The Lady, or the Tiger?
Chapter 14: Boring and Boarish – A Menagerie Under the Stars
His grunting – rhythmical, strained – sounded repetitively, intermittently, with the metallic rattling of the weights on the ends of the bar as they reached their alternating locations of their seemingly incessant changing of direction, thrusting up, then slower, more controlled as they dropped down. His brain thought it, somewhere in the midst of his pushing through the agony, "It was, in some ways, like having sex… And it so enhances our lovemaking," William added to his thoughts as he reminded himself of the glorious feelings of having Julia admire his body… want his body.
"One hundred!" his mind trumpeted the final number, and then he fought the urge to drop the weight into its stand, to let the merciless bar go and give in to the desire to stop the pain, to nurse and rub and soothe the pain. "No!" he ordered himself, "Control it to the end. Land silent…" as William grimaced, and he slowly lowered the bar into the curved indents of the weight rack.
Successful workout complete, he lay still for a moment, listened to his hurried and huge breaths, his thundering heart. "Yes," he thought, "Similar," giving himself a smile. He pushed up, stood, found the welcoming fluffy towel to rub off some of the sweat. He would need a shower.
William's eyes traveled over his worktable as he dried off and caught his breath. There were inventions waiting…
Such a screeching in his head, like getting zapped, upon seeing IT waiting there, so painfully incomplete, and his heart sank. This side of his drawing board, now almost dusty with the passage of time, it still held his failed scratchings from the Body Dumper case. The reminder chaffed at him. Unconsciously he frowned, and he yielded to its calling him. He approached the board and began, out of habit, to study it.
Body found at their body farm on September 23rd. Man in his late thirties. Naked, shotgun to the back of the head, no bullet…
"No face," William reminded himself.
No scars, no tattoos, fingermarks not a match for any on record…
"Nothing but the bruise," William remembered before he had arrived at its chalky-white drawing, feeling the tiniest tweak of pride, for it had been his innovative idea of using ultraviolet light to photograph the body's month-old injury that had yielded them even this paltry piece of evidence.
So odd, its shape… It was in some ways like a hand, William considered as he held out his own hand, palm up, next to the image. But surely too large… and made up of circles instead of the customary shapes where the palm and each of the four fingers would be… no thumb. The victim's femur, William knew it to be the strongest bone in the human body, had been broken by the mass of it, or perhaps it had been the sheer force, of whatever had struck the man. The victim had survived the encounter. Julia had admired the surgery done on his leg. "Perhaps," the thought occurred to him now, the bruise was not from a machine as he had always suspected, but rather from some large animal… "Unlikely here in Toronto?" he shut down the train of thought.
The image of the blasting headline in the paper the next morning flashed in his mind's eye with a crash, from the day after their Halloween party, the day after the Howell's Howell-oween Bash and his having had successfully conducted the capture of the Home Invasion Robber who had so terrified Toronto's toff class… And, despite the fact that it was HIS work that would come to aid the French – particularly Inspector Guillaume, in retrieving the precious Pink Panther Diamond, and even in apprehending its thief – Neil Catfrey… And still, the press had badgered, using the photograph of him and Julia and their toddler son dressed in their Undersea Royalty Halloween costumes, proudly smiling next to his creative pop-up monster as fuel for the newspaper's tirade, "Murdoch's – All Frolic and Fun, Yet Body Dumper Remains on the Run." The frown across his face made it undeniable – it had hurt. He tried telling himself that his record was good, that this Body Dumper case was the only one all year he had not solved…
*** Murdoch really should have given himself more credit. Not only was the Body Dumper case nearly unsolvable, for identifying the victim had become essentially impossible without a face, left naked and dumped away from the scene of the crime, but beyond that his contributions to the Pink Panther Diamond case had been momentous. HE had figured out that the diamond on display at the Riverdale Zoo was already the fake, and that that fake had been made by Neil Catfrey and his sidekick known only as Schnozzy. HE had figured out that Neil Catfrey and this Schnozzy had absconded with the diamond, leaving a note for Sally Hubble (aka Sally Pendrick) to make a public display of touching the fake with her bare hands to explain the presence of her fingermarks on it – thus it was HIM who figured out that SHE was an accomplice in the crime. HE had figured out that Catfrey was headed for Chicago. HE had figured out what hotel Catfrey would register at once he got there. HE had discovered the alias Catfrey would use in Chicago – Peter Burke, the American government man that had been the only one to ever capture Catfrey in the past. Burke was Catfrey's nemesis, the only man Neil Catfrey truly admired, now maybe save for William Murdoch… that is after what had ended up happening with the Pink Panther Diamond case – ultimately with Catfrey having been caught, yet again, by Peter Burke, all because the French Inspector, Marcel Guillaume, had followed Murdoch's advice and sought out Burke, all this disaster solely because Catfrey had happened to cross paths with the famous Toronto detective – the one other man in the world that had managed to light Sally Pendrick's fire, to be gifted the seductive woman's nude portrait… the one man in the world besides Catfrey himself.
William could never have known the roles that irony and fate had played in his, now famous, international success – for the second time it turned out, after William's having had previously become famous for saving the Queen's life back in Bristol England all those years ago. William could not have predicted that when Sally would escape to Chicago to meet Catfrey, as they had planned together, she would not find him there, and she would conclude that Catfrey had betrayed her. Catfrey, however, was a no show, not because he did not love Sally, NOT because he had chosen the Panther over the Lady, not even because, just as had happened two years prior to William himself back when he and George had gone undercover as hobos into the Jungle, Catfrey had been caught by a depraved American policeman, known as Flannel Bull, and Catfrey had almost become victim to the policeman's forced sexual assault. No. Rather, Catfrey had been compelled to remain in the small American town AFTER he had escaped Flannel Bull's perverse attack, in order to spring Schnozzy, who Flannel Bull held in the cells as bait to recapture Catfrey, but also because Flannel Bull, unknowingly, had confiscated the Pink Panther Diamond itself with Catfrey's luggage and held it in the police precinct evidence locker. Ironically, Catfrey too had escaped Flannel Bulls' assault, as had William back when he was at first caught by the very same brute in that old, rickety barn in the hobo Jungle, but in Catfrey's case he had escaped being victimized with the help of the woman Flannel Bull perpetrated all of his sexual violations with – the very same woman Flannel Bull had so lecherously whispered about in William's ear back in the Jungle – "Mary's going to like you…" Mary had been the one to help the very handsome Neil Catfrey escape from Flannel Bull's jail cell, for Mary had been charmed by the man.
And, as fate would have it, by the time Catfrey made it to Chicago, all he found waiting for him in the hotel room where he was to have met up with Sally was an old, empty wine bottle – a symbol between himself and Sally of their whirlwind romance. On the wine label was the name, "Neuf Vies," (Nine Lives) and the picture showed a cat facing its tenth death, somehow Catfrey's life with her seeming to complete its circle. Peter Burke and Inspector Guillaume had found Catfrey there, despondent, sitting on the floor in the empty hotel room, Pink Panther Diamond in his pocket, old wine bottle in his hands, abandoned, lost forever to his true love. There had been no fight left in the man. And, also ironically, just as before, Sally had gotten away, she had her freedom. She remained at large.
And now, there in William's workroom, on the other side of his drawing board, there were only the cloudy eraser marks where the mapping out of the latest two big cases had been, the Home Invasion Robberies and the theft of the Pink Panther Diamond. All the sundry clues each wiped away, no longer needed, even the clue that had linked the two cases – the listening devices in the purses, the purses of the robbery victims… and in Julia's purse as well, that one devious listening device intended to be used by Catfrey for spying on the 'Tiger' the one and only perceptive and wily Detective William Murdoch, gone now, insignificant now. ***
In her arms, head rested on her shoulder, William Jr. held on to his grogginess. She had woken him from his nap to keep the toddler on schedule, in the hope that he would be sleepy at his bedtime. He nestled in contently, Mommy home… Daddy home, the little one was happy. Julia paused at the threshold into William's workroom, seizing the moment she had been granted to watch her husband, her lover, from afar. He contemplatively studied his blackboard, his line of sight aimed away from the door, only his peripheral vision would be able to see her there. With a guilty thrill she decided as she observed him, she had been undetected.
He had been lifting weights, he was sweaty, and still a bit winded. Her eyes traveled the contours of his face in profile. Amazing how his dark, thick, long eyelashes were so delectably noticeable even from this distance. Her perusal moved lower, only to be caught, with a delightful torqueing in her womb, as she thought to herself, "My, William Murdoch does fill up an undershirt nicely." His workout attire on this particular Saturday consisted of his baseball pants and a close-fitting undershirt. Both garments allowed for William's better assets to stand out. Suddenly, a flash of a memory fired in her mind, drawing her attention. She had been so close to wedding Darcy at the time, and she had been asked by the teenage girls at the school where the young victim had been found to read Dracula, and she had found herself deliciously aroused by the book. It had troubled her though, at the time, that her mind always went to imaginings of being with William – not of being with her fiancé, Darcy, whenever the sultry fantasies intruded. It had been so plainly obvious that she was still in love with William, and the blatant realization now twinged her with a reminder of guilt for deciding to go through with marrying Darcy in the end. Julia sighed, and moved past it. Returning to the memory, she recalled that William had requested that she come to his room at Mrs. Kitchen's house in the middle of the night, surprising her with the request. The young girl, Arlene, whom Julia had been certain had become infatuated with William, who ended up being the murderer when all was said and done, had shown up at William's place claiming to have been bitten by the vampire. William had called Julia there that night because he had needed her help. Even now, all these years later, after having married the man, despite her having had made love with him so many, many times, Julia still felt the urge to gasp, for the memory was so realistic, of her forcing herself not to let her eyes drop down over William's body when she had first come into his room that night, unprepared for finding William dressed in merely an undershirt. Rare, him not in a suit and tie, this forbidden view had been outright scrumptious. My God, the man was absolutely gorgeous, and her insides and her heart, and she would swear to it, even her soul, had screamed for him. She had thought at the time to herself that, with William looking THAT GOOD, most assuredly poor young Arlene would have swooned beyond the limits of self-control. She was quite tempted to collapse herself. She had made herself toughen up, telling herself that William needed her, suspecting it was more so for an adult female presence than for her medical expertise…
Julia found herself landing back in the here and now. She spoke, alerting William to their presence in his doorway, "Hard to believe that was three months ago, isn't it?"
William turned his head and focused on her. Lovely, his smile in response. Yet, so quickly, he reached up and rubbed his brow, remembering his fretting over confronting his failures in solving this one case… a case that seemed to be doubly important because the victim's body was dumped at THEIR Body Farm, and triply so because the press had been so awful to them about, not just the dangers of their "morbid" Body Farm, but also about the scandals involved with their wanting to adopt a second child.
She elaborated, "Next week I'll be taking my class back for the winter solstice… Just the day after William Jr.'s birthday."
William worried to himself that perhaps this 'Body Dumper' intended to time his killings with the seasons. His mind flickered the dreaded image of Julia and her students finding yet another victim lying in wait on the first day of winter, and he wondered if there would be another for the spring equinox, and then the summer solstice as well… The thought deepened William's frown.
"William," Julia's voice beckoned with its strength of resolve, already soothing, "You cannot let one unsolved case bother you so. This was a banner year for you, detective. Only one unsolved case. National acclaim for finding the stolen Pink Panther Diamond – AND its thief. You're a national hero, William." With such power and tugging, her expectant face held to his, her smile warmed the room when he yielded and wrinkled a corner of his mouth, bashfully admitting to her that he preferred her way of looking at the truth.
She walked up to him and then he stepped in closer. William tilted his head, preparing to kiss her…
"Oh, I think not, detective," she scolded, arguing, "You are… um, there is a lack of appeal…" Julia's hands fluttered about as she scowled her face, "you in this sweaty state, husband."
His big brown eyes dropped for a second down onto the baby in her arms before he leaned in even closer to her and whispered cockily, "It didn't seem to bother you last night."
Julia bantered back, "That, detective, is because we were BOTH quite… well… worked up into a lather, now, weren't we?" and she adored and basked in his subtle, but ever so present, blushing. Changing the subject, she said, "I think you should shower with this little one," Julia switched the baby to her other hip, rousing him, "It's too cold and rainy to go to the park. He needs an adventure…"
William was game, reaching out for his son. "What do you say, Little Man… you and Daddy? It'll be like going under a waterfall," he encouraged.
) (
Whenever possible, William served as the chef for their Saturday dinner. Tonight he was preparing a favorite – Texas-style chili con carne. He had discovered the spicy southern treat when he and George were working on a case undercover as hobos looking for work in the meatpacking industry in Chicago. He was happily cooking up a pot of the special meal. With him in the kitchen was William Jr. The Murdoch two-year old was happy and entertained, William noted to himself proudly, under the kitchen table playing in a 'hiding spot.' Unfortunately, it was not the cleanest of spots for the little boy to play after he and is Daddy had had splashed and played, and even managed to soap and shampoo and rinse as well, under the cascading fun of the shower earlier. Julia had helped get the toddler dried off and dressed and then she had asked for some time to work on the upcoming Coroners Convention. Soon, the smell of William's delectable concoction would waft down into her lab and draw her up.
He found he enjoyed cooking, and his mind wandered off. Abruptly, likely spurred on by his earlier confrontation with his drawing board and the Pink Panther Diamond case, flashes fired through his brain from back when he almost caught Sally Pendrick all those years ago, shotgun in his hand, running after her wagon loaded up with the microwave deathray machine. Still he shuddered at his own shock that Sally would shoot her husband, fire a bullet directly into James Pendrick who stood right next to him…
"Oh my goodness, that smells delightful, William," Julia's voice swept him out of his thoughts.
"And you, Little One," Julia leaned down to inspect under the kitchen table, "Are you hiding from Daddy?" she playfully asked.
A tiny index finger leapt to the child's lips. "Shh," he shushed her.
Julia mirrored his gesture and nodded her head.
William found himself grateful for the interruption. The moment felt like one of those rare perfect times when everyone involved, except for the baby, was aware of how wonderful everything was while they were living it.
Julia had finished her speech for the Canadian Coroners Convention. She was excited, William too. It was her first national award. She read the speech to William while he scurried about, stirring, and tasting, and flavoring, and setting the table. So lovely, the smells, the warmth… their young son playing under the kitchen table, an occasional thunk of falling wooden blocks or tiny whirring playing noises giving his seclusion and contentment away.
Julia hesitated before she went on with reading the next line of her masterpiece to him, suddenly remembering William's lack of morgue humor. "William," her voice warned, "I feel I should prepare you. This next part is meant to be funny." She eyed him mischievously, for, since the day she had first met him, morgue humor had been something Detective William Henry Murdoch seemed incapable of appreciating. Her eyes settled back down on the handwritten speech in her hands and she read on, "The first research paper I worked on with some of these bright female university students was based on using differences in soil composition to properly determine time of death. This had turned out to be important, because, ironically, when my students and the local constabulary had been tasked with using evidence, such as unusual areas of high plant growth, to find the location where I had hidden the one and only body I had buried some months earlier, the student and constable teams continued to find body after body after body, none of which were the body I had buried. There was obviously something afoot, of that, the extra bodies were a…" she paused, alerting her husband that it was coming, then delivered her pun, "… a dead giveaway."
Despite having had decided to try his best to be a good sport, to laugh and make an effort to see whatever it was that she ended up saying to be humorous, it turned out that William could not betray himself in the end. It was simply not funny. He was sure of it. He blew out the pressure he felt through pursed lips and reached up and rubbed his brow.
Inside, Julia giggled.
She would use the situation to torture him. "Don't you get it? There were so many bodies it was like a DEAD giveaway," she pushed.
William dashed a look at her, then his beautiful eyes darted back to stirring the steaming pot. "Yes," he said, "It's a pun. There are two different meanings to your punch line… too many bodies, like they must be giving them away, and the bodies being there providing evidence – 'a dead giveaway,' that some person, or some persons, had killed them and chosen to bury the bodies on our property where they would likely go undetected." William sighed.
Julia fought hard not to laugh, stiffening her mouth at edges to keep from curling a smile.
William made his best effort, "Your audience will like it, Julia, I'm sure," he said, and then wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her and she knew he was admitting that he was nothing of the sort.
Julia thought to herself that she would try reading the joke to Miss James… or she could even phone Emily about it. The decision made, she felt resolved and said, "Well, thank you for trying, William," and walked over to him and cupped his cheek. Her thumb stroked over his lips, and the two of them hovered there for a moment.
Suddenly an idea hit him! Julia thought she heard him gasp, stepping back to examine his expression.
Unable to deliver his hard-sought-after joke without his face glowing, he pushed to hurry before he gave his devilish plans completely away. "Of corpse," he worked not to oversell it. Yet, William Murdoch rewarded himself with a chuckle.
"Oh William, that's awful!" Julia declared with such glee. "But, I dare say, your efforts have earned you a kiss, detective," her voice suddenly seductive and then she stepped back in close.
"Good," he replied, clamping his lips together, satisfied.
After his soft, quick kiss, Julia went back to reading him the rest of her speech. All in all, it was a job well done, the yummy dinner afterwards like icing on the cake.
Over dinner they made finishing touches to their plans for William Jr.'s birthday party next weekend. The parents of all of the children who had been at their Halloween party last month had agreed to come. There would be games, Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey was always popular, and cake, and Julia had even hired a clown to come to entertain them all.
The meal drew to a close as the Murdoch's indulged in their desert – Eloise had made them a delicious chocolate cake. William Jr. had quickly finished eating his smaller piece and asked for another. Having much of his larger piece still left on his plate, William walked over to collect the youngster out of his highchair and bring him over to sit on his lap, allowing the boy to 'help him' eat the rest of his. Already full to the brim himself, William put his fork down and watched on as William Jr. made a mess of eating the cake. He felt such a warm happiness flowing all around and through him. Admiringly, cherishingly, William fiddled with the toddler's dark, coily curls. He loved this child so, he soaked it all in as he leaned down and inhaled the boy's clean scent from their fun shower earlier, and he kissed the boy's head.
"Looks like you need a haircut, Little Man," William announced. His eyes lifted and met his wife's.
Their son had reached nearly the age of two and was yet to have had a haircut.
"Perhaps Mrs. Kitchen…" William suggested with an air of caution. It had always managed to play in the back of his mind whenever the topic of Mrs. Kitchen came up – and especially when it came up along with the topic of haircuts, for it had been kept a secret from Julia for so long, that he got his haircuts from Mrs. Kitchen. And to make things worse, the matter seemed to get wrapped up with Julia's discovering that he looked forward to Mrs. Kitchen's Beef Stew, and that stood in opposition to Julia's rather un-stellar successes at cooking herself, particularly whenever she was in charge of making toast.
Taking to the haircut idea at once, Julia beamed, "He'll look as handsome as his Daddy for his birthday party!" Haircuts an excuse, Julia gave in to the urge to touch, reaching over to run her fingers, first through her husband's hair, then through her little son's. Their baby's hair had always intrigued her so. She reasoned that it was because his hair, more so than his other traits – like his gorgeous Williamy eyes, and his willowy body type which reminded everyone of her, their baby's hair seemed to best capture both of them, both of his parents' traits, the rich, deep black color from William, and the wispy banana curls from her.
"Good. It's settled then…" William concluded contently, "You, Little Man…" he leaned over to try to catch his son's eyes, "will come with me to Mrs. Kitchen's after Church tomorrow."
Julia cheered to the little boy, "How exciting… You're going to get a 'big boy' haircut."
"Speaking of being a big boy," William added, "I suggest you wash down some of that cake with some milk."
Julia piped in, "Oh my, from the big 'Papa Bear' glass." A part of her began praying that the little one wouldn't spill it.
Oh, it was wobbly, William Jr. stretching his neck up to its limits to reach high enough to press his upper lips over the edge of the glass… He held on to it with both hands as he tilted it just the right amount and he slurped in the creamy liquid. He was thirsty – very, very thirsty. There was a satisfied, "Ahhh," as he successfully finished and safely placed the cup upright again on the table.
Proudly he yelled it out, bouncing up and down on his father's lap, his feet taking up their rhythmical, quick kicking with anticipation, and William jumping to spread his legs to avoid being belted. "Like Daddy!" he declared, and then added, "Shave too?"
Without really considering it, William said no, but then Julia coaxed, "I'll bet Mrs. Kitchen has a nail-file about with the perfect amount of sharpness to serve as a razor for a two-year old… hmm?"
William agreed and just as soon as he did, Julia felt herself having reservations. Her motherly instincts, or perhaps it was her psychiatry training, warned, told, that small children could become quite frightened by pieces of themselves being cut off. Perhaps she should go along. But, it was perfect, William and his son going together, as a MAN thing, she worried. She would talk to William about it later, she decided.
Just then… Julia saw William notice…
The strain, the surprised, grossed-out expression on William's face as he spied the milk glass, now covered in brown smears and smudges from their little toddler's chocolaty fingers, the top of the glass wholly drowned in a muddy pool of lip-marked chocolate-and-milk mush, all with a good helping of cake crumbs stuck in the goop.
Julia erupted into laughter. "It was your idea, Daddy Bear," she teased.
"True," he replied simply, accepting it with his customary corner of the mouth wrinkle. "I think you got more cake on the glass than in your stomach," he added, deciding he had had enough milk anyway.
) (
It had helped, all those times William had pretended with William Jr. that he was shaving, because Julia's instincts had been right – William Jr. was terribly upset when his first wisp of hair fell onto the white, fluffy towel draped over his tiny, two-year old shoulders. His mother was wise, and she quickly suggested, her silky, smooth touch caressing his cheeks, "Little One… Let's do the shaving part first, hmm?"
Almost immediately he was able to sniff back his tears. Daddy had just gone before him, and Daddy had had a shave. Now it was his turn to be a little man, as his Daddy always called him. "Yes, Mommy," he managed to say.
So tenderly, she wiped the salty dampness from his reddened cheeks.
"The shaving cream is still warm," Mrs. Kitchen encouraged, "You're going to love this, Master Murdoch."
Disaster averted, Julia and William stood together arm in arm and watched on and cheered the young boy's dashing looks and his being so grown-up, as their son had his first shave and a haircut in his whole little life. A good sign that things were going well, proof that his mother was able to relax, a few minutes into that second attempt at her son's haircut, feathery tufts of his black curls sprinkled about on the towel and mixed with his father's hairs on the floor around him, Julia's mind meandered. She thought back to just a few hours before. They had accompanied Mrs. Kitchen on the walk to her house from Church. Even after they had moved into their new house, William had stayed at the same Catholic Church, the one in his old neighborhood from back when he was a boarder at Mrs. Kitchen's. It had been more than a month now that Julia had been attending Sunday mass with him – that they had been going to Church as a family. Still feeling a twinge of guilt about doing so, for her motives behind attending were not religious, or even to support William. They were more selfish, but she took some solace in the fact that her motives were out in the open, that both Father Clemmons and William were fully aware that she was driven by a deep longing to adopt another child, and as luck would have it, their final hope appeared to be to do so through a Catholic orphanage. Now though, her mind lingered on her conversation in the confessional booth with Father Clemmons earlier. The young priest had won her over completely, years ago, if the truth be told. But now… now that she knew the man even better, and she had come to see that he was authentic, and empathic, she realized what a generous and judicious man he truly was. "He would have made a fantastic psychiatrist," she thought, "Incredibly wise and insightful for his years… Marvelous the way he teaches rather than preaches… Quite handsome too," she embarrassed herself with the unexpected interruption.
Quickly steering off of the disturbing topic of Father Clemmons' good looks, Julia thought back to this morning. It still seemed odd to think about HER partaking in the ritual of giving confession, but she had decided to do so… to better engulf herself in the entire experience, for if she was going to do it, she had figured she might as well try to do it wholeheartedly. She had shared with Father Clemmons, through the confessional meshed-screen this morning, that her troubles throughout the week, her struggles, had been, as had become customary she also admitted for the umpteenth time, with the 4th commandment. As a result of her taking-on the practicing of Catholicism, even if she did so for unauthentic reasons, Julia Ogden had become quite conscious of her coveting, particularly her coveting of women who were able to have babies. She had found herself regularly becoming saddened when watching siblings playing in the park, or even fussing and fighting with each other in the store. The self-awareness caused her shame, but she had come to accept it with the help of Father Clemmons.
For his part, Father Clemmons had found it interesting that William and the woman the man loved so very much that their romance seemed to be guided by the stars and even epic, both battled with the same commandment – the 4th one. The priest could not know that William had opened up to his wife on the topic, disclosed to her through the couple's sharing with each other of their personal journals, that HE had fought, nearly hourly – for years, with his coveting of Dr. Darcy Garland's wife. Thus, it was because of their lovely habit of reading to each other from their journals, the thought crossed Julia's mind now, how ironic it was, her and William's parallel paths.
Mrs. Kitchen's delighted voice pulled at Julia's attention, the older woman declaring triumphantly, "The most handsome young man in all of Toronto!" as she poofed the towel off of her tiny subject.
William proudly hoisted his boy up high in the air and bounced him about. "Well done, Little Man!" he touted. Resting the boy down on his hip, Julia reached over and stroked her fingers through their son's freshly cut hair.
"Oh my, Mrs. Kitchen… You have done marvelously! Would you like to see in the mirror?" she asked her little boy.
"Yes Mommy," the little one replied full of anticipation.
Upon seeing himself reflected back in the looking glass, he exclaimed, obviously happy about the result, "Like Daddy!"
It was true. Now that his hair was short, and the curls that he had inherited from his mother were unseen, William Jr., with his big, chocolaty brown eyes, and his long, long eyelashes, and dark hair – he looked so very much like William Murdoch.
It was interesting to Julia, the conflicting emotions stirring inside of her, loving that their son looked so much like the man she loved more than any other in the universe, and also now looked so much less like her. She quickly grasped onto the happier feelings, beaming, "Yes, my Little One, now you too are the most, most, handsomest man in all the world, just like your Daddy." Her arms requested him, and William handed him over.
"Thank you, Mrs. Kitchen," William bowed winsomely to the older woman, eliciting an even bigger smile to grow on her face.
"You are more than welcome, William… more than welcome," Mrs. Kitchen replied contently. "We'll be showing him off next weekend at his party," she reminded. She turned her attention onto William Jr. "I hear there's going to be Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey!" she cheered, clasping her hands together gleefully in front of her chest as if applauding, "I love that game!"
"Me too!" William Jr. yelled out.
Julia caught Mrs. Kitchen's eye and admitted, "Amazing really," she giggled, "He's never played the game as of yet."
"Well, he WILL love it then," Mrs. Kitchen solved, joining in the chuckle.
It had been a great Sunday.
) (
Master Murdoch's birthday finally arrived!
William and George and Julia and Emily found themselves convened for a moment amidst the fun and the horseplay and the mayhem of William Jr.'s two-year old birthday party in the background, all around the cake and the prizes and the treats laid out before them on the large dining-room table. Being the author in the room, it was not surprising that it was George Crabtree who noticed Julia's contemplative mood. He offered her a penny for her thoughts and all eyes turned to her as she lifted her eyes and grounded, coming back from wherever it had been she was imagining in her head.
"It was the table," she started to explain, the strange statement hooking them in. Julia sighed, for her emotions were deep. "It's ironic, I guess. I find myself thinking of the ironies of life and death… around this time of year," she said, her large blue eyes settling on, nestling into, William's warm brown ones, "It's an anniversary of sorts for me," she offered the explanation, "of my father's death."
William's mind forked and thundered away firing down multiple inner connections. Back then he had let her go to the lake-house alone, after she had been summoned there by her father. It had felt uneasy between the two of them, her holding her eyes so very firmly to his as they had spoken briefly in the bullpen in Stationhouse #4, her gesturing at the time stressing the importance of what it was she was saying to him, Julia asking him if he didn't have something he wanted to ask her father. How dense of him, he knew now, that he did not grasp then that she was hinting at his proposing – AGAIN – that they marry. At the same time a different neural pathway in his brain ran to find other significant events that had happened at THIS time of year, arriving at the birth of their son. Julia had almost died then, William Jr. too…
George drew everyone's attention, his words speedy in the effort to get the words out the second he had come to remember the details. "Oh yes!" he exclaimed, "It was during the case in which we first encountered Roger Newsome… and the math puzzles. The death by snooker ball…"
"Of course!" Emily's memory sparked. Emily suddenly remembered something else, her challenging coroner's dilemma of finding a way to remove a snooker ball wedged in the victim's mouth had been just after that loathsome Leslie Garland had tortured them so cruelly with his trick! She declared, the horror of the whole thing plain in her voice, "Oh my, and we had just worked out that James Gillies had actually died, that it was NOT James Gillies who had sent you the threatening photographs and the note…" her eyes shot to Julia's, "It couldn't have been him… because he had died right after he jumped off that bridge into the river! Remember…" her eyes then meeting Detective Murdoch's, grateful for his nod. She looked back to Julia and remembered more, "We had thought he was still alive… when we were stranded on that island with the axe murderer!"
Julia tried to find the comfort inside of herself – knowing once and for all that such a horrid man as James Gillies was dead. She thought to herself how fortunate they were not to have to worry about the dastardly deeds of William's treacherous nemesis, especially now that they had been blessed with a little son whom the deranged man would surely have stalked in an effort to terrorize them… Julia glanced at William, and she smiled for having been touched by his gentle and reassuring nod. Her eyes dropped back down onto the table and the minds of the group circled back to her earlier comment.
Julia's tone weighed solemn as she disclosed, "I performed my father's autopsy on this table…"
And with that William remembered, and everyone else came to understand, that this was the same table that had been in the Ogden family's lake-house at the time.
And William stepped over and put his arm around his wife. He too remembered it well, finding the needle mark in the skin, then learning of Lionel Ogden's tortured love affair with Caroline Hill, and his own heart being driven by the blatant message behind their tragic story – that true love CAN happen, and knowing then, that for himself and Julia it had happened, and that he needed to seize the day or suffer the loss of her forever…
George blurted the words out before thinking of the consequences, "A bit gory to think of um, THAT… err, thing," his face wrinkled in distaste imaging the sights and smells of a body being opened up there in front of him, "happening on THIS table… I mean, err…" Suddenly he desperately wanted to backpedal but could not, "I mean, uh, considering the birthday party going on…" George widened his arms and gestured towards the dining-room doorway through which so many others were enjoying the party, "and little William Jr., and everything."
And with that graphic image of knowing that there had been, in the past, blood and guts all over this table hitting their minds, every one of them remembered the OTHER night that someone had been cut opened on this same table, when Julia had gone into labor during the humungous snowstorm two years prior – such a tremendous storm coming early that year, the date only December 20th, and she would not make it to the hospital as planned for her Cesarean section surgery with Dr. Tash, and because of that she would die right there on this same table, and the baby inside of her too. And that night William had had her in his arms as he sat behind her on this same table comforting her, and gratefully he had imagined it then, the spark being one of the many lightning paths of images that happened in his brain of the myriads of possibilities playing out in his imagination in twisted lights right before him, as they do sometimes in his unique and brilliant mind, his soul unwilling to accept the unbearable loss of everything valuable and dear in his life without a fight – HE would perform the surgery. Emily had arrived with George later that night only to finish sewing-up the final stitches of the procedure. The nearly impossible task had been done, fate would have it that way, for these two, for William Murdoch and his soulmate, Julia Ogden.
So much had happened… on this table.
)
Master Murdoch started his third year asleep, thoroughly happy and exhausted from his wonderful birthday party. His parents had tucked him in, and then, so lovely when this happened, they had stayed for a while together, wallowing in their cherishing of their child. Eventually, they moved on. His father going down into the living room to sit back and read in his reclining chair near the fire, his mother taking a shower and readying for the next day.
Out of her shower, Julia had an idea, and she was certain her husband would love it. It was similar to a gift she had given him on their first Christmas together after being married – well, ALMOST had given him, because unfortunately, William had generously opened their home to a very lonely Constable Crabtree. The surprise this time would be WHY she was giving him a gift at all. He would not be expecting it, and that was much of the thrill she felt in giving it. She found the perfect sheet, a red silk scarf for the bow. Wrapping her bare skin in the cool fibers of the bedsheet, her mind dashed off on a tangent, to a memory, a delightful, delightful memory, of William appearing before her dressed similarly – naked and toga-wrapped in a sheet. She had called him her "Greek God" that night. He had been so chivalrous, stayed on her couch after she had been troubled, traumatized after having been attached by the dangerous serial killer – the villain posing as a detective from London, but all the while actually being the deranged man the world most feared – Jack the Ripper (aka Harlan Orgill). Julia had defended herself, killed the man with a pair of scissors, the event serving in her mind as proof that she was correct in her suspicions that it was pathologists who were truly the deadliest people in the world. William had spent the night in her home at her request, helped her with her nightmares. She had gotten so very close to falling head over heels in love with him that night…
Her eyes found her own image in the mirror. Sly, sultry her smile reflecting back from the glass. "You had best look out, detective," her inner voice rasped lustfully.
William was a gorgeous man, but my God, when he was in flickering golden lowlight – and aroused… Mmm-mm, how her insides twisted and gushed with drenched with wanting him.
Julia clicked off his reading lamp, felt his eyes all over her as she tossed the picnic blanket out like a floating cape and guided it down to the floor in front of the fire.
"Julia," his voice wondered, but under the curiosity there was nothing but heat.
She took his hand, urged him to stand. Her eyes mesmerized him as she said, her voice lush and low, "I thought you might want to unwrap your present…"
"Present?" he questioned his own voice smoky and dry, dizzy, for so quickly words were flying away from him.
"Yes, William," she felt herself weakening, tugged so by his dark eyes, "Remember, without you, Dr. Murdoch, there would not be a BIRTHday for our son," she explained. "You gave us this birthday. You saved the day, William… you saved our world, that night," her lips so close they touched his ear, her breath rattled, hummed, humid and hot, into his being, soaked into him, and he yielded, took her in his arms and he kissed her with a passion that spun them wildly over their edges.
It was a happy birthday, it truly, truly, was.
) (
The Inspector approached Dr. Ogden, walking down the ramp into the morgue theater, taking his hat in hand, joining it with his cane. The doctor's eyes twinkled and widened with surprise, for his coming to the morgue, especially alone, was uncommon.
"Inspector," she greeted, jumping to stand from where she was sitting organizing chemicals on the shelves. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" she wondered.
"Doctor," he greeted and then quickly got to the point. "Your husband has been voted by the Ontario Constabulary Board…" Thomas Brackenreid paused, for it was good news, but it worried him at the same time – hence his reason for being there. "Dr. Ogden," he started again, using a different approach, "I have been instructed by the Ontario Constabulary Board to assure that you would be able to… Oh bloody hell!" the Inspector cursed at his discomfort.
"Inspector?" Julia stepped closer, urging, "Truly, the suspense is killing me. The Ontario Constabulary Board what!?"
"They want to give your husband Policeman of the Year…" and he rushed so fast to make sure she heard the exception, "BUT, they think he will be too boring when he gives his speech, going on and on about some battery charge, or some wave of light or some such thing as he does, and so they want me to get YOU to make sure he doesn't… err, write a boring speech," he finally bluntly explained the situation.
Julia bounced up on her toes with pride and excitement. "William will be SO excited!" she declared, her face gleaming.
"Yes, doctor… very exciting… But, um, well…" and with that the Inspector's lips clamped tight, for he wanted to avoid insulting the man, but the truth of it was undeniable. His expression melted into relief when Julia laughed…
"Inspector," her giggling rippled in her voice, "I understand," she reassured, "Truly I do."
"Thank you doctor. I thought you might," he nodded back at her, almost winked. For a moment, Thomas' mind noticed how pretty Murdoch's wife was, this pistol of a woman…
He pushed himself to fulfil his duty as assigned by the group of stuffy men who had sent him, "So, you will help to keep him from… I mean, you will save our beloved detective from himself, and help him write a speech that will at least keep the crowd awake?" he asked, sprinkling his request with a charming dash of humor.
"I will do my best," Julia replied, then wondered, "Does William know?"
The Inspector chuckled. "The board wanted me to talk to you first," he admitted, the fact of it revealing the degree of concern the Ontario Constabulary Organization's leaders had with Detective Murdoch's tendency to run on and on about something or other that no one else understands, not to mention really even cares about. Brackenreid cleared his throat and then suggested, "Perhaps you would like to join me? I think it might be best if we put the idea in his head from the start… Um, about… about you, uh, helping him with the speech."
"I'd be delighted," Julia quickly responded, but her psyche worried. This was not going to be that easy to do, at least not without hurting William's feelings in the process. She told herself she could handle it. William would know she had his best interests at heart. It would be fine.
The Inspector gestured towards the door, "Shall we?"
"Yes," she answered, the thrill of the news taking hold, "I'll get my coat."
) (
Later that week, Julia returned home from teaching her University class to find her husband down in his workroom – whistling to himself as he shuffled papers at his desk in the corner. She smiled to herself, happy that he was so happy. William Jr. bounced away, like he used to do when he was younger, in William's baby-bouncer invention.
The tyke smiled up at her. "Mommy!" he declared.
Julia bent down to rub his belly. "You still like bouncing, do you?" she asked him.
"Yes Mommy," he answered and began to add more oomph to his jumps.
Julia caught William's eye. "You do think it's strong enough?" she worried.
William approached and leaned in to kiss her. "I do," he assured. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she could tell he was adoring her. "So, Professor Ogden," he asked, "Will you have some dinner?"
)
It had been a pleasant enough evening, William and the baby sitting with her while she ate the re-heated meal, then William tucking William Jr. into bed while Julia showered and settled in. She was feeling achy, and she had to admit, grumpy. The students had been annoying, complaining about her grading and the difficulty of their latest exam, and it had tried her patience. Even though it was earlier than they might usually retire, she was tired. And the warm, comfy bed looked inviting. Perhaps William would want to sleep early as well. Julia went down to see.
)
The light from his workroom illuminated the stairs as she stepped down them and she heard the rustle of papers, sending her brain to remembering William whistling earlier. "He must be working on his speech," her own voice figured in her head, and with the thought she felt a pang of dread, for it was the speech that SHE was to make sure would not be boring.
She realized, when William's glowing face lifted to greet her, that part of the problem that she was going to have in helping to keep his speech on track was going to be how very much she herself adored this man, and although she could empathize with other people finding his delight with all the scientific and intricate dealings of the world as being tedious, she found William's enthusiasm with such things tended to send her heart into a spinning whirlwind of gushing love for him. The more boyish, the more excited he was, the more delighted she became, and honestly, she was most strongly affected whenever she could NOT understand the details of whatever it was that so thrilled him. And so it was now, for Detective William H. Murdoch had gotten himself lost in the weeds of his enchantment with his discoveries of the potentials of ultraviolet light and its unexpected uses in photography, and it would take some effort on Julia Ogden's part to pull him back onto more solid ground.
Julia's sigh during his reading what he had written alerted him, stopping the flow of his words.
"You don't like it?" he perceptively asked, his directness taking her by surprise.
"Well," her inner voice coached, "That's what you're here for, isn't it?" and Julia pushed herself to confront the problem.
"It's not that, William," she said, seeing his face sink in response. "It's just, well… Think about other people listening. I mean, they are not likely to find ultraviolet light to be all that interesti…"
"Julia," William took up his defense, "If I don't talk about the science of it, then they won't understand…" William's face scowled. "I remember the first time I elaborated on the scientific methods I had used on a case… They had asked me to explain it! The Inspector couldn't… when they asked him. My speech had impressed Chief Constable Stockton so much that he even considered making me an Inspector." William's mouth frowned and saddened as he added, "Except, of course, he found out that I am Catholic, so it had all been for nothing in the end. That speech was about the differences between batteries and capacitors. They hung on my every word…" William looked so hopeful as his big brown eyes looked into hers.
"Yes, William. I'm sure that's true. But, well, um… Couldn't it be that you remember it wrong. That they didn't understand WHAT you were saying as much as they were simply amazed that YOU knew so much…"
Uncharacteristically, William suddenly became insulted. His eyes homed in on her and his jaw clenched tight, affecting the tone, the diction, of his words. "Oh, I see," he said sarcastically, "A SIMPLE POLICEMAN couldn't possibly understand such complicated things, being a man who never even attended college. Is that it… DOCTOR," he seethed.
"William!" Julia took exception to his tone, "Don't be such a boor!" she struck back, "You know I don't think that!" And now it was her turn to overreact. "Honestly…" she steamed, now HER eyes beading into tiny pinholes of fury, "You can be so ARROGANT sometimes…" she stood from her stool, "Write whatever you'd like, William…" her chin jutted out, "Go ahead, bore your audience to death. See if I care," she stormed and then huffed and then tore away.
William felt the world wobbling around him. He planted his hands down onto the worktable trying to steady.
Just then Julia barreled back into the room. "OH, and you, mister," she scorched the words, "will be sleeping on the couch!"
How could things have gotten SO out of control so quickly, he stared after the wake of her tirade, puzzling. He strained to make out her grumblings as her feet stomped out the beat of her departure on the steps…
"Rude! Selfish! … MAN! Arrogant, superior, MAN!" Julia spit out the angry words, the sounds of which dwindled in volume until he could make them out no more. He held his breath, listened intently, knowing it would come…
"BAM!" the bedroom door slammed tight behind her.
William finally exhaled, stunningly dazed. A part of him struggled to catch up, asking in his head, "The couch?"
Just a miniscule of a second later the sound of the baby crying peppered, and then wailed, through the house. William imagined the furious clamping of Julia's jaw in anger in response to the sound, HER loss of her temper having made matters worse. She would exhale, calm herself down and go comfort the baby, he predicted.
)
He had thought it out, reflected, and come up with the need to apologize. William noticed that their staircase was not creaky, could be traversed in near silence, for the umpteenth time in his life. "Good craftsmanship," he told himself, obviously trying to use distraction to keep himself from being intimidated, but as he rounded the halfway corner of the stairs, and the light from the thin boundaries at the edges of their closed-tight bedroom door sprinkled into the hallway, he felt his stomach rise up into his throat, and he felt the fear.
"You played your part, William," he self-coached, "You need to own up to it… And yes, she overreacted, but…" oddly, even merely THINKING this caused him pause, "… it IS her time of the month, remember – tread carefully."
His heart was thundering and pounding so loudly in his chest, in his ears, that he barely even heard his own knuckles knock three times on the door.
"Julia," his voice forced over his cottony vocal cords and spilled into the room, muffled through the hard wood of the door.
She had readied for him, anticipated his need to come and get supplies – bedding, his pajamas…
She heard him clear his throat, the familiar sound of his distress playing havoc inside of her, her heart swelling and throbbing with compassion for him. Julia's chin tucked in as she exhaled, glad to feel the fire in her breath, and in her resolve, as she did so. "Don't answer him," she counseled herself.
"Julia… I'm sorry…" the hesitation gave her a moment to think…
"Good start," she noted.
It was unlike William to stammer, even when he was nervous, but he did now. "Julia, I… I, uh… I know that the Inspector, um, well… he… I know he said I was lucky to have you to help, um… to help me, to help me write a better…" finally, the man took a breath. "It's just that, well the Inspector said that you would be a great help because you were well-educated – a doctor even…"
Julia stood, her prepared bundle of his couch-sleeping things clutched in front of her chest, just on the other side of the door, so close, so close she could hear his breaths, and a part of her, as she held her own breath and listened, so focused, his voice the only thing in all the world, a part of her even thought she could hear his heart.
William had gone on, "…that you had even won a national prize, and you are a published author… And well, who better to help, but… but, um…" this next breath was deep, to the point that it burned and ached as it passed over his heart in his chest, bringing the force of the emotion to the forefront with its rise, "This has always been a sore spot for me," William's voice cracked as he accepted it, "my lack of a formal college education, and I guess this played into my insecurities on the matter… And, I'm sorry… Jul…"
Was it the sound, the movement, or the flood of light, that thundered his heart as the door opened…
He so absolutely expected to see her face covered in happiness, in forgiveness, in profound love for him, that its NOT being so dumbfounded him, and William Henry Murdoch froze in place staring in the face of her hardened, angry expression, and the big pile of pillows and blankets, and his folded red pajamas on top, that she shoved towards his chest.
He was so stunned his arms didn't move, wouldn't lift to take the bedding.
Stubbornly, Julia stood strong, waited for him.
William blurted out the words without filter or thought, "Didn't you hear me?" he asked incredulously, "Julia, I said I was sorry."
Her sigh told of her impatience.
William imagined trying, fantasized that he would reach up and fondle one of her golden curls, lean in close to her, and whisper tenderly in her ear, telling her she was beautiful, and he loved her more than anything in the world, and that the Inspector was right, and he was a very lucky, lucky man…
"William," she spoke, monotone, rigid, "You were boorish and rude and… snippy, and there are consequences." Julia pushed the soft bundle of bedding more firmly into him, this time his instincts accepting the burden, clasping the bedding in his arms instead of her.
The door simply closed. She was gone.
William dropped his eyes down onto the pile. His toothbrush was tucked in between the top and bottoms of his pajamas. "She knows there's extra toothpaste in the downstairs bathroom," he told himself, trying with all his might to find something to think, something real, and something elsewhere from the pain. By the time he was back downstairs and plopping himself, bundle in his lap, down onto the couch, he had reminded himself that this was a silly fight, that they had had fights that were so much more serious and frightening than this one in the past, and that they would work this one out – he was sure of it. With that reassurance, he readied for sleep. Too bad Eloise would have to find him here in the morning…
)
Reaching the top of the stairs the next morning, William heard the pleasant noises of Claire-Marie helping their son wash and dress for the day. William reminded himself that he too, had some morning routines to do, sighing in confronting their closed bedroom door. He needed to shave. And he would have to face Julia. And he so wanted to fix things. And his heart hammered so in his chest.
He turned the doorknob and stepped inside. Relief at first, she's in the bathroom. William paused and blew out some pressurized steam through his pursed lips. Go on, he coached himself forward, first over to the bed to place the bundled bedding down.
The bathroom door was opened, and she caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. Stepping through the bathroom door, he gave her a cautious greeting, wrinkling a corner of his mouth somewhat sheepishly, he said, "Good morning." Then William leaned over the countertop and put his toothbrush in its spot.
Julia's expression showed her inner conflict, her jaw was locked in anger, yet her eyes pooled with tears. They stalled there gazing into each other's eyes momentarily, the world seeming to sink and drift away from them.
Unexpectedly it hit. Julia jutted her chin up high into the air – the only warning it was coming, and then she gave him an abrupt shove in the chest and plowed past him on her way over to her vanity.
Sitting at her vanity, crying won out over anger. William's figure came closer in the mirror as he braved approaching her. My God, she DID love him so much, and her tears poured out. She had to tell him, and so she did, admitting that the whole overblown thing was her fault – that it was her time of the month. And crying, and complaining, and confiding, that it made her so mad that her female body would control her emotions and behavior so, and it was so mortifying, and then she asked him, point blank, if he had known.
"Oh, I'm not touching that with a ten-foot poll," he said, then added winsomely, "Or an eleven-foot one for that matter."
There was a halt… a float, while William's charm swooped into her, and swept her off of her feet, for the billionth, billionth, time.
Julia's deep breath, a resounding heartened sigh, told that she had accepted it all, and William knew they would be alright. However, he suspected that HE needed to be the one to make the move.
"Julia, perhaps…" he needed to organize, to say this right, "Perhaps I could apologize again," William swallowed down his apprehension, "for behaving in such a boorish, and rude, and gruff, and unappreciative way last night…"
She found herself holding her breath. He had remembered her words, quoted them back to her. He HAD been listening… And then, adding to that – my God she loved him so, so, much – he had reflected, she knew that this magnificent man, William Henry Murdoch, had reflected, because he had just admitted that the way he had behaved was 'UNAPPRECIATIVE.' He had her, he had won her over completely, right in that moment… But he had gone on.
"And then, perhaps, you could apologize for… for being so stubborn…" but then William stopped in his tracks, his heart having galloped up into a panicked fury. What was wrong with him, shifting the blame to her – was he crazy? His brain became stuck, only offering a repeated, breathless, "Uh-oh," over and over again.
Julia stood. Her eyes so blue, so beautiful, she walked up to him.
William braced.
"And then you'll kiss me?" she asked.
And the music in his head violin-ed, and William's knees trembled, and the little boy in him wanted to burst into tears with relief. He cleared his throat, taken aback by her yielding, and her sudden switch to seduction.
"I will," he replied simply.
"And then we'll make love?" she pushed for more.
"We won't have time," he offered with his wrinkled-corner-of-the-mouth apology.
Oh, but Julia Ogden knew how to flirt, especially when her target was this man. She dropped her chin, looked up at him through her lashes. "So… You're sorry then?" she asked.
William's fingers tucked under her chin, lifted her face to bring those gorgeous eyes of hers up to his. His thumb stroked along her jawline… And a part of her, sending the thought directly to wrench and clench and twist her womb so deliciously, noticed his scruffy, unshaven stubble and she wanted, hungered, to feel it scratching across her cheeks, and to hear his breath race and pound in her ear and, oh my, she wanted him, ALL of him…
"I behaved horribly, and I am, most assuredly, sorry," he gave.
Julia smiled, slowed herself down, took a breath. Yet, she surrendered to her wish to touch, reached up and rubbed her silky fingers over his jawline, basked in the feel of the rough scratchiness of him. "And I am sorry that I was too pig-headed to accept your apology last night, and that I made you sleep on the couch," she gave what she could not have last night. She reached both arms up around his neck and stepped in to press her soft, warm, moldable, delectable body against his, and then slipped her petal-soft cheek along his cheek to dangle her lips over his ear. Her humid breath, jolting right to his groin, she whispered, "I am very, VERY, sorry I made you sleep on the couch."
William's mind raced sexy, sexy fantasies to the forefront. She would be ready, wanting him, and he would have her, have her wildly and savagely…
He swallowed, forced self-control. "Easy, William. Easy," his brain coached.
Julia began to wiggle and writhe against him, melty and scrumptious. She kissed around the outside of his ear, a nibble, before she kissed and rubbed, and TASTED all along that tremendous stubble over to his other ear. Oh yes, William was becoming aroused, swelling and hardening and pushing, firmly into her, and his breaths, rushed and husky. She would push beyond that famous 'William' resolve, suggesting, "You promised, detective… my ki…"
Wham, delicious, his lips, his mouth, so warm, velvety soft, always such a surprise, for he was such a strong man, a brave man. For a second it was going to be a ravaging, abandoned and crazy, but William handled the urge, his kisses becoming slower… slower and specific, and his big strong arms up the small of her back, slowly, he was in total control, she was his, fully and completely, her knees weakening, William taking her weight as she felt the floor rising underneath her, and thud, the wall was behind her, and his kisses deeper and deeper…
Oh, the moan was heavenly when she felt her nightgown rising upward…
But abruptly a panic hit, for she was wearing her own invention, INSIDE, a plug of antiseptic wool enclosed in gauze that had been twisted tight at one end to provide a string to use for removal, to be used during menstruation. She called it a 'tampon,' because a woman uses it to TAMP down ON the menstrual flow. She had shared it with most of her female friends and some patients – through Isaac, and the idea was quite popular.
"William…" her voice was raspy from lust, "William wait. I, uh…"
His kisses at her ear, she heard he too was breathless. "We can be quick," he pressured. His desire, his urgency, gushing her womb so tight she twitched.
"No… um, that's not it," she said, forcing herself to push, to push him back.
"I, uh… I will… Um, please, just a minute… I, um…" Julia babbled through her attempt at explaining as she backed towards the bathroom. "He's a bright man," she told herself, turning and rushing to do the task, "He'll figure it out."
Quick, so quick William hadn't even had time to decide if he should take off his pajamas or not, at least he had managed to lock their bedroom door.
He was standing in front of the bathroom door the moment she opened it.
She found herself suddenly feeling awkward and shy…
William breached the divide, playful, and cocky, and in such a rush, he backed her deeper into the bathroom and closed the door. And she remembered then, it had been a while, the hook hanging at just the right height on the back of that door, solid and strong and screwed in tight for just this one purpose, and her womb wrenched agonously with anticipation. William turned around and removed the bathrobes from the hook, tossing them onto the bathroom countertop and then turned back to her. He reached back behind his neck and pulled his pajama top off over his head, and as he stood before her, how dizzying, the sight of his manly chest lifting and dropping and heaving with want for her.
He reached out and grabbed the front of her nightgown, demandingly, overpoweringly, tugging her into his arms. The motion, her body flying into him, somehow defying gravity with its switch of direction, sent a brief spark of a memory of the time they had frolicked and played at the beach, after she had been so "scandalous" about removing her dark, hot stockings in public. The splinter, the flicker, so brief, the present demanding all attention, for now, William pressed into her, planted her back against the wall, the magnificent soft thud stopping her memories.
Oh, this time she wouldn't stop him, her nightgown riding, wrinkling up… up over her thighs… her… her, she felt so wet… up over the bulging of her bosoms, their jiggling and bouncing in being set free as the cold air suddenly arrived… up, her arms trapped in the sleeves, up over her head. William twisted the material tautly, her wrists caught, handcuffed, he hung the restraining garment over the hook. So forceful, so fierce, almost angry, his impassioned look. He would have her. His pajama bottoms, down – off – gone.
Wham – he was making love to her. Devastating the spin, the clenching, the gushing, the yearning, the wanting him, closer, closer – PLEASE William…
So delicious, the warm, ripple, after ripple, after ripple of luscious waves of deliciousness, he spilled and filled, every drop of him for her. And she loved him so…
Slowing now, settling… Oh that was good, so, so good.
There was a worry, a wondering, afterwards, if their hearts, their mortal bodies, could withstand the pure perfection and exertion of it…
Julia recovered, found her voice in the twirling, foggy afterglow, "It feels like I've loved you since before time and space began, and that I'll love you, still William, when they have ended."
Heavy over her, pressed into her, rumbling breaths in her ear, William's world rolled and rolled and rolled so magnificently he wondered if he would survive it, the thought making him giggle at himself inside his head for he was sure he would, but if not, he was grateful that THIS would be the way he died. He wondered after Julia's romantic, soul-felt words, certain they were beautiful and profound, but dizzy with it all, and unsure exactly in his rational, steadfast mind, about this idea of time and space having a beginning, having an end. He was sure of one thing though – he felt the same way about loving her, and so he kissed her and kissed her, promising her he loved her more than anything, more than everything, he loved her so very much.
And soon, too soon, the world had solidified around them, and a sound, out in the hall, a door, to the hallway bathroom, voices, William Jr. and Claire-Marie, and they remembered where they were, and when it was, and that they had not had time, and now they had even less, and that it was unavoidable now, that they would be late to work, and William would be teased mercilessly by the men in the Stationhouse, and Julia secretly loved that, and she suspected a part of him did to, and she remembered that her hands remained bound in her twisted and gnarled-up nightgown, and that in the throes of their pounding lovemaking she had lifted the twisted cloth off of the hook and captured him in her arms, encircling him around his neck, and so now she needed to rise her arms up over his head to release him, and she made herself do so, and he stepped back and gave her his wrinkled-corner-of-the-mouth look, and she giggled, and they cleaned themselves off and hurried to dress for the day.
) (
In his office, William leaning buttocks down, casually resting on his desk, his wife was flirtatious. Close, dangerously near, she whispered into his ear, "Remember this morning?" And then Julia swelled with anticipation because she sensed him holding his breath, and she knew that he did, that he remembered their passionate lovemaking in their steamy bathroom, with her bound to the back of the door. "It was so good, hmm?"
"Mm," he gave.
And she smiled devilishly, having expected him to block the images, the memories, as he would normally do, 'in public.'
Taking her aback even further, he said, his voice lusciously grumbly, "Perhaps the morgue?"
And her womb torqued with wanting him so that her knees felt week, and her breathing rushed and gushed out over his ear, down his neck, hot and damp.
"Won't work," she whispered…
And she kissed at his ear, and under it, lower. Suddenly, her tug…
Disorienting, gravity shifting…
Julia's pulling roughly at his tie, stood him upright – in more ways than one. And she kissed him, deep and hard and wriggly and warm, so warm, and MY GOD, so soft. She broke off the kiss, trailed flutters to his ear…
And all the while, his brain, somewhere far off, hollered uselessly, into the blusteriness "They'll see! You're at work!"
Her words teased and tweaked at him so, "Perhaps in your back room?"
How could two such opposite things happen together, his longing, and his adamant refusal?
"No, Julia," he said it, "Not here." He felt her pout against the skin of his neck, and then her soft, mushy, squashy, plush body pressed harder into his, spinning him so.
"I promise to be quiet, William," she giggled, for they both knew such a feat would be difficult for her.
"Definitely… Unequivocally… NO," William stiffened, garnering a bit more self-control.
She kissed him again, marveling that he did not pull back…
At least, not at first, but he managed the wave of lust, pushed back against it, placed his hands to her shoulders and pushed her back, pushed her softly, tenderly… off.
And then, there were those gorgeous chocolaty, melty eyes of his, and she nearly swooned again.
William swallowed, assuring a strength in his voice, "We will not make love in my office, Julia," he decreed it once more.
"Oh, never say never, William," she replied, tauntingly raising an eyebrow at him.
"Julia," he tried to sound firm, "It is precisely because I say no to my backroom that you want it so."
She leaned back in, kissed at his jawline and answered, "Perhaps."
Becoming deliciously breathless, William added, "And thus you will continue knocking away at it…"
Her giggle rippled into him, shot like a lightning bolt to his groin, "Actually William," her voice mischievous and raspy, "The way I imagined it… it was more you knocking away at me."
And with that the floor seemed to fall away underneath them…
The sound of it explosive – piercing, "MURDOCH!" the Inspector's big voice roared into the room.
Jolting them apart, nerves tingling with a sudden panic, their eyes met, and William and Julia fell into laughter.
Julia lovingly said, "Must he bellow your name so?"
And William responded, "It's part of his charm," and wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her, admitting to accepting the Inspector's ways, perhaps even to adoring them.
"True," she gave with a little giggle, for it was so.
He would hurry to his superior in a moment, but before he did so, he had had an idea, and every cell of his body didn't want to miss the chance to excite her, so he took her hand and pulled her close once more. "If the Inspector's… 'bellow' is not an emergency, I suggest we go to the Queens Hotel, this afternoon… and I make up for the dominoes."
And Julia Ogden knew exactly what he meant, and it thrilled her to her very core, and her expression showed it. She fiddled with his tie… and she wiggled in that way that she could that drove him absolutely crazy, so seductive, so sexy, and she answered, "Why detective, that would be lovely," and there was joy.
"I'll call you at the morgue as soon as I know," he told her, his lips clamping tight and then, such a winsome bow.
) (
That night, William and Julia huddled together checking on William Jr. sleeping in his bed before they retired for the night. They had been there too long, in a sense, for just checking on him, and they both had become conscious of the fact that they were cherishing their little child together as they sometimes, wondrously, did.
Misty and clear, both far-off and right there, Julia said, "Sometimes I feel so happy it terrifies me, I feel like I can't breathe because of the fear. Does that ever happen to you?" she asked him.
"Mm-hmm," William's voice so warm, so close, so soft, "It reminds me of when, rarely but sometimes, on a crisp night, and I'm out alone, when I look out at the stars above and suddenly I become aware, I become utterly and thoroughly awed, of how impossibly huge and vast the universe is, and my little planet, so alone, so small, me a mere spec on it, tiny and insignificant… I think it's the powerlessness of it that scares me so, looking at the stars, or stepping into the sea sometimes and knowing I just fringe on its colossalness, or feeling so devastatingly happy. You can't, every cell in you knows, you can't control it, you can't make that happiness stay. You want to hold on to it, but you know you are helpless to do so… because it's so much bigger than you."
"Yes. Yes, William, that's it exactly," she whispered, eased and not eased. She hugged him closer and breathed in his smell. Home, with him, with their baby, safe, under the stars.
)) ((
