Living Forward – Chapter 3/7
By Midnight Caller
Rated: PG-13
See chapter 1 for disclaimers and summary...
*****
I told myself it had been the case. I used to say that finding them dead isn't as bad as never finding them at all, but I'm not so sure anymore. There's something to be said for hope; as much as it can wear away at you, it keeps you going, gives your life purpose. Chet would teach me that lesson several years later, but at the time, I just didn't understand.
Sometimes a case just hits you and you don't really know why. Maybe something about it reminds you of yourself, of a stage in your life that you've tried hard to forget, or it stirs up regrets that you thought you had buried long ago. Sometimes it's just the tragedy that strikes you. And sometimes, it's all of those things.
We get literally hundreds of cases where young kids go missing, but what you discover most of the time is that they've been lost for a while, their souls floating aimlessly amidst the dirt and the grime and the stark reality of this city that disguises itself as something so promising when seen from afar. They come to this town with only a few dollars and a heart full of hope, and what happens to them isn't too different than watching air seep slowly from a leaky balloon. Once high and full of life, they almost don't realize what's happening... they start to droop with each ounce of lost air, sinking ever so slowly, fighting a losing battle to retain their shape until the very end, where they ultimately succumb to their withered, lifeless fates.
Sometimes we find them when they still have some remnant of air left; the smiles of their gracious parents vanish quickly when they can hardly recognize what's happened to their own children. And sometimes we find them when they're nothing but a deflated shell, a barely discernible vestige of their former life. At those times, I wish we didn't have to call anyone.
No one ever got a call about me; I was one of the fortunate ones. After living in so many places that I couldn't even remember zip codes any more, I had finally found a home. The city grew on me, became like a second family, a surging, throbbing lifeblood off of which I thrived. As I've come to realize all too often over the years: I got lucky.
What we'd found that night was a shell; a young man full of hope who had come to New York looking for a new life, and had left it at the 148th street subway stop, lying crumpled in a corner. Everything in his pockets, which wasn't much anyway, had been taken before we got there. We were lucky they left his face intact for identification.
Sam came into my office that night with an envelope of his personal effects found at the slum of an apartment where he'd lived. A watch. Some coins. A simple gold chain. A un-mailed letter addressed to our Federal Building.
"It's an application," she said quietly. "It's dated August of last year."
"Jesus," I barely got out, and sat down on the edge of my desk to stabilize myself. "How old?"
She waited a moment to respond, perhaps making sure I wasn't going to topple onto the floor. For some reason I didn't care if she saw it happen. "Twenty-two last month," she practically whispered.
It was more than just what we'd found on the yellowed tile that day that stabbed at my heart. It was more than the look on his mother's face when the sheet was pulled back. I didn't want to admit it, but I knew; it was the way his mother had embraced his father afterward, how they'd held each other as they made their way back to their broken but intact home. It was the first time I really doubted the strength of my marriage, doubted how much I was in love with my wife, even with the thought of one of my own children on that cold, steel table.
I think it was that last thought that shoved me over the edge and broke the façade I had been attempting to keep up throughout the entire case. I raised my hand and pressed my fingers to my eyes as a last effort to push back the tears. Not now, not now, I remember thinking, and yet some part of me almost wanted her to see.
"Jack, I..." She didn't know what to say, and I didn't know what I wanted to hear. Maybe nothing. I just wanted to make it stop, purge the memories and the haunting flickers of a future I didn't want. I remembered her skin, the warmth of her breath on my neck, and suddenly, that's all I wanted, all I wanted to think about. That kid was dead, but I was alive; I had to stop feeling like I was dead.
She approached me cautiously, and I finally let my hand drop to my lap as I stood on my feet again. With some small amount of shame I glanced up at her, my eyes swollen with moisture. Her hand found mine, warm, soft, comforting. Alive.
I know the warnings went off in my head about where we were, but I remember telling myself that it was late, that no one would see. Then I remember telling myself I didn't care even if they did.
I wrapped my fingers around hers and squeezed gently. My other hand went to her cheek, my thumb stroking her skin. I felt her fingers tighten around mine as I moved closer... closer... and then I lost track of our fingers as I felt her breath on my lips.
I had time to stop. Even though the urge was overpowering, even though I could practically feel the softness of her lips against mine, I had time to pull back, to push her away, to say I didn't need this. Need her.
I didn't stop.
A single brushing of lips turned into another, and then another, the heat from our mouths filling the miniscule gap between us. And then I felt her apply more pressure and I suddenly realized how much I needed it. The longer I touched her, the longer I could keep away the pain and shut out the mess my life had become, blocking out Maria and the girls and all the ways I had failed them.
Samantha suddenly pulled back, breathing heavily. "Jack," she managed to whisper.
The world came rushing back, even more painful than before. "Shit, Sam... I'm sorry," I hurriedly mumbled, immediately chastising myself, but yet I couldn't ignore the need.
She lowered her head. Oh, God, no, please don't walk away. I was being selfish that night, more than I had ever been in my whole life. I just wanted to lose myself in her.
But instead of walking away, she stopped and gazed up at me. Her expression echoed my own. "Should we go somewhere?" she asked, her voice low.
I frantically sought out affirmation from those eyes that were inviting what I had been afraid to ask, and, finding it, I nodded, never looking away from her.
I can't remember how we got to her apartment, or how long it took to get there. I remember only flashes of some things, and great details of others. Cream-colored walls. Hardwood floors. A couch... I can't remember the color. I just remember walking through her door and having my emotions assault me.
A raging river waiting for that tiny fissure in the dam, my need to silence everything else in my life just rushed forward all at once, and at that moment some part of me that had been lying dormant for too long was suddenly awakened.
Like famished animals starving for the rawest kind of fulfillment, we practically attacked each other, two lost souls needing to find relief in the presence of another. Maybe we had both been afraid that if we'd stopped too long to think it through, we would never reach the release we so desperately craved.
We shed our clothes as quickly as possible, forming a trail
of garments on the way to her bedroom.
Our mouths were unyielding, nipping and biting, tongues rough and
insistent. We barely made it to her
bed, and we fell against the sheets, bodies entangled, fingers digging into
flesh, mouths separating only to release gasps and moans.
She breathed my name into my ear, and her fingers gripped my hair as my hands each staked a claim on her body; one on the soft skin of her shoulder, the other deep in her blonde tresses. Lungs straining from exertion, I tried to utter her name but it just came out as an inarticulate huff, so I just buried my head in her neck and surrendered to my body's demand for release.
In a flash of heat and light and need and pain, I let it all go, purging my
system the only way I knew how. I
gripped her body, keeping her close as she tightened around me before finally collapsing
against the pillows.
As my vision slowly returned to normal, I felt her next to me, her hair falling against my skin, both damp with perspiration. I thought I might have heard her voice, but I was suddenly overpowered by the need for sleep, and the darkness came before I had the chance to reply.
...tbc...
