over his grave. It was done. Relief washed over her and tears filled her eyes.
“Until we meet again, I will wait for thee,” she whispered, as she had that day, the day they took him from her. She reached inside her cloak for the only thing of his she’d managed to keep from them, the silver medallion. She traced the outline of the image of the wolf and brought it to her lips. “Until we meet again.”
With a deep sigh, she turned towards home. There was nothing to do now but wait…wait and pray to her gods that the spell worked.
It didn’t take long. The bewitched moon reached its zenith and she heard the cry. A lone howl pierced the night. It was soon followed by the yips and barks of the pack. She lifted her muzzle—her own transformation now complete—catching his scent on the light breeze. A sob shook her and she struggled to stay upright. He would come, but so would the others and for very different reasons. This she knew.
From her vantage point, high on the knob near the south end, she watched their descent towards the opposite end of the village. Her heightened senses picked up the smell of fear from within the first cottage, Constable Belford’s. Seth approached, the pack snarling at his heels, hungry for vengeance. Glass shattered and the first of her tormentors paid for his sins.
She felt no guilt, no remorse, as she turned her back on those who had done the same to her while for three nights Belford and his men had tortured her in the name of God.
Seleste limped into the cottage and over to the stone hearth. As flames licking at coals behind the grate warmed her, easing some of the stiffness in her disfigured, hind leg, screams—echoes of her own not so long ago—filled the night. One by one, evil fell, their loved ones alongside, until none remained.
She sensed rather than heard him as he entered the cottage, his aura even stronger now than before. She closed her eyes, afraid of what she’d see in his. Would he hate her? Blame her? He knew. After they’d broken her, Belford promised to be sure Seth knew. She’d given his location. She’d sealed his fate.
Seth eased down beside her and nuzzled her ruff. He ran his tongue over her mangled leg, gently smoothing what was left of her dark fur over the scarred tissue. She whimpered and opened her eyes. Though his shining, amber ones never left hers, he continued to try to soothe her, but the ache that never subsided, continued, a constant reminder of her betrayal.
#
The sun’s rays inching their way up her face woke Seleste from a peaceful sleep. It was the first night she’d slept straight through in months—the nightmare no more. Seth still spooned her, one arm beneath her head and his other wrapped around her, his hand resting on her breast. She breathed in his strong, musky scent she loved so and her heart was at peace. She brought her hand up to lace her fingers through his. He sighed and tightened his hold, pulling her closer.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “So very sorry.”
A lump formed in her throat that she could not swallow. He was apologizing to her? After what she’d done? She opened her mouth and drew a breath to speak, but he cut her off.
“It was in no way your fault. If I had known… If there was any way we could go back…do that one day over again, I’d gladly take your place.”
“Oh, Seth—”
The door burst open and four men strode in: the leader of the pack, Murdock, his two sons and Zachariah, Seth’s bother.
Seleste’s heart lurched. She grabbed the blanket up from her waist to cover herself.
“What in Hades—” Seth leaped up.
“We’re here for the witch…the traitor,” Zachariah answered. He spoke to Seth, but his eyes never left Seleste’s face. Hatred punctuated each of his words. “She will pay for—”
Murdock placed his hand on Zachariah’s arm, silencing him and before Seth could speak, he held up his other. “Don’t fight us on this, Seth. It is law—long-standing law—and you know it. You will have your chance to speak at the trial tonight.”
Zachariah snatched up Seleste’s dress and flung it at the bed.
#
Seth pulled against the three it took to hold him, but to no avail. Their claws and teeth bit into his flesh. He had remained in human form only to have his voice to speak on Seleste’s behalf.
Perched on the platform at the edge of the cliff, her entire body visibly trembled. Her beautiful, chocolate-brown eyes were wide with fear, but still she stood with her shoulders back and her head held high. Those in human form called, “Witch! Traitor!” Those in wolf form snarled and circled his mate, his beloved Seleste, baring teeth.
When he’d finally been allowed to enter the inner circle and saw her, his heart had physically ached. This whole situation had been his doing, his fault. If only he’d controlled his primal instincts. If only he’d not killed Belford’s son that night…or allowed the other to escape to tell what had happened. But, what he’d seen that night when he walked into his home, Seleste’s tear stained face and her slight form trapped beneath one man while the other held her down, had triggered a rage like he’d never known...until now.
“Silence!” Murdock stood and the pack quieted.
Now, wrath, pure and white-hot, burned in his chest. “You!” He glared at his brother. Zachariah and his cohorts were among those closest to Seleste, nipping at her heels. “You aren’t above anything, are you? She chose me over you and you couldn’t accept that. If you can’t have her, you will do whatever possible to ensure I can’t either, won’t you?”
Zachariah turned to curl his lip in an almost grin.
Seth looked back to Murdock, to plead Seleste’s case one last time. “Can any one of you know for certain if faced with what she was, you would be able to endure? For three days…three nights, they tortured her. And if not for her, I would not be here now. She went against everything she believes in, everything dear to her, and practiced Black Magic to bring me back. Shouldn’t that count for something?”
Murdock shook his head. “Seth, it is too late. The pack hath cast their votes.” In a louder voice, he continued. “In accordance with Wolfdom law, Seleste Stone, mate of Seth Stone, is found guilty of betrayal of a member of the pack and therefore, betrayal of the pack as a whole.”
The pack erupted again, snarling and shouting.
“You used her!” Seth shouted, glaring from Murdock to the other elders. “You’ve always shunned her for her beliefs and yet you waited, hoping she would use that knowledge to bring me back? And now that she has, you condemn her? Hypocrites! All of you.”
Murdock’s face twisted in rage. With a flick of his finger, a pack mate leapt forward and grabbed Seth’s throat, choking off his words.
Murdock pounded the gavel against its base until the noise subsided. “Seleste Stone, do you have any final words before your punishment is carried out?”
Her gaze flickered to Murdock for but a second before it returned to Seth. Flames from the many torches along the stone walls shone in her tears. She nodded and the few who still snarled, ceased. The only sound that remained was his own racing pulse drumming in his ears.
“Until we meet again, I will wait for thee,” she whispered.
His heart dropped. “No!” With sudden unexplainable strength, Seth jerked free of his captors and leapt forward.
Zachariah’s nostrils flared just before he turned and lunged at Seleste, his fangs going straight for her throat. He slammed into her and a second later, Seth into him, knocking Zachariah away. Seth managed to grab one of Seleste’s wrists. He clawed the empty air with his other hand, struggling to regain his balance. Their momentum was too great. Seth clung to Seleste and her to him as they fell.
With adrenaline fed determination, Seth reached out one last time. His hand caught hold of something—fur. He clamped down on his brother’s stiff coat. Zachariah dug at the stone ledge, but found nothing there to grip. The three of them plummeted over the edge of Death Cliff.
Ever cautious, she took in the surrounding woods before moving on. She prayed no one had seen her slip away. She’d never be able to outrun the witch-hunters who stalked her day and night, watching her every move, hoping she’d give them a reason…as Seth had. And then there were the others, those of her kind—no. They would not harm her, not yet. Not until she’d accomplished what she’d come here to do.
As she hobbled along, cursing her limitations, she glanced repeatedly to the sky. Her greatest nemesis on this night, could be the billowing clouds blocking the moon’s glow. Even more so than the villagers’ lusting for blood.
Seleste slowed as she neared the plot, once more listening and searching the darkness between the great, ancient trees. Still, nothing moved. Even the winds had died, as if the gods were on her side for once. Clouds parted and a little of the tension in her shoulders eased. She'd waited so long for this night, Hallowed Eve. Now, all was right for what she must do.
She knelt next to Seth’s unmarked grave and removed the satchel from her waist. By the light of the full moon, she layered herbs in her scrying bowl—Fireweed to heal his spirit after transformation, Belladonna to protect him on his journey and Black Nightshade she would use to call on the dark powers of the night. All the while, she chanted, beckoning the Goddess of Life to overturn the authority of the Lord of Death.
Her hands shook so, it took several tries to light a match. At last, one ignited. She dropped it into the bowl, careful to stay up wind of the lethal smoke. A minute later, naught remained but ash. Walking a circle, she sprinkled the ash around and over his grave. It was done. Relief washed over her and tears filled her eyes.
“Until we meet again, I will wait for thee,” she whispered, as she had that day, the day they took him from her. She reached inside her cloak for the only thing of his she’d managed to keep from them, the silver medallion. She traced the outline of the image of the wolf and brought it to her lips. “Until we meet again.”
With a deep sigh, she turned towards home. There was nothing to do now but wait…wait and pray to her gods that the spell worked.
It didn’t take long. The bewitched moon reached its zenith and she heard the cry. A lone howl pierced the night. It was soon followed by the yips and barks of the pack. She lifted her muzzle—her own transformation now complete—catching his scent on the light breeze. A sob shook her and she struggled to stay upright. He would come, but so would the others and for very different reasons. This she knew.
From her vantage point, high on the knob near the south end, she watched their descent towards the opposite end of the village. Her heightened senses picked up the smell of fear from within the first cottage, Constable Belford’s. Seth approached, the pack snarling at his heels, hungry for vengeance. Glass shattered and the first of her tormentors paid for his sins.
She felt no guilt, no remorse, as she turned her back on those who had done the same to her while for three nights Belford and his men had tortured her in the name of God.
Seleste limped into the cottage and over to the stone hearth. As flames licking at coals behind the grate warmed her, easing some of the stiffness in her disfigured, hind leg, screams—echoes of her own not so long ago—filled the night. One by one, evil fell, their loved ones alongside, until none remained.
She sensed rather than heard him as he entered the cottage, his aura even stronger now than before. She closed her eyes, afraid of what she’d see in his. Would he hate her? Blame her? He knew. After they’d broken her, Belford promised to be sure Seth knew. She’d given his location. She’d sealed his fate.
Seth eased down beside her and nuzzled her ruff. He ran his tongue over her mangled leg, gently smoothing what was left of her dark fur over the scarred tissue. She whimpered and opened her eyes. Though his shining, amber ones never left hers, he continued to try to soothe her, but the ache that never subsided, continued, a constant reminder of her betrayal.
#
The sun’s rays inching their way up her face woke Seleste from a peaceful sleep. It was the first night she’d slept straight through in months—the nightmare no more. Seth still spooned her, one arm beneath her head and his other wrapped around her, his hand resting on her breast. She breathed in his strong, musky scent she loved so and her heart was at peace. She brought her hand up to lace her fingers through his. He sighed and tightened his hold, pulling her closer.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “So very sorry.”
A lump formed in her throat that she could not swallow. He was apologizing to her? After what she’d done? She opened her mouth and drew a breath to speak, but he cut her off.
“It was in no way your fault. If I had known… If there was any way we could go back…do that one day over again, I’d gladly take your place.”
“Oh, Seth—”
The door burst open and four men strode in: the leader of the pack, Murdock, his two sons and Zachariah, Seth’s bother.
Seleste’s heart lurched. She grabbed the blanket up from her waist to cover herself.
“What in Hades—” Seth leaped up.
“We’re here for the witch…the traitor,” Zachariah answered. He spoke to Seth, but his eyes never left Seleste’s face. Hatred punctuated each of his words. “She will pay for—”
Murdock placed his hand on Zachariah’s arm, silencing him and before Seth could speak, he held up his other. “Don’t fight us on this, Seth. It is law—long-standing law—and you know it. You will have your chance to speak at the trial tonight.”
Zachariah snatched up Seleste’s dress and flung it at the bed.
#
Seth pulled against the three it took to hold him, but to no avail. Their claws and teeth bit into his flesh. He had remained in human form only to have his voice to speak on Seleste’s behalf.
Perched on the platform at the edge of the cliff, her entire body visibly trembled. Her beautiful, chocolate-brown eyes were wide with fear, but still she stood with her shoulders back and her head held high. Those in human form called, “Witch! Traitor!” Those in wolf form snarled and circled his mate, his beloved Seleste, baring teeth.
When he’d finally been allowed to enter the inner circle and saw her, his heart had physically ached. This whole situation had been his doing, his fault. If only he’d controlled his primal instincts. If only he’d not killed Belford’s son that night…or allowed the other to escape to tell what had happened. But, what he’d seen that night when he walked into his home, Seleste’s tear stained face and her slight form trapped beneath one man while the other held her down, had triggered a rage like he’d never known...until now.
“Silence!” Murdock stood and the pack quieted.
Now, wrath, pure and white-hot, burned in his chest. “You!” He glared at his brother. Zachariah and his cohorts were among those closest to Seleste, nipping at her heels. “You aren’t above anything, are you? She chose me over you and you couldn’t accept that. If you can’t have her, you will do whatever possible to ensure I can’t either, won’t you?”
Zachariah turned to curl his lip in an almost grin.
Seth looked back to Murdock, to plead Seleste’s case one last time. “Can any one of you know for certain if faced with what she was, you would be able to endure? For three days…three nights, they tortured her. And if not for her, I would not be here now. She went against everything she believes in, everything dear to her, and practiced Black Magic to bring me back. Shouldn’t that count for something?”
Murdock shook his head. “Seth, it is too late. The pack hath cast their votes.” In a louder voice, he continued. “In accordance with Wolfdom law, Seleste Stone, mate of Seth Stone, is found guilty of betrayal of a member of the pack and therefore, betrayal of the pack as a whole.”
The pack erupted again, snarling and shouting.
“You used her!” Seth shouted, glaring from Murdock to the other elders. “You’ve always shunned her for her beliefs and yet you waited, hoping she would use that knowledge to bring me back? And now that she has, you condemn her? Hypocrites! All of you.”
Murdock’s face twisted in rage. With a flick of his finger, a pack mate leapt forward and grabbed Seth’s throat, choking off his words.
Murdock pounded the gavel against its base until the noise subsided. “Seleste Stone, do you have any final words before your punishment is carried out?”
Her gaze flickered to Murdock for but a second before it returned to Seth. Flames from the many torches along the stone walls shone in her tears. She nodded and the few who still snarled, ceased. The only sound that remained was his own racing pulse drumming in his ears.
“Until we meet again, I will wait for thee,” she whispered.
His heart dropped. “No!” With sudden unexplainable strength, Seth jerked free of his captors and leapt forward.
Zachariah’s nostrils flared just before he turned and lunged at Seleste, his fangs going straight for her throat. He slammed into her and a second later, Seth into him, knocking Zachariah away. Seth managed to grab one of Seleste’s wrists. He clawed the empty air with his other hand, struggling to regain his balance. Their momentum was too great. Seth clung to Seleste and her to him as they fell.
With adrenaline fed determination, Seth reached out one last time. His hand caught hold of something—fur. He clamped down on his brother’s stiff coat. Zachariah dug at the stone ledge, but found nothing there to grip. The three of them plummeted over the edge of Death Cliff.
*******
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Warning: This work contains graphic material. It is for adults, eighteen and older.
This is a short story written for an online contest. As of 11/01/10 This story took first place in the competition, out of eight very good entries on writing.com. Anniversary |
Ami stepped from the jet and took a deep breath. The scent of the South Carolina marshlands, some found offensive. To her, the pungent, humid air was sweeter than the headiest bloom. She smoothed her skirt and straightened her hat.
Her driver loaded the last of her bags into the waiting car and hurried to open her door. “Good to see you again, Ms. Whitaker.” He dipped his head and she nodded in response.
Once on the road, flying by live oak trees adorned with Spanish moss, she let her mind wander. Jack would be waiting. Her pulse quickened at the thought. In her mind’s eye, she saw him, his dark curls lifted from his forehead by the ocean breeze. His tawny, smooth skin glistened with a light sheen of perspiration.
It had been too long—one year to be exact. June 29th would always be special.
The first time she made this trip, she had only one purpose in mind, escape. Escape from the trials of a disappointing career move, but even more so, escape from the stress of the bitter end to a turbulent marriage. Turbulent at best. Something she vowed never to do again. The last thing she wanted, the very last thing she was looking for was a sexual interlude.
Ami squeezed her eyes shut, closing out the present, reliving the past.
“Another one, miss?” The bartender flashed a smile that lit his thick-lashed, hazel eyes.
Ami glanced to the half-empty glass and stilled the absent movement of her middle finger along its rim. Why not? Her recently purchased time-share was in walking distance. She could leave her car in the lot till morning. She couldn’t think of a single reason to keep her from walking back. Beaufort rolled up its sidewalks every night at dark. She doubted there had been a violent crime perpetrated in this sleepy town in a good twenty years or better.
Though she didn’t feel much like smiling, Ami made an attempt. “Sure.”
He moved away and she went back staring out at the flashing lights of the Lady’s Island Bridge, her desolate mood unrelenting. Even the serene beauty of the new moon’s reflection, shimmering on the surface of the water, couldn’t break its hold on her heart. A soft breeze, carrying with it the scent of the jasmine blossoms from the next deck over, stirred tendrils of her long auburn hair, fluttering them across her face.
“Here you go.” He set another drink in front of her, pulled the white towel from his apron strings and moved to the next table. “You aren’t from around here, are you?” he asked as he wiped.
“No. Is it obvious?”
He shrugged. “It’s Thursday and nearly eleven. The locals all have jobs to get to come morning and are long since tucked in their beds.” He motioned with his head towards the tables across the way. “You’re the only one left, or hadn’t you noticed?” One side of his lips quirked upwards. “And then there’s that Yankee accent of yours.”
What was he getting at? Then it dawned on her. “Oh. Are you closing?”
“We closed an hour ago.” His smile faded. “You looked like you could use a drink and maybe a little silent companionship.”
She blinked as what he said sunk in. He’d been closing when she came in? He’d stayed around…for her? Heat rose into her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” She reached for her wallet on the table. “Just let me pay you and I’ll get out of your hair.”
He turned, leaned back against the clean table and shrugged. “No worries. I didn’t have anything pressing to do.” He paused as she struggled with the stuck zipper of her change compartment. “You wanna talk about it?”
Her gaze flew back to his now solemn eyes. Jeeze, was she so transparent? How totally embarrassing. Or was he just good at reading people? But then, he was a bartender. He’d probably seen many a person come in with the intent of drinking away their stress. She wasn’t a talker though. Never had been.
“Not really.”
His intense eyes, flames from the tikki torches dancing in their depths, never left hers. “I’m a good listener and undoubtedly cheaper than your shrink.”
“I don’t have a shrink, thank you,” she snapped, becoming a little perturbed with his assumptions.
He nodded. “I didn’t think so. You don’t look like the type to pay some stranger to listen while you pour your heart out.” He tipped his head sideways and peered closer. “I’d venture to guess, you don’t pour your heart out ever…to anyone. You keep it all inside.”
Ami clamped her hands over her wallet to hide their shaking. She took a deep breath to calm the knot that had developed and then tightened in her stomach with each word he’d spoke.
She stood. “You don’t know me. If you did, you’d know just how useless it is to try such an obvious line. I’m not some green girl, fresh from a Kansas turnip farm and I’m most certainly not interested in any kind of fling.”
He took a deep breath, but his expression didn’t change, as she’d expected. He didn’t look the least bit offended or angry.
“I wasn’t trying to get in your pants.” His voice softened as he continued. “Someone did a number on you, heh? On your head…and your heart. You just looked like you didn’t have a friend left in the world. Maybe I can identify with that some. That’s all.”
Her breaths came even faster, in and out through her nostrils, as she clenched her teeth together. The emotions she’d been battling for weeks, trying to keep tamped down, boiled to the surface and erupted. Tears welled in her eyes, which only made her angrier, more embarrassed. A sob broke through the barriers. Mortified, she turned her back to him and clamped her hand over her mouth.
“You okay?”
His deep voice, now so near, startled her. She whirled around and took a step back, running into her table. He reached out and caught hold of her elbow.
“I’m fine. I should go so you can close up.” Ami sniffled and rubbed the back of her hand over her cheeks, trying to get her emotions back under control. Crying in front of a complete stranger. What an idiot she must look like.
He released her and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Can I walk you to your car? Are you okay to drive?”
“I’m walking back. I’m staying not far from here.”
“If you’d like some company, I wouldn’t mind the exercise.”
Her first inclination was to blurt out, “No thank you.” But as she stood looking at him, something inside told her not to be so rash. He had kind eyes. She shrugged. “Fine.” Maybe he was right. Maybe she did need a little companionship.
“Just let me lock up, then.”
For the first block, past the artsy shops and other pubs, they walked without speaking a word. The tide was going out and the smells of the puff-mud filled the air with a strong, yet soothing scent. It smelled of nature, of life and death all in one. A sailboat’s bell clanged in the distance.
“I just got divorced. It was final two weeks ago today,” Ami said at last. She felt the need to rationalize her dramatic behavior from earlier.
“I figured it was something like that. I’ve never been married, so can’t imagine what a divorce must be like, but I know breakups from any relationship are hard.”
It was time to change the subject before she embarrassed herself further by crying again. “You won’t get in trouble for not closing up when you were supposed to?”
He grinned. “My boss is a pretty understanding guy. He won’t care.” He laughed. “I own the place.”
“Jack’s Place. You’re Jack?”
“That’s me, Jack Spear.”
“Ami Lawso—or it was Lawson, now I’m Ami Whitaker again.” She stuck out her hand.
“Good to meet you, Ami.”
His hand was callused and his grip firm, but not over-bearing. She liked it.
“Is this your first trip to Beaufort?”
“Yes. The real estate agent raved about its quiet, picturesque setting. The photos she showed were lovely. It seemed like the perfect place to escape real life for a while.” She sighed, staring out at the water to her right. “I like living in the city, but…”
His hand closed over hers. “You’ll get past this. You’re strong. You came down here, somewhere you’d never been before, to rejuvenate. That, says you know yourself well and how to take care of your own needs.
She smiled a tiny, half-hearted smile. Yes. She would get through this. She was a Whitaker and Whitakers did not lie down, as her Grandfather always used to say.
At her door, he stood with his hands shoved in his pockets again. “Take care, Ami Whitaker.”
“Thank you for walking me home, Jack.”
“Not a problem.” He grinned, stepped back and turned away.
#
The next morning, Ami woke in better spirits. The sun shone through her window, just as it had the last three, but today it seemed brighter, more cheery. She spent most of the day exploring the many little shops in the ‘downtown’ touristy area and even found herself enjoying it.
She took in a movie and found a quaint, little cafe on Main to get a sandwich—a café just three doors down from Jack’s Place. She stepped out onto the street and watched as a couple entered the bar. The door opened and music and laughter spilled out onto the pavement. He was right. Last night, there hadn’t been a soul in the place by ten-thirty. And that had suited her mood just fine. Tonight, it sounded quite lively. She smiled. And that suited her changed mood.
Ami entered the crowded pub and her eyes were immediately drawn to Jack. He stood behind the bar, talking with an older man. Jack glanced her way and a grin spread across his face. He was a nice looking guy, she had to admit…not that she was in the market for one.
She slid into the only empty seat at the bar and he strode over.
“Hey, Ami. How are you tonight?”
She started to give the cursory answer, “Good, and you?” but paused. His tone was casual, but his eyes—something in his eyes seemed sincere.
“Much better tonight. Thank you for asking, Jack.”
His smile broadened. “What can I get you? A Margarita again?”
He remembered her drink? “Sure.”
For the remainder of the evening, she nursed her drink and watched him. He chatted easily with other customers. Some, he seemed to know well. Others not, but he always had a smile for each. Every time he glanced her way, though, his smile warmed. Or did it? Was she imagining it? Each time he had occasion to visit her end of the bar, he stopped to talk. She now knew he’d lived in Beaufort all of his life. He scuba-dived. He came from a large family, with two sisters and three brothers, all younger, and the only sport he was passionate about was golf. All the while, she gave vague answers to his questions, but he never pressed for more. He seemed content, or at least respectful of her need for distance.
When she knew closing time approached, she slipped out the door while his back was turned.
For three nights, save Sunday when the bar was closed, she came and watched him, talked with him and for three nights she left without so much as a goodbye.
By the fourth, she’d come to a decision.
She waited until nine-fifteen to walk to Jack’s Place.
By last call, the crowd had dwindled down to a couple at a back table and two men at the bar engrossed in discussion about baseball. Jack refilled the requested last drinks and then ambled her way. Propped on one hip against the bar, he asked, “You walking tonight, Ami?”
She hesitated, her resolve wavering. She knew what he was asking. Did she really want his company on the walk home? She did, and more. That was the problem. She liked him, and it scared her. “Yes.”
“Would you like some company?”
Deliberately not giving herself time to think it through, she answered. “Yes.”
The walk was quiet. He talked some, but she didn’t unless necessary. Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Tomorrow, she’d board a plane back to New York.
At her door, Jack took her hand. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
Ami took a deep breath. “Jack, will you come in? Will…will you stay the night?”
He searched her eyes. “Is that what you want, Ami? Really want?”
With a tug on his hand, she pulled him through the doorway and into her arms.
Going up on her toes, she brushed her lips over his and slid her fingers along his shoulders. The feel of his hard body beneath his shirt quickened her breath and sent her pulse up a notch.
He inhaled through his nostrils as his hands encircled her waist. Lips, warm and firm, closed over hers and gentle hands pulled her in closer until the tips of her breasts grazed his chest and then closer still until his growing erection pressed into her abdomen. Heat flared from there, swirled and pooled between her thighs.
Ami’s fingers found their way to the thick, dark, curls at his nape and his to her bottom through her summer dress. He gave her a slight squeeze and with one swift move, lifted her off her feet. His hardened penis pulsated against the moist heat already dampening her panties until they clung to her.
Her need turned urgent. Every nerve ending tingled with anticipation. It had been too long. Too long without sex, but more importantly, too long without the touch, the caress, of a man—without an intimate human connection. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drove her tongue into his mouth taking in more of the bourbon he must have drank before leaving the bar. He carried her to the couch.
Jack sat with her straddling him, her knees bent on either side of his thighs. When he slipped down the thin straps of her dress and his hands closed over her swollen breasts, she gasped with pleasure. Then, he slid them lower. He teased, circling around and over, but never quite there, where she now throbbed, where she burned for his touch. She rocked to and fro against his fingers, on the verge of begging, by the time he relented.
He moved her panties to aside and inserted one finger. Her head dropped back and a groan, from deep in her gut, rose into her throat. The second finger nearly did her in.
“Not…yet,” she rasped, easing back to unbuckle his belt.
His thick manhood sprung free and she closed her fingers around it. As she stroked, his eyes closed and his hands gripped her thighs.
Soon, he needed her to stop.
She released him and leaned forward to use his shoulders for balance while she lowered herself over his expanse.
Ami woke hours later lying on the plush carpet of the living room floor. Jack still spooned her, as he had been when she drifted off, too spent to crawl to her bed.
“You never answered me, you know,” he murmured against her hair. He ran his hand up and down her bare thigh.
She knew. Somehow, she’d known from the first time she’d laid eyes on him, he was the kind of man who’d want more. He’d never be satisfied with a brief affair. But she didn’t have it in her to give more. Not now and maybe not ever again.
“I leave in the morning.”
His hand stilled. “Will you call me?”
She hesitated and it was apparently all the answer he needed. With a soft kiss, he rose, dressed and let himself out.
For days after, Ami wrestled with the decision she’d made not to call him. For months, she lay alone at night, his memory haunting her.
One year later, June 29th, she took her annual vacation. Beaufort, South Carolina called to her with its great old homes, moss covered trees…and him.
With trembling fingers, she pulled open the door to Jack’s Place and stepped inside. It was as if she never left. Half a dozen people lounged on bar stools and a young couple whispered to each other in a corner booth, holding hands.
And then there was Jack.
From behind the bar, he glanced over. He tipped his head to one side and a slow, easy smile spread across his handsome face. The face she’d dreamed of for a year.
She spent every moment for two weeks with Jack, soaking in as much of him as she could. Again, the last night, he asked her to call. And again, she didn’t allow herself to do it. He deserved more, more than she could ever give.
Years passed and her heart ached each time she left him, half of her hoping he’d find another, and half praying he never would.
She knew it would happen one day. She walked into Jack’s Place, her first night in town, to find a stranger behind the bar.
“What can I do for you, ma’am?” he asked with a smile.
“Is Jack around?”
The stranger’s friendly expression sobered. “Are you family?”
The limo rolled to a stop bringing her memories to an end. Ami’s driver got out and opened her door. “Careful now, Ms. Whitaker.”
She struggled to straighten her stiff back and stand.
“I’ll wait here for you, ma’am, as always.”
Ami walked the short distance, leaning heavily on her cane, and placed flowers on his grave as she had for forty-three years, on the anniversary of their first night together, June 29th.
Her driver loaded the last of her bags into the waiting car and hurried to open her door. “Good to see you again, Ms. Whitaker.” He dipped his head and she nodded in response.
Once on the road, flying by live oak trees adorned with Spanish moss, she let her mind wander. Jack would be waiting. Her pulse quickened at the thought. In her mind’s eye, she saw him, his dark curls lifted from his forehead by the ocean breeze. His tawny, smooth skin glistened with a light sheen of perspiration.
It had been too long—one year to be exact. June 29th would always be special.
The first time she made this trip, she had only one purpose in mind, escape. Escape from the trials of a disappointing career move, but even more so, escape from the stress of the bitter end to a turbulent marriage. Turbulent at best. Something she vowed never to do again. The last thing she wanted, the very last thing she was looking for was a sexual interlude.
Ami squeezed her eyes shut, closing out the present, reliving the past.
“Another one, miss?” The bartender flashed a smile that lit his thick-lashed, hazel eyes.
Ami glanced to the half-empty glass and stilled the absent movement of her middle finger along its rim. Why not? Her recently purchased time-share was in walking distance. She could leave her car in the lot till morning. She couldn’t think of a single reason to keep her from walking back. Beaufort rolled up its sidewalks every night at dark. She doubted there had been a violent crime perpetrated in this sleepy town in a good twenty years or better.
Though she didn’t feel much like smiling, Ami made an attempt. “Sure.”
He moved away and she went back staring out at the flashing lights of the Lady’s Island Bridge, her desolate mood unrelenting. Even the serene beauty of the new moon’s reflection, shimmering on the surface of the water, couldn’t break its hold on her heart. A soft breeze, carrying with it the scent of the jasmine blossoms from the next deck over, stirred tendrils of her long auburn hair, fluttering them across her face.
“Here you go.” He set another drink in front of her, pulled the white towel from his apron strings and moved to the next table. “You aren’t from around here, are you?” he asked as he wiped.
“No. Is it obvious?”
He shrugged. “It’s Thursday and nearly eleven. The locals all have jobs to get to come morning and are long since tucked in their beds.” He motioned with his head towards the tables across the way. “You’re the only one left, or hadn’t you noticed?” One side of his lips quirked upwards. “And then there’s that Yankee accent of yours.”
What was he getting at? Then it dawned on her. “Oh. Are you closing?”
“We closed an hour ago.” His smile faded. “You looked like you could use a drink and maybe a little silent companionship.”
She blinked as what he said sunk in. He’d been closing when she came in? He’d stayed around…for her? Heat rose into her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” She reached for her wallet on the table. “Just let me pay you and I’ll get out of your hair.”
He turned, leaned back against the clean table and shrugged. “No worries. I didn’t have anything pressing to do.” He paused as she struggled with the stuck zipper of her change compartment. “You wanna talk about it?”
Her gaze flew back to his now solemn eyes. Jeeze, was she so transparent? How totally embarrassing. Or was he just good at reading people? But then, he was a bartender. He’d probably seen many a person come in with the intent of drinking away their stress. She wasn’t a talker though. Never had been.
“Not really.”
His intense eyes, flames from the tikki torches dancing in their depths, never left hers. “I’m a good listener and undoubtedly cheaper than your shrink.”
“I don’t have a shrink, thank you,” she snapped, becoming a little perturbed with his assumptions.
He nodded. “I didn’t think so. You don’t look like the type to pay some stranger to listen while you pour your heart out.” He tipped his head sideways and peered closer. “I’d venture to guess, you don’t pour your heart out ever…to anyone. You keep it all inside.”
Ami clamped her hands over her wallet to hide their shaking. She took a deep breath to calm the knot that had developed and then tightened in her stomach with each word he’d spoke.
She stood. “You don’t know me. If you did, you’d know just how useless it is to try such an obvious line. I’m not some green girl, fresh from a Kansas turnip farm and I’m most certainly not interested in any kind of fling.”
He took a deep breath, but his expression didn’t change, as she’d expected. He didn’t look the least bit offended or angry.
“I wasn’t trying to get in your pants.” His voice softened as he continued. “Someone did a number on you, heh? On your head…and your heart. You just looked like you didn’t have a friend left in the world. Maybe I can identify with that some. That’s all.”
Her breaths came even faster, in and out through her nostrils, as she clenched her teeth together. The emotions she’d been battling for weeks, trying to keep tamped down, boiled to the surface and erupted. Tears welled in her eyes, which only made her angrier, more embarrassed. A sob broke through the barriers. Mortified, she turned her back to him and clamped her hand over her mouth.
“You okay?”
His deep voice, now so near, startled her. She whirled around and took a step back, running into her table. He reached out and caught hold of her elbow.
“I’m fine. I should go so you can close up.” Ami sniffled and rubbed the back of her hand over her cheeks, trying to get her emotions back under control. Crying in front of a complete stranger. What an idiot she must look like.
He released her and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Can I walk you to your car? Are you okay to drive?”
“I’m walking back. I’m staying not far from here.”
“If you’d like some company, I wouldn’t mind the exercise.”
Her first inclination was to blurt out, “No thank you.” But as she stood looking at him, something inside told her not to be so rash. He had kind eyes. She shrugged. “Fine.” Maybe he was right. Maybe she did need a little companionship.
“Just let me lock up, then.”
For the first block, past the artsy shops and other pubs, they walked without speaking a word. The tide was going out and the smells of the puff-mud filled the air with a strong, yet soothing scent. It smelled of nature, of life and death all in one. A sailboat’s bell clanged in the distance.
“I just got divorced. It was final two weeks ago today,” Ami said at last. She felt the need to rationalize her dramatic behavior from earlier.
“I figured it was something like that. I’ve never been married, so can’t imagine what a divorce must be like, but I know breakups from any relationship are hard.”
It was time to change the subject before she embarrassed herself further by crying again. “You won’t get in trouble for not closing up when you were supposed to?”
He grinned. “My boss is a pretty understanding guy. He won’t care.” He laughed. “I own the place.”
“Jack’s Place. You’re Jack?”
“That’s me, Jack Spear.”
“Ami Lawso—or it was Lawson, now I’m Ami Whitaker again.” She stuck out her hand.
“Good to meet you, Ami.”
His hand was callused and his grip firm, but not over-bearing. She liked it.
“Is this your first trip to Beaufort?”
“Yes. The real estate agent raved about its quiet, picturesque setting. The photos she showed were lovely. It seemed like the perfect place to escape real life for a while.” She sighed, staring out at the water to her right. “I like living in the city, but…”
His hand closed over hers. “You’ll get past this. You’re strong. You came down here, somewhere you’d never been before, to rejuvenate. That, says you know yourself well and how to take care of your own needs.
She smiled a tiny, half-hearted smile. Yes. She would get through this. She was a Whitaker and Whitakers did not lie down, as her Grandfather always used to say.
At her door, he stood with his hands shoved in his pockets again. “Take care, Ami Whitaker.”
“Thank you for walking me home, Jack.”
“Not a problem.” He grinned, stepped back and turned away.
#
The next morning, Ami woke in better spirits. The sun shone through her window, just as it had the last three, but today it seemed brighter, more cheery. She spent most of the day exploring the many little shops in the ‘downtown’ touristy area and even found herself enjoying it.
She took in a movie and found a quaint, little cafe on Main to get a sandwich—a café just three doors down from Jack’s Place. She stepped out onto the street and watched as a couple entered the bar. The door opened and music and laughter spilled out onto the pavement. He was right. Last night, there hadn’t been a soul in the place by ten-thirty. And that had suited her mood just fine. Tonight, it sounded quite lively. She smiled. And that suited her changed mood.
Ami entered the crowded pub and her eyes were immediately drawn to Jack. He stood behind the bar, talking with an older man. Jack glanced her way and a grin spread across his face. He was a nice looking guy, she had to admit…not that she was in the market for one.
She slid into the only empty seat at the bar and he strode over.
“Hey, Ami. How are you tonight?”
She started to give the cursory answer, “Good, and you?” but paused. His tone was casual, but his eyes—something in his eyes seemed sincere.
“Much better tonight. Thank you for asking, Jack.”
His smile broadened. “What can I get you? A Margarita again?”
He remembered her drink? “Sure.”
For the remainder of the evening, she nursed her drink and watched him. He chatted easily with other customers. Some, he seemed to know well. Others not, but he always had a smile for each. Every time he glanced her way, though, his smile warmed. Or did it? Was she imagining it? Each time he had occasion to visit her end of the bar, he stopped to talk. She now knew he’d lived in Beaufort all of his life. He scuba-dived. He came from a large family, with two sisters and three brothers, all younger, and the only sport he was passionate about was golf. All the while, she gave vague answers to his questions, but he never pressed for more. He seemed content, or at least respectful of her need for distance.
When she knew closing time approached, she slipped out the door while his back was turned.
For three nights, save Sunday when the bar was closed, she came and watched him, talked with him and for three nights she left without so much as a goodbye.
By the fourth, she’d come to a decision.
She waited until nine-fifteen to walk to Jack’s Place.
By last call, the crowd had dwindled down to a couple at a back table and two men at the bar engrossed in discussion about baseball. Jack refilled the requested last drinks and then ambled her way. Propped on one hip against the bar, he asked, “You walking tonight, Ami?”
She hesitated, her resolve wavering. She knew what he was asking. Did she really want his company on the walk home? She did, and more. That was the problem. She liked him, and it scared her. “Yes.”
“Would you like some company?”
Deliberately not giving herself time to think it through, she answered. “Yes.”
The walk was quiet. He talked some, but she didn’t unless necessary. Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Tomorrow, she’d board a plane back to New York.
At her door, Jack took her hand. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
Ami took a deep breath. “Jack, will you come in? Will…will you stay the night?”
He searched her eyes. “Is that what you want, Ami? Really want?”
With a tug on his hand, she pulled him through the doorway and into her arms.
Going up on her toes, she brushed her lips over his and slid her fingers along his shoulders. The feel of his hard body beneath his shirt quickened her breath and sent her pulse up a notch.
He inhaled through his nostrils as his hands encircled her waist. Lips, warm and firm, closed over hers and gentle hands pulled her in closer until the tips of her breasts grazed his chest and then closer still until his growing erection pressed into her abdomen. Heat flared from there, swirled and pooled between her thighs.
Ami’s fingers found their way to the thick, dark, curls at his nape and his to her bottom through her summer dress. He gave her a slight squeeze and with one swift move, lifted her off her feet. His hardened penis pulsated against the moist heat already dampening her panties until they clung to her.
Her need turned urgent. Every nerve ending tingled with anticipation. It had been too long. Too long without sex, but more importantly, too long without the touch, the caress, of a man—without an intimate human connection. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drove her tongue into his mouth taking in more of the bourbon he must have drank before leaving the bar. He carried her to the couch.
Jack sat with her straddling him, her knees bent on either side of his thighs. When he slipped down the thin straps of her dress and his hands closed over her swollen breasts, she gasped with pleasure. Then, he slid them lower. He teased, circling around and over, but never quite there, where she now throbbed, where she burned for his touch. She rocked to and fro against his fingers, on the verge of begging, by the time he relented.
He moved her panties to aside and inserted one finger. Her head dropped back and a groan, from deep in her gut, rose into her throat. The second finger nearly did her in.
“Not…yet,” she rasped, easing back to unbuckle his belt.
His thick manhood sprung free and she closed her fingers around it. As she stroked, his eyes closed and his hands gripped her thighs.
Soon, he needed her to stop.
She released him and leaned forward to use his shoulders for balance while she lowered herself over his expanse.
Ami woke hours later lying on the plush carpet of the living room floor. Jack still spooned her, as he had been when she drifted off, too spent to crawl to her bed.
“You never answered me, you know,” he murmured against her hair. He ran his hand up and down her bare thigh.
She knew. Somehow, she’d known from the first time she’d laid eyes on him, he was the kind of man who’d want more. He’d never be satisfied with a brief affair. But she didn’t have it in her to give more. Not now and maybe not ever again.
“I leave in the morning.”
His hand stilled. “Will you call me?”
She hesitated and it was apparently all the answer he needed. With a soft kiss, he rose, dressed and let himself out.
For days after, Ami wrestled with the decision she’d made not to call him. For months, she lay alone at night, his memory haunting her.
One year later, June 29th, she took her annual vacation. Beaufort, South Carolina called to her with its great old homes, moss covered trees…and him.
With trembling fingers, she pulled open the door to Jack’s Place and stepped inside. It was as if she never left. Half a dozen people lounged on bar stools and a young couple whispered to each other in a corner booth, holding hands.
And then there was Jack.
From behind the bar, he glanced over. He tipped his head to one side and a slow, easy smile spread across his handsome face. The face she’d dreamed of for a year.
She spent every moment for two weeks with Jack, soaking in as much of him as she could. Again, the last night, he asked her to call. And again, she didn’t allow herself to do it. He deserved more, more than she could ever give.
Years passed and her heart ached each time she left him, half of her hoping he’d find another, and half praying he never would.
She knew it would happen one day. She walked into Jack’s Place, her first night in town, to find a stranger behind the bar.
“What can I do for you, ma’am?” he asked with a smile.
“Is Jack around?”
The stranger’s friendly expression sobered. “Are you family?”
The limo rolled to a stop bringing her memories to an end. Ami’s driver got out and opened her door. “Careful now, Ms. Whitaker.”
She struggled to straighten her stiff back and stand.
“I’ll wait here for you, ma’am, as always.”
Ami walked the short distance, leaning heavily on her cane, and placed flowers on his grave as she had for forty-three years, on the anniversary of their first night together, June 29th.
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