Murdoch in the Jungle_5_Slings & Arrows
Both sleeping in the December morning darkness, Julia dreamed next to him. It was the kind of dream that could have earned them a noise complaint if they were still living at the Windsor House Hotel, or at least it would have riled up the African Grey parrot, Charlie, who lived on the floor below them, into a squawking, "highly-aroused-Julia" imitation. William, having been through a gruesome, horrifying, and highly emotional night, was not stirred. When his wife had slowly drifted into wakedness, she was still pumping every drop of pleasure out of her dream with him, thus she found herself lying next to him, content, feeling loved and in love, soft and warm. She propped herself up on an elbow gazing upon him and waited for her eyes to adjust in the shadowy blackness. Hearing his deep, slow breaths, she wanted to thank him, to tell him how much she loved him. She so yearned for him to be holding her like he did after they made love.
Slowly, his dark hair against his lighter face took shape, and she remembered that he had been late last night – very late. Consequently, she had been worried, had called the Inspector. William had finally come home, her waking to find him asleep next to her, and he was alright. They had talked, so intimately – and made love, in the kitchen – passionate and wild. She couldn't shake it though, the blaring awareness that he had almost died… She inhaled deeply, trying to calm her nerves and focused on his lips, at first to tease herself with a longing to kiss them, but then she remembered and searched the curves and shadows for the cut she had seen there when he had stood next to her stirring the pan of hot chocolate. Against the wall in the kitchen, she remembered as she reached up to find her own cut on her lip, collateral damage from the intensity of last night's lovemaking storm, touching it now on her face to solidify the memory somehow. She wondered what other injuries he had, shrouded from view under his pajamas.
The ticking of the alarm clock snuck into her awareness through the morning darkness. She would turn it off – he needed to sleep…
Eloise was in her usual place for this time of the morning, standing in front of the stove cooking, currently brewing scrumptious concoctions in an array of pots, each filled with some piece or another of the Murdoch's day's-worth of meals. Dr. Ogden had come down at their usual time and eaten her breakfast, saying that the detective had had a late and difficult night, and that he would be sleeping in today. Thus, she was not surprised when he appeared in the kitchen, already after nine o'clock, still dressed in his pajamas and a robe – but it was the man under the clothes that took her a bit by surprise, unshaven, hair mussed about, and a swollen lip. "The doctor was surely right indeed, a very rough night," she thought.
"Eloise," his harried voice broke the peaceful sounds of her work, "I'm sorry but I do not think I will have time for breakfast this morning – I'm quite late." But it was mid-sentence that the steamy odors of her cooking had roused his hunger, and he was already reconsidering.
From within the little laundry room annexing the kitchen, Julia's voice answered him, before Eloise had had a chance to respond. "Disregard my husband's doubts, Eloise," she said, folding back the door between the kitchen and the laundry room, "William will be starving after missing dinner last night…" Her eyes met his for the first time in the golden light of morning. "Hmm?" she asked raising an eyebrow at him.
Momentarily dumbfounded, weariness still present, and mixed with his panic upon realizing he was terribly late for work, and now this immense hunger – and HER, so beautiful – and their baby inside of her…
Julia gave him a warm smile and then turned back to the bundle she had packed up for Eloise to take to be cleaned…
He heard it then, the laundry-washing cupboard was on. His eyes darted to the floor looking for the overflow of suds – there was none…
Julia opened her hand, gesturing at the package and asked him, "William, what on Earth is this disgusting smell all over your clothes?!"
The memories rushed back in then, of waking hanging on the meat-hook, bound and gagged, destined for the rotary saw in the darkness. To provide a means of defense against the devastation of the memories, his mind leaped to thoughts of his work – the case! From across the kitchen, he hurried over to Julia's side, huffy about her decision not to allow him to wake with the alarm. "Julia," the edge in his voice caused her pause, (and Eloise noticed it as well, quickly turning back to the stove to busy herself), "I needed to be on time today. I have the entire work shift from Davies slaughterhouse coming in to be questioned and to provide fingermarks. I have a lot to do today. You should not have let…"
She interrupted him, "Oh! That explains the smell, you were in a slaughterhouse!?" Pictures of the frightening, horrific environment he must have been in last night swirled in her mind, "A slaughterhouse William!?" she cried, her voice squeaking with her upset. Understanding now, the dire, bleak, violent, inhuman place where he had almost lost his life added such pain to her thoughts of what had nearly been his demise, that she was momentarily dazed, tears filling her eyes.
Standing in the small laundry room by her side, the unique stink of his clothing permeating his nostrils and triggering an immediate and lifelike memory of being there, and as a result, feeling compassion for Julia's feelings of being overwhelmed, William softened. He stared down at the bundle containing his suit, which had spent at least part of the night without him, hidden away to be disposed of, in bins containing decaying pig parts. Taking a deep breath he said, barely above a whisper, "It was truly awful Julia, I will not deny it."
Her brain plummeting into turmoil, she told herself it was alright. He was fine. He was right there next to her. She needed to get a hold of herself…
It was William who tried to lighten the mood, "Two days – two nearly ruined suits," he started, turning to her and shining a hopeful smile.
"Two?" she questioned, though she knew she had put two suits in the bundle and she quickly remembered what had soiled the other one.
William went on, "One from animal excrement and the smell of death, the other from its near opposite…"
"Soapsuds," Julia finished for him, giving him a tiny giggle, celebrating their connection.
"Your chemical invention works!" he exclaimed, searching the edges of the top of the laundry-washing cupboard as it agitated away, finding absolutely no evidence at all of the escape of an overabundance of soapsuds.
"It does," she replied proudly. Their eyes met, the enthusiasm and sparks back. He clamped his lips together and raised an eyebrow at her. My God, she wanted to put her hands on him. Julia's eyes checked, wondering if they were within sight of Eloise. They were safely tucked away in their little nook, so she reached up and took hold of the collars of his robe and pulled him to her… then her fingers in his hair, his hands up her back, firm, holding her in place for his kiss, so delightful and secret, and soft.
Breaking off the kiss, she wrapped her arms around his neck, unknowingly putting pressure on the stitched-up laceration on his shoulder. Ever so slightly, he winced, the pain bringing him back to the business at hand, "I need to call the Inspector," he said with a sigh.
"I already called him earlier. He agreed that it would be good to let you sleep in – considering what you had been through. He isn't expecting you until later. He said he would notify the people you were planning to question today," she explained. She thought she saw relief and gratitude in his eyes, briefly before he gave in to his habits, and turned to the temptation to ruminate on his personal requirement to always do more, to strive to do better, and to reflect upon how his current actions, in this case of letting her care for him, represented a failing to do so. Changing the subject, distracting him before he got there, she said, as her finger gently traced the cut on his lip, "As your doctor, detective, I believe I need to know about your other injuries."
He considered doing this without getting into what had actually happened, for he was finding that the more time that passed between the shattering events and the current moment, the less he wanted to revisit them. And yet, he knew he wanted to share his profound experiences, while he had faced the ending of his life, and he had confronted, face-to-face, what his life had been, what it had meant, and even what it would have become, all of these things he wanted to share with her – just not right now. His hesitation had drawn her attention.
"William Henry Murdoch," her voice scolded and warned, "I am perfectly aware that you suffered more than just this cut lip… that you went to the hospital even, according to the Inspector…" She reached over and untied his robe, slid it over his shoulders, catching evidence of a bandage under his pajamas as she did so, watching for him to flinch. "Not this time," she thought, as she placed the robe on the washing cupboard. She flirted, as she undid the top buttons of his pajama top, her lips enticingly close to his ear, "Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to examine every inch of you myself?" Her heart – and her womb – and her brain, flipped and spun, swimming with excitement as he hesitated, imagining the pleasure of the second choice.
"Every inch?" he asked, his eyebrow up.
She could tell by the power of his breaths as they flowed over her that he was becoming aroused. As dominoes crash and fall, and crystals form, with a snapping into place that seems both inevitable and unstoppable, her insides twisted with a familiar and delicious need for him. His buttons now undone, she slid her hands in over his firm stomach, up his ribs, across his chest. Her knees weakened as her dizziness grew.
William swallowed and stopped her. "Eloise will hear us," he whispered, and he stepped back.
Still leaning towards him, her brain told her, "He's right," and she regained her balance knowing that the wave of disappointment would pass. She just had to wait it out.
Always the stronger one when it came to denying himself pleasure, William pulled off his pajama top and bent his knees to lower himself sufficiently to show her his injured shoulder. She tended to it, removing the bandage and assessing both the injury itself and the work done by the hospital doctor. In her mind she questioned what had caused the strange laceration – "too wide for a knife, too deep for the grazing of a bullet. It seemed to have gone clear through the skin and the top of the muscle, albeit shallowly, and then the skin had been torn as if it had been pulled… upwards. Puzzling..."
Feeling the burn in his thighs from the strain of holding his lowered position for so long, he urged, "Quickly please."
Reminding her of a time nearly a decade ago, when they had used watermelons and a murderer's shovel to determine the height of a killer, she teased him now as she did then, "Don't tell me those cycling legs of yours can't hold up," she said with a sly smile. His responding chuckle indicated she had ignited the same memory in him, surrounding her in happiness.
Eloise suddenly appeared from around the corner of the door, her eyes wide and stuck on William's naked, and quite lovely, chest. "Detective…" she said before her own surprise stopped her.
Feeling like two young school children caught by a teacher while stealing a kiss in the coat room, both William and Julia jumped apart. Julia stammered quickly to say, "Oh, uh, Eloise! We are just … err, I am examining William's injuries from last night."
Managing to pull her eyes away from the attractive curves of his body, Eloise focused on the stitched up wound on the detective's shoulder and declared, "Of course. Of course, doctor. I um, …the detective's breakfast is ready." She dropped her eyes and seemed to be gone as suddenly as she had emerged.
William and Julia shared a look, Julia's eyes growing big, and they shared a whispered giggle. Having regained her composure she said, "The wound looks clean and the stitches look good. I have something I have been working on in the morgue – and I brought some of it here to my lab downstairs. It should help fight infection… And William, your shoulder will need to be immobilized…"
A dread-filled disappointment suddenly greened across his face, for he didn't like the sound of that. "But, the doctor at the hosp…"
Her stern, piercing, confident, glare communicated instantly, completely demanding his submission.
He swallowed and cleared his throat, hoping to push down his worry and regret, "Yes doctor," he acquiesced.
She ducked her chin and, still in control, still scolding him for questioning her, she added, "It will need a sling."
Oh how he hated the idea – imprisoned, helpless, the resulting outward appearance he would be presenting to the world, to his men, to the men he would need to question on the case, of being so beaten, defeated, conquered, so weak and wimpy. A pungent aversion to the idea swarmed through him.
Her sense of being in charge of his care re-established, Julia saw his acceptance, and with it his worry and anxiety and extreme discomfort. It tugged at her, but she did know it was for the best. "It will only be for a few days, William," she offered, cupping his cheek. Then, with her tone brighter she asked, "What else?"
He looked confused, but then got her meaning with an, "Oh," and said, "I have a lump on my head." He reached up to touch it and she followed, finding it for herself.
"Did it knock you unconscious?" she asked.
He sighed. "No, just wobbly … so they could use the chloroform again," he answered showing her his 'admitting it' face.
"Chloroform… You must have quite a headache with all that?" she added as she held up his robe, opening out the left arm of it for him. He nodded in agreement and reached up to rub his forehead as he slid into the robe. She stepped back in front of him and tied the sash for him, saying in a whisper, "I think it would be best to cover-up some detective. Don't you?" Placing her lips close to his ear, her breath cloaking his skin with its humid warmth she added, "Eloise has already gotten quite an eyeful I'd say."
"Mm-hmm," he nodded in agreement as they walked out of the laundry room together. He sat at the table and devoured his breakfast – he was amazed how hungry he actually was – while Julia went down into the lab to prepare her latest medical invention. It was based on research involving Penicillium glaucum. A group of French doctors had discovered that the microorganism cured typhoid in guinea pigs. She would apply it topically, but she would also give William an intramuscular injection to get it into his circulatory system as quickly as possible, and then he could start on a regiment of pills. She had a lot to do. "Oh, and the sling. I'll need to make a sling for him too," she reminded herself, chuckling as she thought about how much she was sure he would have wished she had forgotten the darn contraption.
Upstairs, Julia treated and rewrapped William's shoulder and she helped him dress, into his third suit this week, and it was only a Tuesday. Inevitably, their conversation turned to what they had each been through the night before, their thoughts having been triggered by his wound and the discussion of the smelly possible demise of his suit. William, needing to feel her close, took her into his arms and held her in an embrace. They waited together, feeling their breaths and their heartbeats, for him to calm down enough to tell her.
He described for her going upstairs to the Davies slaughterhouse offices with Jackson, and taking the risk of picking the lock on the manager's door, and then being attacked from behind, and chloroformed, and how he had woken up to find he was encased in a cloth and a net of ropes, and bound and gagged, and he couldn't move or speak, and it was so, so dark, and the ground was nowhere within reach, and he remembered where he was, hanging from the ceiling on a meat-hook, and he knew destiny had aligned him with a whirling, spinning, gigantic saw-blade. Taking another moment to catch his breath, he explained what it had been like to be hanging on the meat-hook – speaking to God – not for himself, for he had accepted death – but thanking Him for bringing him her.
"I asked God to take care of you Julia… and then I nearly fell apart with the realization that I would never see our baby. I suffered with such regret, and guilt, that our child would never know how much he or she was loved by their father," William said, his emotion clearly strong with the pain of the memory. Deeply, he breathed in the scent of her hair and being soothed by it, he continued, "And I thought about so many things in my life. They say your life flashes before your eyes, and it did. I remembered, seemed to relive, each moment, so many, many moments … and Julia, almost all of them were when I was with you. I wanted God to know how grateful I was to have found you, and to have known you, and to have loved you, and to have been loved by you." He took her head in his hands and he fluttered kisses over her face, taking in the taste of her, inhaling her scent, convincing himself that she was right there with him, that she was his. He loved her more than any words could ever say. He wanted her to know the extent of his feelings – how she was everything to him.
He kissed her cheek, her jaw, her chin, her lips. He wanted to kiss every inch of her, revel in her, worship her, savor every bit of her. Open every petal, caress the bottom of each leaf, be filled with her smell. He wanted to slowly, warmly, deeply, bring her to ecstasy, bask in the melodious cries of her ultimate passion, knowing she too felt his love for her in every cell, every atom, down to her core, through her very soul. He assured himself that tonight he would shower her with a tender, loving, adoring "warm front," a seemingly everlasting, gentle lovestorm, that would leave her feeling deliciously limp, spent and deeply cared for. He whispered to her, telling her of his promise.
"How delightful," she whispered back. But then she remembered that Ruby was coming, and that, being Ruby, she would likely be spying and listening in, probably right on the other side of their bedroom door, and that would mean they would need to be quieter – well really she would need to be quieter – than usual, and she giggled, and she knew William could not possibly know why she was laughing, but she had remembered the noise complaints, and the parrot, and the hotel clerk reading the complaint to them, in his monotone voice, hearing the snide man's voice in her head, "Please – William - please. Oh – my – God - William. Don't – stop – William – please - don't - stop. Oh. Oh."
"Julia?" William's lovely voice wondered in her ear.
"Oh William," she declared moving back to better see him, "I think you might have fallen asleep last night when I told you…"
His face, so puzzled and intrigued, challenged her so, for it only increased the humor and she had to fight not to burst into more giggles. And it was only worse, for she knew that it would be a twisted path to get to the funny part, but she tried, "Ruby is coming tonight…"
"From New York City?" he asked, "Tonight?" his eyebrow lifted at her, because he did not see how that could be humorous.
"Yes, yes," she said, nodding vigorously, knowing she would never be able to tell him before he…
"Why?" he asked, sending her into laughter with the question. Unable to help himself, William giggled too.
But then her mood changed… because he didn't know why Ruby was coming, and she herself had forgotten, had put it aside with all of the emotion of nearly losing him, and then their beautiful talk last night with the hot chocolate, and the lovemaking, and … so, so much had happened… And, truth be told, it made her so very happy. And she hadn't yet told him. And so, then she told him, about the Baby Shower Margaret Brackenreid was throwing for her on Saturday. Surprising herself, she noticed the bubbly glee in her own voice with the news. "A Baby Shower!!" she marveled in her head, childlike wonder and joy flooding through her, for she truly had never thought such a thing would ever be.
He saw it – and it prompted him to hold on to her upper arms firmly and shake her just a bit with his excitement. He tilted his head, lifted an eyebrow and repeated, "A Baby Shower?!"
"Quite something, is it not?" she asked as her eyes dropped down to her belly.
"It is," he replied. The joy in William's voice only added fire to the flames. He placed his hands on her enlarged belly, embracing their child, and said again, "It truly is."
When he lifted his eyes back up to meet hers, she melted with love for him. There were shiny tears in his eyes, and she knew how happy he was. The emotion was beyond contagious, and tears immediately filled her eyes as well. So quickly they built, slipping down her cheek, prompting him to cup her face, to lovingly wipe a tear away with his thumb, before leaning in and kissing the next one away after it. Their embrace was warm, soft, complete. Only with great effort did he break it off, bow to her, scrunching his lips together and wrinkling his face, showing his admission to the difficulty he was finding in leaving her.
She accompanied him downstairs. They decided it would be best to put his sling on under his coat, using his maroon scarf to bundle him up as much as possible. As he kissed her good-bye, a Shakespearian quote came to her mind, prompting her to say, "I'm afraid you have no choice today but to 'suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,' William." She laughed at her own joke at his expense, knowing how miserable he was about being forced to wear a sling. Adding insult to injury she thought of another joke, giggling still as she said it, "A William joke for William." Immediately afterwards she laughed some more, for she knew it was such a bad joke, and she would need to explain it. "Get it?" she asked, "William Shakespeare," she offered.
His deadpan was to die for as he wrinkled his face and tucked his chin to scowl down at her disapprovingly, and she bent in half, laughing at the whole thing. She was positive she heard him chuckle, though, and shake his head disbelievingly, right before he closed the door.
# # # # # # # # # #
When Detective Murdoch had arrived at the station it was mid-morning. All eyes dropped to his sling, which roused a quick round of teasing, "Must be nice to have your own personal doctor for a wife," and "Not to mention that same doctor's paycheck," and "Yeah, and in Detective Murdoch's case her vast wealth that goes along with it," with the Inspector finally concluding it with, "It's a wonder the man shows up to work at all." As usual, their joshing brought a rewarding rosy flush to the detective's cheeks.
Then, fortunately getting down to business, the Inspector explained that he had used the list that the manger had given to Crabtree last night to arrange for the interviews of the Davies employees. The men on the list would be available for interviews, as well as the owner, Thaddeus Davies, and the manager, Liam Mulligan, at Davies slaughterhouse, starting around noontime. Murdoch asked to have Constable Hogan be one of the constables to come along so he could identify the man who he had suspected on Saturday had recognized the photographs of the victim, Ieva, and her husband. They would also need to bring along Crabtree to take the men's fingermarks.
Now, having had some time to recover from his horrific night hanging from the meat-hook and nearly meeting his maker, William was realizing he had been so out of it after being rescued that he had forgotten some important points for the case. He regretted not going with the Davies manager, Mr. Mulligan, to his office when he compiled the list of workers from that day's afternoon and evening shifts (corresponding to the time of his and Jackson's attack and abduction). For one thing, he would have liked to see if the man's office had a green carpet or rug in it, particularly one that would match the fibers found in the victim's nose and mouth. He planned to ask to conduct the interviews from Mulligan's office today (he hoped to check for a letter-opener or some other possible implement to match the murder weapon as well).
William also suspected that the burlap he and Jackson had been wrapped up in last night matched the burlap the victim, Ieva, had been wrapped in, but he had not thought to collect the burlap sheets as evidence. They would need to try to find them and bring them to the morgue for Miss James to examine.
It frustrated him that he could not remember what their attackers looked like. William rubbed his forehead and tried to focus. It had been dark, but at least he should be able to ascertain their heights. He exhaled sharply, "Nothing," he thought, "I can't even get how many of them there were." He would see what Jackson could remember later when the constable came in for his shift. A quick wave of guilt flooded through him as he wondered if Jackson shouldn't be wearing a sling too. Then he heard Julia telling her joke again from this morning, her voice in his head, "I'm afraid you have no choice today but to 'suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,' William," and then the men teasing him about being cared for by her. He sighed. True, he didn't want to have to wear the sling, but he had to admit, he did love to know how well cared for he was, how lucky he was to have her as his wife… And then his thoughts conjured up a reminder that he had never actually called Ettie. He checked his pocket watch, "Not enough time right now… besides it's only about nine o'clock in the morning there." He would have to just add it to his list.
# # # # # # # # # #
By the time they returned to the station after conducting the questioning of the workers and the collection of fingermarks, William sat in his office and reflected, disappointed that the whole endeavor seemed to have garnered very little. All of the men claimed to have seen nothing related to the attack on himself and Constable Jackson yesterday, and further none of them said that they had noticed any of the other men leave their work areas. The man who had spoken to him and Jackson yesterday afternoon, right outside of the "butchering room," claimed he had gone right back to work loading up the butchered meat into the meat-packing storage area, where it is prepared to be shipped out to abattoirs, some of it loaded up on refrigerated train cars to be shipped out to Buffalo, or NYC, or other cities. The worker claimed to have told no one else about the detective and his questions.
Probably the most annoying thing about the whole process had been the manager's reluctance to let William into his office, claiming he had important phone calls to make. The man even managed to have his own interview take place in the makeshift interview room, interrupting another man's questioning, saying he would only have a short window for the questioning, and it needed to be done right then. William did manage to get into Mr. Davies, the owner's, office – finding there was not a green rug of any kind in there. "Besides," he thought, "Davies isn't big enough to have been able to use enough force to be our killer." He couldn't tell from the owner's reaction whether or not he had been lying about not recognizing Ieva or her husband. But, it did seem that nearly every man he had questioned today was likely lying about not recognizing the husband. He was tempted to pull out his old pneumograph! He couldn't help it – the path was blazed into the circuitry of his brain – the second he thought of the lie detector machine, he saw it in his mind again, the blue liquid surging up into the glass coil, and then what Julia had looked like when he turned to see her face, knowing for certain in that instant that she could tell that he was in love with her. The preponderance of emotions ran through him; fear, embarrassment, and so much love – undeniable in its strength.
Dropping the photographs of Ieva and her husband back down on his desk, he sighed again. He picked the husband's picture back up. With another sigh, he opened his desk drawer and pulled out Ieva's locket, opening it to reveal the empty space where both of their photographs would have been. He reminded himself that they had been fortunate enough to find a fingermark – likely from the killer – here, where the tiny picture of one of the lovers would have been. Placing the opened locket on his desk, over the two photographs of the couple, William rested his chin in his hand and contemplated the love it seemed that the two of them had felt for each other… And how it reminded him of himself and Julia… And then his mind replayed the beautiful memories, of him putting Julia's locket, a locket so very similar to this one, with his own picture cut out from a newspaper to join with Julia's picture, from so many, many years ago, and then he saw himself putting her locket around her neck, and kissing her so tenderly… and then lying in bed with her the next morning, and spooning with his body tucked behind hers, so lovely, and his fingers finding her locket between her naked, luscious breasts…
"She was trying to find him," he cut himself off from his thoughts, his mind focusing back to the case. He knew then, that he was fairly certain Ieva's husband was already dead when she had been killed, and a sense of grief, that he imagined she had probably felt, slipped into his heart, for he also figured, Ieva probably had learned that her husband was dead, and with that awareness, she would have known that she had lost, both, her son and her husband.
William caught himself, "Focus on solving the case," he coached himself. "Constable Hogan's Saturday worker," (the man who he had suspected also had lied about not recognizing the photos), "he was not one of the men questioned today. I guess it's possible he doesn't work on Mondays…"
There was a knock at his open office door. Higgins ducked his head in to say that they had found over sixty men who had been found dead in the Toronto area, from July 15th until when Ieva's body was found in November, who could have been the husband based on the criteria of being thirtyish and of Eastern- European descent. "We are still working on determining which of them would have been of large stature, sir," he added. William reminded himself that he had figured the husband was big because of the large coats Ieva had been using as blankets in her room and by the appearance of the man in Ieva's photograph of her husband).
"Good," William replied.
He asked Higgins to close the door. It seemed as good a time as any to call Ettie, as it was now nearly two o'clock in the afternoon in Winnipeg, and she would likely be awake.
# # # # # # # # # #
Terrence Meyers could not seem to wipe the smile off of his face. His spy games had once again brought him to Winnipeg – and that meant Ettie! The smile was not a response to how helpful Miss Weston was with his spying, although her position as the Madam of what was surely the finest brothel in all of Canada did lend itself to her knowing much about the internal workings of their fine country's most powerful men. No, it was the woman herself that seemed to launch the butterflies within him. Deep down, he knew he had broken the one most important rule for a good spy – he had fallen in love. And to make matters worse, she was the type of woman from whom he could not hide this fact. He made his best effort, however, and often found he was able to hide his forbidden love, at least at times, from himself.
But, this was not one of those times. They were together, tangled within the throes of passion, upstairs in bed in her elegant boudoir… when the phone rang.
"Don't answer it," Terrence's scratchy voice demanded as he kissed up from the outside of her rounded breast to her armpit.
"Hello… Miss Weston," Ettie said into the receiver, having lifted it from the phone next to the bed. Ettie pretended to ignore her lover, yet, she slipped the silky sheet covering them lower, letting the cool air kiss her skin, down lower. Terrence reveled in the opportunity to explore further.
"Will," she declared, "It's so lovely to hear your voice."
Her tone alerted Meyers' jealousy, "Too fond of whoever that is," he thought. This he needed to nip in the bud! He crawled back up to Ettie's face, kissed across her ear… Whispered, "Tell him you're busy," and kissed her lips. He could hear the man's voice in the phone. Later he would remember that it was vaguely familiar. He would wonder who this caller was. But for now, he only wanted one thing – Ettie – and he wanted her all to himself – and he wanted her now.
Ettie broke free of her lover's kiss. Inhaling, needing to catch her breath, she said into the phone, "No, detective, I'm not alone…"
Meyers placed his hand over to the phone on the night table – fumbling around, hunting for the button to push to hang it up…
As she shoved at Terrence's hand knocking it away from the phone, Ettie hurried to say, "I'll have to call you back…" And Terrence once again covered her lips with a kiss.
So clearly he could hear the man's distinct voice in the phone ask, "What would be a good time?" He pressed harder into Ettie's mouth, stopping her from answering. Meyers reached over to the night table to the phone once again, his fingers rounding the edge of where the receiver would rest on the phone… only down and over an inch to press the button down…
Ettie broke free of the kiss and said, breathless, rushing, "Six," before Terrence disconnected the call and mounted her, taking what it was he wanted.
# # # # # # # # # #
William held the receiver out in the air, as if examining it could answer his questions. Wrinkling a corner of his mouth, he reassured himself that Ettie would be calling him back – tonight, at around eight o'clock Toronto time. He would have to wait. He would miss dinner… with Ruby. He called Julia and gave her the bad news.
William headed over to the morgue. They had recovered the burlap sheets he and Jackson had been encased in when they were hung up on the meat-hooks. Miss James had been able to determine that they did match the burlap sheet Ieva's body had been wrapped in to transport the body to the alleyway behind the brothel where they had found it. This provided a link between Ieva's murder and the Davies slaughterhouse – but that link could only be highly indicative of a connection if these same burlap sheets were not used in other local businesses as well. William put a constable onto investigating who manufactured the burlap sheets used at Davies slaughterhouse and then determining what other local businesses they were sold to.
The detective called Mr. Davies' local competitor, a man who largely dealt in beef rather than pork, a very wealthy and powerful man who ran businesses throughout all of Canada, named Edward Burns. He set up a meeting with him for tomorrow.
William sat in his chair staring at the phone, contemplating the idea of contacting his half-brother Jasper out in Vancouver. Cattle and beef were major businesses over in Western Canada, and Jasper's position in the Royal Canadian Mounted Troops would likely render him knowledgeable about some of the inner workings of this whole trade.
Higgins stopped in on his way out and reported that they had been able to narrow down possible deaths that aligned with Ieva's husband's disappearance to thirty-seven men, most of whom were of unknown size so could not be ruled out, but about ten of whom were definitely of large stature.
It was not until eight-fifteen that Ettie called back. Starting out with the personal, wanting to make it clear that he had no interest in re-establishing their old romance, for he remembered her flirtatious ways when they last saw each other when her "Music Academy" here in Toronto was closed down – William was quick to tell her that he had married. He thought she did not seem surprised.
"Tell me, Will, you are working on a case I'm sure... What can I do to help?" Ettie asked.
William was grateful to be able to get to the point. He explained, "We have a woman who was murdered here in Toronto, but I believe she was from your area. She had a train ticket from Winnipeg, from little over a week ago, in her purse. I thought you might know her… She was found behind a brothel here… and she had… marks on her body, from uh…"
Ettie couldn't help but smile to herself, her heart beamed for she knew William Murdoch so well, and it struck such a chord in her, knowing how uncomfortable he was with sexual matters. She would save him the struggle, "You suspect she was involved in sado-masochistic prostitution then?" she interrupted. She heard his sigh of relief, the sound surging her feelings for him even more.
"Yes. Exactly," he rushed to answer, rubbing his brow.
Ettie informed him that she did not allow her girls to partake in any such activity, "So," she warned, "I might not be of much help."
William asked for her help anyway and described what they knew about the victim. "We have a first name, Ieva…"
Ettie felt a small jerk in her memory – that was familiar…
His voice continued in the phone, "She was about thirty years old, Lithuanian I believe. She was of outstanding beauty, Ettie, blond, blue-eyed… She had a son…"
Ettie blurted out, "And a husband," her voice betraying her optimism that she thought she knew the woman and could be of help.
"Yes!" William exclaimed.
"I believe I do know her," Ettie continued. "She did work for me; it was years ago though… The marks you describe must be quite old, Will. She did not do anything like that when she was with me," she said.
William felt a disturbing leaking of nausea into his gut as he remembered and said, "Yes, there were many marks that were old scars, but there were also some that our coroner claims were made within the last few months."
Ettie's tone lowered to match his, "That's not that surprising – she came to me looking for work… and I had to turn her away. I simply can't have women with me who might have a jealous husband in their lives who could show up and make trouble. She was so desperate… I sent her to the men over by the train station. She must have gone there… and gotten involved with that kind of work. She would have done anything, I think. Her son was sickly…"
William cleared his throat and pushed his thoughts away from his imaginings of Ieva being whipped, and allowing such a thing in order to be able to save the life of her son who had died in the end anyway. Back to the case at hand, he reminded himself and asked, "Did you get her surname, Ettie?"
There was a pause as she tried to remember. "She gave me her maiden name – Gagas. It was the name I had known her as. I'm sure she no longer used it. Um, I don't think she actually said her married name…" she answered, hearing him sigh, sensing his disappointment. Then, her face lit up, "Will," she declared, "She said her husband's name was Adomas. I remember because I thought it was so poetic – you know, Adam and Eve."
"Adomas!" William exclaimed, "Wonderful. That will be of help. Thank you Ettie."
Contentedly she replied, "I'm glad I could be of help, Will. I'd be glad to follow up, to see where she ended up working, to try to find out more about her son and her husband."
"Oh Ettie, I'm not sure I can ask that of you," he said.
"Nonsense Will," she told him. "I am so very glad to hear from you. I would like to have a good reason to keep in touch… I will call you when I know…"
William remembered, as his eyes caught on his sling, that he wanted to ask her something else, "Ettie, there may be some connection with the meat industry… There is a man here, Thaddeus Davies, he owns the Davies Slaughterhouse here in Toronto. He claims he had business recently in Winnipeg. Have you heard of him?"
Ettie knew the man. He frequented her establishment whenever he was in town. "Come to think of it," she thought to herself, "That was probably why Meyers was here in the first place." Clearing her throat first, finding she had an unpleasant reaction to remembering that Terrence Meyers rarely came to Winnipeg solely to see her, she answered, "Yes, Thaddeus never fails to come by my Coffee House when he is in town. If it helps, I can verify that he was here."
"It does," William replied. "Um, Ettie, how about Edward Burns?" he asked. He heard her chuckle through the phone.
"Will, you know that my establishment deals with the wealthiest men in Canada," she said.
He took that as a 'yes.'
Slightly changing the subject, and her tone becoming more personal, with an air of concern, she added, "Will, this meat business is… messy. I, well…you should be careful."
Never liking to be coddled, he found his eyes had dropped down onto his sling again. Emotions collided inside of him, stunning him momentarily. He was looking down at direct proof that what she said was true, and it tempted him to fear. He battled it with insult, needing to rise once again to life's seemingly endless challenge for him to be a man. Avoiding dealing with his inner turmoil, he began to close, "Thanks Et…"
And she interrupted him with a thought, "Do you think her husband's disappearance could have anything to do with that bad meat that ended up killing a bunch of people this summer? I mean, it was soon after those newspaper stories that Ieva came to me, saying that she needed money, it was around then that her husband had probably stopped sending her money."
"But that whole spoiled-meat mess involved American companies, no?" he asked.
A memory occupied Ettie's mind, slowing her response, a memory of a conversation she had had with Terrence. He had asked her about Armour, and Brown, and Durham. Meyers knew these men also came to her "Coffee House" whenever they were in Canada. There was reason to believe there might be connections between these American Meatpacking magnates and the businesses here in Canada. "Those owners visit here also," she replied, her voice seemingly more dire.
He took her tone to imply, once again, that she was urging him to be careful, prompting him to let out a frustrated sigh. "Thank you Ettie. You have been of great help," he said.
"Will, if you ever get over this way, please come to see me. I would so love to see you again… And I'm so glad to hear that you are doing well. I suppose married life is treating you well?" she asked, delaying their goodbyes.
Uncomfortable with the topic, although confused by his reaction, because there was absolutely no doubt of his marital bliss, he said, "Oh yes, I'm quite happy. Thanks for asking, and you take care, Ettie."
"So long Will," she answered before he hung up the phone.
His eyes betrayed the rapid movement of his thoughts as they jumped from his wedding ring, to his sling, to the photos of Ieva and Adomas. He lifted the picture of Adomas – now the man had a name. "Adam and Eve," Ettie had said, and again his thoughts drifted to their locket, then to Julia's… and his locket. He pulled out his pocket watch, already eight-thirty. As he turned to get his hat and coat, he noticed a bounce in his step. He recognized the feeling – the thrill of the hunt, he was on the chase, had some new clues at hand. It surged a sense of optimism and capability through him.
His homburg now on his head, sadder thoughts floated before him, for the clues could portend an ominous turn, and the ultimate plight of the victims – for he now suspected that there really were two victims in this story, in this case… "Adomas," the man's name played in his head again. "The death records! Of course!" William's brain screamed out at him. He hurried to Higgins' desk, quickly looking through the records of men Higgins had found who could have been Ieva's husband.
Stunned and elated, he fell into Higgins' chair. There was a man, and only one man, with this first name, "Adomas." William held up the sheet of paper, now they had his whole name, "Adomas Baltavesky." Overwhelmed by the conflicting surges within him, his emotions turbulent as if oil had been shaken with water inside of him, his joy for his success on the case, such an important discovery, secluded in tiny little pockets that would bubble through him, alternating and throbbing with pouches of his despair, for it was certain now, Ieva had been looking for the love of her life, and he was already dead, and she would likely have come to know that she had been in the end, all alone.
William read the small amount of print on the record. Adomas' body had been found in between two train cars in early August. The location was in Stationhouse #5's jurisdiction. William left a note for George to contact Stationhouse #5 and get the man's file tomorrow morning. With that he headed home.
# # # # # # # # # #
Julia and Ruby sat in the living room talking over a glass of wine while they waited for William to arrive. A debate they had engaged in earlier over dinner arose once again, over the benefits of having only one lover vs. having a series of lovers.
"Jules," Ruby lectured, "It is like eating the exact same meal every day. The senses become bored with it." Then her face took on such a mischievous shine when she added, "Even if that meal is as intriguing as William Murdoch."
Her sister had always been quite open about her attraction to William, so Julia pushed her urge to react to the obvious comment aside with a sigh, and responded from her heart, "Each time is truly different Ruby. I mean there are sort of types, or… Well, William and I have been talking about it lately. He says it's a bit like the weather, and that there are different types of storms. You know, like a warm steady rain, or a sudden quick burst, or an electrifying thunderstorm…" Julia's face revealed her enthusiasm, showed her happiness.
Ruby's heart warmed in knowing how content her sister was with her love-life, prompting her to give Julia a smile.
Putting her glass down on the coffee table, Julia's mind turned back inside of herself as she thought of how it felt to make love with William, attempting to pin down why it was so special, and then she searched for a way to describe the profound feelings. She lifted her chin and her bright, blue eyes met her sister's, their intensity filling her statement with a sense of awe and importance and intimacy. "When it gets down to what it is like when William touches me in that one unique way, and in that one solitary place, where no one else in the world ever has, nor ever will, nor ever could… Well, it is not like eating really, it is more like breathing. And there is only one element that keeps me alive, that makes me thrive, out of all of the elements that occupy the air – William is my oxygen, there is nothing, there is no one else, who will ever do," she said.
They speculated that either, Ruby had just not yet found, "the one," or that she just was not the type of woman who ever would be satisfied with just one man. The sisters agreed it was more likely the latter.
Changing the subject to a lighter one, Ruby's eyes perused the walls and the ceiling and she said, "William has designed an outstanding house, Jules. It is magnificent."
Julia pushed down a sudden urge to show the house off even more and take Ruby to see some of the secret passageways, for she and William had agreed to keep them secret. She remembered the first day they had moved in, and their kissing and undressing each other right in the foyer, and then rushing to the secret passageway in the dining room and making love there. She chuckled to herself remembering all the noise they had made banging against the walls… Suddenly she remembered Ruby was looking at her. "Yes, I love it," she replied with a quick smile. "He has included everything we could ever want, a workroom, a lab room, a playroom for our child… perhaps even children," she added. They talked of the marvel of Julia's pregnancy for a time.
Before William got home, Julia warned Ruby that William had suffered an injury the night before and would be wearing a sling. She asked Ruby not to make a big deal out of it because she had found it challenging to convince William to wear the sling at all, and she was certain as a doctor that it would greatly improve his healing from the injury.
This explained the scornful frown on Julia's face soon after William finally arrived, when Ruby proceeded to gush worry for, "poor William," upon the sight of him in the foyer…
"William, you poor dear," Ruby declared, somehow managing to get to his side to fret over him before an enormously pregnant Julia could manage to thrash about and free herself from the chair to waddle over to join them.
Julia did succeed in making it to the foyer in time to see the discomfort written all over William's face with Ruby's fussing, before he replied, "Oh, I'm fine Ruby," and trying to step back, asked, "It's so good to see you. How was the trip?" William's big brown eyes followed Ruby's movements around him, and Ruby seemed to be completely unaware of the shock the modest man was suffering with her flirtatious attentiveness.
Julia gasped silently, then smiled and shook her head, advising herself to harness her jealousy – reminding herself how much William loved her and… how she knew, truly knew in her heart, that her husband was wishing with all his might that his sister-in-law would stop putting her hands all over him! Ruby had already managed to help him out of his coat and his maroon scarf… and Julia laughed out loud at the look on his face as he quickly took hold of Ruby's bold hands, stopping her from her progress in removing his tie!
"I just thought you would want to relax now that you're home William. And I know it must be difficult – with your injury," Ruby said, reluctantly taking her hands back to herself. "What happened to you detective?" her eyes fell to the sling, then shot back up to ask him, "Were you shot… when you bravely took up pursuit and apprehended a dangerous armed suspect?"
Julia shook her head more vigorously, matching her level of disbelief. She laughed again as William gave her a look, his expression a mixture of astonishment and begging, and some odd measure of apology. The whole thing prompted Julia to declare, "My goodness, Ruby! Let the man get in the door…" as she slid past her sister to stand before him, "And let his wife kiss him 'hello' at least." Satisfaction pumped through her as his one good arm wrapped around her and he kissed her – a kiss that was tender and surprisingly deep, for she felt the heavenly slipperiness of his tongue softly breach her lips, briefly, before it broke off. "Welcome home, Mr. Murdoch," she said, "I missed you," her voice now lower and closer to his ear.
"And I you," he replied.
Julia stepped back and said more publicly, "Some dinner detective?"
As the three of them turned to head for the kitchen, William stopped and glanced at the rather gigantic suitcase at the foot of the stairs, prompting Julia to chuckle. He leaned closer to her and asked, "How long is she staying?"
Ruby, now catching on to what had taken the couple's attention, rushed to defend her abundant wardrobe, explaining, "I am an experienced traveler and have found that it makes the whole experience better to be prepared."
Julia answered her husband's question, "Five nights William. She returns to New York the day after the Baby Shower – Sunday."
"Oh," he said, lifting his eyes from the huge suitcase to show his wide expression with his eyebrow raised in question. He gave Ruby a quick smile.
Julia added, as she tucked her arm into William's good arm, and the three of them stepped off towards the kitchen, "And she was hoping that, 'poor William' would be the one to carry the monstrosity up the stairs."
He wrinkled his face with the recognition, "Of course. I would expect nothing else," he stated plainly.
The two ladies accompanied him while he ate at the kitchen table. He filled them in on the latest discoveries in the case and Ruby told them both about the various stories she was working on for the New York Times.
At one point in the conversation, Julia looked over at William, while Ruby expounded on one of her myriad adventures. He was looking down at the middle of the table, his eyes far off and soft, as he chewed away, clearly quite hungry. And she knew, she knew he was remembering making love to her on that table the night before. She reached over, placing her hand on his forearm under his sling, drawing his eyes to hers. They held each other's gaze for a breath, a beautiful, somehow silent and slowed, and private, breath, before William looked away to put his fork down and take a sip of water. When his eyes rushed back to hers, he saw her glance at the wall behind him – the very spot where she had made love to him, where the intensity of the storm they had shared was so severe that she suffered a cut to her lip. She reached up and touched that very cut, bringing a blush to his face, and then such a lovely smile to hers.
They hadn't noticed… Ruby had stopped. The silence registered first, so quickly followed by the flood of being caught somehow, with a piercing ringing in the ears. William cleared his throat and scurried to take another sip of water. Julia, so cool under pressure, turned to meet the sparkling, triumphant blue eyes of her younger sister – meeting her challenge – and said, as she lifted her wine glass to her lips, "You were saying Ruby?" Truth be told, Julia was loving every moment of it.
William tried so hard to focus on Ruby's story, but his mind bolted away with him. "How could it be that whenever Ruby visits he found it so… dizzyingly hot?!" he wondered.
They packed the dirty dishes into the dish-washing cupboard, sharing a laugh with Ruby about their trials and tribulations with the soap suds. William hauled Ruby's mammoth suitcase up to their guestroom. Then the three of them settled into the living room, warm and cozy after William had made a fire. William tilted back in his reclining chair. He even loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Julia's and Ruby's conversation continued, lively and at times intense, at others carefree.
It was Ruby who noticed first, that William had fallen asleep. Her eyes fixed in his direction. "Jules," she changed her voice to a whisper, tugging Julia's attention to her husband.
She wondered, for a moment, if she would ever gaze upon William Murdoch sleeping and not feel this delightful surge of love and warmth in her heart. Julia consciously reminded herself to breathe, knowing that the air would soothe and fulfill her as it flowed through her love-stricken chest, like a crackling fire on a cold winter's night. My God, she loved this man, sometimes so that it ached.
"Jules?" Ruby's voice called in the distance.
Slowly, as if from a trance, Julia turned away from him. Her eyes re-focused. A flutter of embarrassment crossed her face, prompting a smile.
Ruby leaned closer from across the coffee table and with her voice gentle, she said, "You really do love him, hmm?" with a soft nod.
Julia was elated that her sister could see it! That she understood! With her face beaming, Julia nodded, "Mm-hmm," she admitted, joyously. "It's like I forget that he is just a human, just a man, like any other, for he is so central to my very being," she said, her quietness amplifying the mystery of the feelings she described more so than keeping them secluded. "I need him so much that it… it actually feels dangerous. I never imagined I could feel this way about a person… never. And I believe he feels the same way about me…" Julia's eyes turned back to him as he slept, warm, safe and content, and her thoughts cascaded with her worries from last night as she watched him sleeping there, garnering a sling but virtually unharmed despite it all, "And it scares me so, sometimes," she admitted aloud.
Betraying the extent of her emotions, tears had formed in her eyes, one trickling down her cheek as she returned her gaze to her sister. Julia quickly reached up and brushed it away, with a tiny chuckle. "It's silly, I know," she claimed.
"Nonsense," Ruby said. "It isn't possible to love so profoundly without risking hurt, Jules," Ruby whispered as she touched her sister's cheek and rubbed away another tear. "Perhaps we have come to the reason why I am unable to find the one, after all," she concluded, giving her sister an affectionate smile.
Julia nodded in agreement, "Perhaps," she said. She explained that William had had a particularly hard and long night the night before and she was not surprised that he had fallen asleep. They decided to head up to bed. Julia woke William and escorted him upstairs. Ruby went to her room at the end of the hall as Julia paused at their bedroom door to say good-night before she closed it behind them.
She helped William undress and prepare for bed. She decided to let him sleep without the sling. Once they were tucked in together, she reached over him and turned out his lamp, and the darkness quickly surrounded them, highlighting the sounds of their breaths. He guided her to lay her head on his chest, and the sound of his heartbeats joined the peaceful melody of the moment. Julia's mind had just stumbled upon the memory when his voice rose up, the vibrations tingling marvelously in her ear as it rested upon him.
"I regret to say," he started, "my promise from this morning has gone unfulfilled."
He felt her hug him tighter and snuggle deeper into him with a gentle wiggle. "There is no word I trust more than that of William Murdoch," she answered, "I consider it only a minor delay."
"Good," he replied. She could tell that he was already falling into slumber, and she knew despite the darkness, that there was a smile on his face.
The couple awoke before the alarm, in the morning darkness. Rubbing her cheek back and forth across his unshaven jawline, Julia said, her voice both sleepy and husky, "Mmm… I so love this," as her breath flooded down over his naked chest. Lustfully, her lips explored his stubble, kissing, while stroking him with her delicate fingers, tantalizingly adding a tingly scratch with a fingernail now and again, and her plushy cheek glided along his cheek until her lips found his ear, and her breath rattled deeper and deeper into his brain. She inhaled and then her hot breath flowed over him again as she added, "So manly, and rough, and wild."
Delighting in the feel of her ear as it slid across his scraggly face, William's raspy, dry voice answered, "Perhaps I shouldn't shave it then," and she felt his lips smile before they tucked in and slurped in the sensitive and hungry skin of her neck.
"Oh that is delicious," she thought, opening to give him access momentarily. "Oh, you will have to shave it, William," Julia replied as she pushed back against him, denying him being on top. Returning her cheek to his, she covered him crawling up on her hands and knees, and she rubbed across his morning stubble once more. "This is mine, only for me, this more primitive aspect of you," her whispers explained. She rocked back to sit over him and reached up to pull her nightgown off over her head to join him in his nakedness, flinging it out into the early morning shadows.
His hands, calloused and scratchy, took her hips, and moved up the sides of her body, his thumbs stretched over her outstretched belly, gently reminding of her pregnancy, while he enjoyed the rippling of her ribs under his fingers. "Turn on the light," he requested.
Intentionally keeping her body close to his face, she reached over to the night table and found the little chain, pulling it down with a click that spilled a yellow glow into the room, illuminating the heavenly smell of her breasts as they dangled so enticingly close to his face. "All mine," her scratchy voice said when he first felt the marshmallowy softness of her overtake him. She moved, guiding the pliable, globular curves of her bosom along the contours of his face, scratching the tender skin through his rough, bristly cheeks, catching each hair with her hard, raised nipples as they glanced across him.
The pleasure unbearable, William moaned and took a hold of her ribcage, moaning again as he finally pulled her down closer and put his mouth on her, and then Julia moaned as well, as he took her flesh in.
"Oh my God," she thought, "William," she whispered. Her insides twisted and twirled, seeming to wring endless slippery drops out of her. She wanted this man. Oh my God, she wanted this man inside of her. Her fingers tangled into his hair and pressed his face tighter into her breasts. "Please, William," she whispered again.
He felt her fingers begin their adventure, sliding down, pushing firmly into his chest, down along his stomach. She pulled back, freeing her breast from his lips, him stretching in an effort to follow her, to keep her, but yielding as her mouth took a hold of his pectoral muscle, hard, sucking him in with a rousing moan, rough and unforgiving. She would leave a mark. William's mind spun out of control; from this height it was such a struggle to breathe. Her fingers prickled the hair surrounding him, announcing her imminent arrival.
"Mine," she said again, as he suddenly felt the cold air touch his wet skin, for she had released his chest, and he knew she would take him in her hand, and he would fall from this abysmal height…
Demanding such effort it forced a groan from his throat, he stopped her progression, regaining his self-control. His chest heaved scrumptiously up and down out of breath as he asked, "Where do you think you are going?"
"William," she teased, between kisses along his chest, "You know exactly where this is going." Again she took his flesh into her mouth, sucking the taste of him in, and her fingers enclosed around him, and my God, he was so aroused in her hand, and their moans mingled together in the humid air before they drifted away.
William's breathing raged, hot, and rapid. There could never be enough air! He was dizzy… And she was climbing over him… And her body was absolutely gorgeous as it jiggled when she moved… And my God, she was hovering so close… And he just knew he could reach that high… And then he felt her slippery warmth cover the tip of him… And he knew, for he heard his own voice screaming, from somewhere far off, he knew he needed to stop her, even though for the life of him he couldn't remember why… And he pushed through the dense gyroid of his desires… and he stopped her, holding her hips tightly, keeping her weight up above him. His eyes firm into hers, warning, he heaved for air, and he swallowed to be able to make a sound through the dryness, and he said, "Julia, you need to stop."
She knew he was right, but she offered to explain, "I wanted you to feel how much I want you."
He pulled her down to his chest and rolled them both over. "You are playing with fire, Mrs. Murdoch," he said, as he adjusted his body over hers to avoid placing his weight on the baby. "What makes you think I can control this?" he asked as his mouth submitted to his urges and he kissed down to her breasts.
"You, William Murdoch?" she replied, breathless, "Your middle name is control." Her fingers scratched through his hair as she delighted in his kisses.
His voice beautifully muffled from within her breasts, he answered, chuckling for he was willing to play along, "Now, Dr. Julia Ogden, you know very well that my middle name is Henry." A gigantic smile grew on his face as he poked his head up from between her breasts and declared, nodding with devilishness, an eyebrow cocked, "You will need to pay for this." It evoked a squeal of glee from her, inciting him to put a finger to his lips and, Shh," her. His eyes grew wide and then narrowed to threaten a reminder, "Ruby's in the house."
Julia nodded, recognizing the inherent danger, acknowledging that it was her noises that would likely betray them. She giggled as she brought a finger to her own lips and whispered, but oh so flirtatiously, "Make me pay William. My God, please, please, make me pay."
And so it was that William fulfilled his promise from the day before, and showered her with a delicious warm front, the soaking rain at times gentle, at other times severe and strong. He shared his stubble with every inch of her delectable body. And thus it was truly hers and only hers. And my God, how she savored and basked in the lovely outrageousness of it.
After he had held her in his arms for a time, and she recovered the cadence of her breathing and her heartbeats to match with his, and the spinning of the room slowed, and the wrinkles in the bed-sheet softened, then Julia returned to be on top once more. And once again, William hovered over the precipice, marveling in the height of his inevitable fall…
And then the blasted alarm clock rang. And he had to pause, reluctantly reaching over to silence the offending interruption. And Julia stopped what she was doing, delaying his urgent and delicious eruption of ecstasy, and it had been so very, very close, and she told one of her jokes, evoking a different kind of moan from him…
"Well William, this time you can't say I didn't encourage you to rise with the alarm," she said, laughing at her own joke before she returned to the task at hand and her mouth became full, thus dampening the drifting off of her chuckling.
And in the end it was true, that he would have to, "suffer the slings and arrows," of life, and he knew there would be times that they would add up to be almost more than he could bear. And yet, he was grateful, for he knew it would be his very own archer who tended to be the one slinging many of those arrows at him, and thus life would always be well worth living… And there was one arrow that was the most important one of all. And he would be forever grateful it had pierced his heart – that arrow was slung by Cupid, and it had come to define his life, for he loved his archer, his one and only, unique and wonderful Julia, more than life itself.