Disclaimer: Yes, I understand that I don't own ANY of'em. Doesn't stop me from wishing I did, though! Btw, OC's in later chapters are all mine.
Watching. Living. Being: Chapter 5.
"Ah don't know, Ben," Angela said, laughing. "Ah still think that guy wanted ya more than he wanted meh."
"You think?" Ben asked, brightening. "He was quite nice-looking wasn't he?"
"Yes, Ben he was quite 'nice-looking'!" she mimicked. "Tell me," she teased, "how many men have ya brought home in tha past two years?"
"Honey, I don't keep count. A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell." Then, catching her expression, he laughed. "I really don't. I use 'em and lose 'em."
Curled up on the couch, Angela took another sip of wine. "What's it like?" she asked Ben. "Ya know," she lowered her voice to a whisper; the alcohol had numbed her usual inhibitions. "Sex?"
"Bad sex is bad," Ben told her, grimacing. "As in, horrible, and something you wish you'd never done. But good sex, wow. How do I explain good sex?"
"That good, huh?" she asked, staggering up to get more wine from the fridge.
"Tell you what, honey," he said, following her. Taking hold of her hand, he tugged the leather glove off. "How about you touch me a little bit and then you can see what I mean."
Angela yanked her hand away, almost falling in the process. Only Ben's grip on her cotton-covered arm kept her from falling. "Are ya crazy?" she gasped in horror. "What if ah drain ya dry?"
Drunk enough to be optimistic, Ben grinned. "I trust you. You won't hurt me."
"Sure ah will, sugar," she caught herself, only then realising that she had lapsed back to her Southern accent. She must be further gone than she thought.
"Sugar?" he giggled. "You, honey bear, are smashed."
"Yes, ah am. And so are ya!" she jabbed her finger in the general area of his chest and giggled at his grunt of pain.
"That'll make this easier, won't it?" he asked.
She sobered. "Ah don't want ta hurt ya, Benny. Ah love ya. Ain't a lot of people ah can say that ta."
"I know. I love you too, baby. But you won't hurt me. Not too much anyway. I can take it like a man. I think."
Still she hesitated. "What if ya pass out, like right here on tha floor?" she waved her hand at the tiny kitchen.
"Good thing we cleaned up this morning, huh?"
She laughed, she couldn't help it. "Ah tell ya, Benny, ya're tha best thing to happen ta meh."
He grinned. "Right back at you, sugar."
She would always remember him that way. His sunny blond hair curling carelessly around his face, his warm brown eyes laughing. How he had willingly offered to share himself with her.
The sound of a shot caught her completely by surprise. She whipped her head towards the sound and saw nothing. "Benny, what tha hell was that?" she asked, running toward the window. The street was clear.
When he didn't answer, she turned back impatiently. "We have ta go check it out. Somebody - . Benny?"
He was lying face down in a pool of growing blood. It was only then that she noticed a tiny hole in the window, the size of a bullet. In shock, she stared at the hole, then back at her best friend. Realisation dawned and she sprinted towards him, landing on her knees beside him. "Ben? Benny? Benny!!!"
He didn't answer.
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"And you didn't see anyone?" the uniform asked her again.
She pulled her knees closer to her face. "No," she mumbled. "We were just talkin', and ah heard a shot. It was really loud. Ah-I ran to the window to see what was happenin'. Didn't notice the hole in the window. Only realised it when I turned around ta talk to him. He was, oh god. Benny, he was on the floor and there was blood. So much blood. On my hands, on me. Benny's blood."
"Angie?" her head whipped up at the sound of Sharon's voice. "Angie!" Sharon came hurrying up to her. Angela could see the tears on Sharon's face and she broke. "He's dead," she sobbed as Sharon's arms came around her. "Benny's dead. Somebody shot him."
"Ma'am, I know that this must be a difficult time for you," the uniform said, after a long pause. "But anything you can tell us would be very helpful."
She nodded, struggling to calm herself. "I can't tell you anymore, officer," she said, her voice even. "I don't know who'd want Ben dead, because he was a good man. Everybody loved him."
He nodded, resigned. "Well, if you think of anything else, anything at all, you give me call, okay?" he said, handing her a card. "Do you have a place you can go? Somebody to stay with?"
"She can stay with me," Sharon said, her arms tightening around Angela. "Can we go now? She's exhausted. I want to take her home." She patted Angela. "I'll go get your things, ok? And then we can go."
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When Angie woke up the next morning, she didn't know where she was. Then it all came rushing back. Hunching her shoulders against the pain, she willed away the tears that threatened. She would not cry. She was going to find out who had killed Ben. And she was going to kill the fucker. Then, maybe then, she would feel marginally better.
The door of her room opened, and Sharon poked her head in. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but when she saw that Angela was awake, she pursed her lips. "Good, you're awake," she said brusquely. "Come to the kitchen. We have to talk."
Angie padded barefoot to the kitchen behind Sharon. Sharon pointed to the table. "Sit." She busied herself getting two mugs from the cupboard and filled them with steaming coffee. Carrying them over to the table, she put one in front of Angela, and settled down next to her. "So," she began conversationally, "why don't we start by you telling me some things?"
"Like what?" Angela asked warily. This was a side to Sharon that she had never suspected. The usually cheery and expressive woman's face was inscrutable.
"Like what your real name is, and what Ben's was. Why you're both hiding your identities. And if you've heard of the cat burglars who have a habit of stealing really big stones. That would be great, for starters."