Empirical Son FSOG
Empirical refers to one who disregards or deviates from the rules or accepted practice. Sometime genius, sometime charlatan. CG unwanted in his mind, leaves and returns to prove his family did not want him. AS abandoned, alone, losing hope. A chance meeting on the eve of fratricide. Turning, finding the other on a razors edge, together can they HEA.
Chp01: Caught in irons, drift on the windward Reach
Prolog: April: web news:
The Business world is wondering. Privately owned, Henry Trastamara Holding Incorporated (HTH, Inc) is moving for the second time. First from London, England four years ago. Now HTH announces they are moving the headquarters to Seattle, Washington. What the reclusive C.G. Martin is doing?
Sources are saying the Company has not asked or arrange any tax break or incentives with Seattle or Washington state. They build a brand-new building in Seattle, which was just announced yesterday: the move and the building. Although Politicians are eager for the move. As the company generates billions in revenue. Reclusive C.G. Martin business moves are always shroud in secrets and misdirection.
His take over six years ago, of Limited Cellular Solution exploded in billions of dollars revenue when matched to his manufacturing acquisitions and the dozens of small advanced telecommunications companies; he had acquired without anyone knowing. Making major technology leaps over the competition.
Now the move to Seattle. The three shipyards acquired in Puget Sound and nearby Canada last year. What is he planning. An everyone wish he took his private company, public. Right Now; Henry Trastamara Holding Incorporated (HTH, Inc) is valued at one hundred Billion dollars, with revenues of forty billion annuals. With C.G. Martin having an estimated personal wealth of somewhere near seventy billion, and more than forty billion in cash assets.
Sources in HTH, Inc. are unable to give a reason or insight for the move. Some suspect C.G. Martin is making another technology pivot. Other believe, He may stage a hostile takeover of Microsoft or Amazon. The Rumor mill is in overdrive. Girlfriend, Boyfriend, or the BDSM he is rumored to be into. Even replaying last year, Naple's incident, that he could be making a move on the New York Mafia.
But whatever the reason, known only to the reclusive C.G. Martin; we will be watching. Any move reclusive C.G. Martin makes effect the markets.
John B. Sutton: staff editor Business World Insider
"Andrea any ideas why we are moving?"
"No, Roz. Not a one. Lewis?"
"Whatever it is? I fear since he stopped his side action. He is suiting up for unrestricted warfare. The restructuring in the company. The complete re-vetting and major upgrades to security and protocols. It's like he's preparing for a siege or a war. This not a good sign." Says the dapper Englishman looking more like Paul but with his trademark little John Lennon glasses on his roman nose.
"Yes, the submissives always lighten his moods. The departments are set up for something. I just don't know. The web and tabloids don't know. We don't know. Only Chris knows, and I fear this move here to Seattle is fraught with perils. Next week meeting about the future of the company is ominous." Roz drifts off in worry. Next week we begin moving into the building for real.
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Sub-Chp1 Swords, Shield, throw gauntlet.
Seattle WA; Sunday Night/Monday Morning
This summer's storm will fade with twilights break to day. Watching my reflections in this bitter rain. The world will shake and roar with this new day's dawn. I blow the horn and scream the words I dread to hear. But know in my heart I must, or perish in fear of tomorrows never to be. A with Havoc still ringing in my ears. The hounds of my revelations unburdened from my shattered mind and mutilated soul. Today; I die, The reclusive mega-billionaire C.G. Martin. An be revealed as the fraud, I am. With the reclaiming of my second name.
Staring outward into black and gray streaked night, afraid beyond all rational thought. Returned to this town of my failures, my defeats, my family. I will be dead by the end of this weekend; If not in body, in soul for sure. I stare unseeing into the storm; lost within myself, prisoner of my mind.
Hour later:
Time drifts, wanes, and wallows in passing. Pelting rain washes the floor to ceiling windows, lightning flashes sear the scene: This nightmarish nightscape, unvarnished canvas of the Angry Gods; This Château d'If, I have constructed here in My adopted homeland. In the most secure and expensive residential tower on West Coast, Escala. Bought all four penthouses; the whole damn building last year. Converted the four into two. One for staff and the other just for lonely me, condemned to Hades, prisoner number one.
Turning to the darkened room, devoid of heart and hearth. The tatters of my souls scream for want of? What I know not and fear to know in the same breath and beat of my heart. My luxury prison penthouse. Staring into the window pane, the face of the warden, guard, prisoner: Sadist, unhinged, madman stares back. I am here and never will I be whole.
My new headquarters. My Isla Más a Tierra, secure and solid oasis, straddling the border of the Business District and Dog Town. Or Belltown as they call it now. My office windows look out to the construction of the New Ferry Terminal. A north, to Pikes Market, split by the Curiosity Shop. Will I become wild, untamed Selkirk or Kurtz. Fearfully, I dread these my only choices? My only course? Why do I torment myself on which, how or should. An accept my course, my fate.
Having even used my enemies to refurbish and build them. Elliot Grey crows about the green technology and low carbon footprint of Escala and my currently named Antikyreos headquarters building.
My current public facade; the European flagged, Henry Trastamara Holding Incorporated (HTH, Inc). Tomorrow the names will change; They should have known why I named it after the tyrant and adventurer. Was my Pyrrhic confession not enough warning. The cruel monster in the shadows.
Despite the HTH, Inc emblem etched in the glass doors. The Helleborus plant at it center, with crossed muskets beneath; Staff hopes and prays, the ancient legends telling of its healing powers for insanity, is true. My few remaining friends, would not bet on its veracity. Tomorrow the world, I will shake. An be exposed for the monster they suspect, and I know I am. How the world has turned and I but put my hand to the tiller; an brought me here, to this precipice.
Half-Hour later:
With this rebirth into my bought name: I know not the fates beyond this moment, nor the muses' desires, nor the petty games the gods do rage on me. Whether insane or sane; Monster or saint. I know not and care not to know. Suspecting, soon I will no longer be bound by laws nor morals. Truly this coming war, this selfish endeavor, sets me as Sam's philosophical waxing axiom of brigands and pirates, he so loved to flog himself with. I am stepping out and throwing gauntlets' in the air; Soon I will be beyond the mortal reach of man and God.
2 hours later
The lightning flashes, booms rattle the tempered glass panes against my forehead. The waves of pain within my heart, mind, and left fragments of soul. Today, the Henry Trastamara Holding will become the European division of newly emerged Garm; Grey Enterprise Holding Incorporated (GEH) unleashed.
The new emblem for the glass doors describes me; confession or warning. I know not nor care. Dark blue purple lycoctonum on one side of baton sinister-ed berserker wolf (standing enraged wild pelted, red eyed fanged wolf) and a flegme on the other side. All under a Chief (bar across top edge of shield).
My new heraldry makes plain my inner man: lycoctonum and a berserker wolf; a bastard hunter of wolfs. Mergers and Acquisition hot shot. Find them, fix them, or break apart and sell them off; the flegme signature for sure of what I am in public as surely as the hunter tells my shadow self.
The baton sinister weighs on my mind. But it is the truest known fact of my soul, thoughts. Like this rebirth of my second name, birth of my dream company. Another anchor around my neck pulling me into the Acheron?
This existence wears on my old mind, as the dawn cannot come fast enough to suit my lust for battle. For finally a resolution. I watch the show outside and muse on my only course into the rocks and shoals of Seattle on the Sound.
One hour later:
Grabbing my black and dark blue with the profile of Chrysippus under my newest yachts name on the back. The hull colors of my newest trimaran yacht with her beautiful lines, and sleek curves coupled with technology enhanced grace. My ostensibly named Alma Perdida (lost soul); my new war banner. She's headed up from the electronics refit in my San Diego shipyard. Sunday; She'll sail into the Sound and park in the marine below my office. A reminder of escape, of freedom, of no future because I have nowhere to go.
But right here and now: I need space. A run into the darkness, maybe luck will favor me with a mugging or two. The need to taste blood, feel my fear, inflict that fear and pain on others. Transference, my new headshrinker tells me. The limey bastard, will blow a gasket when he hears my true name, and my true past. After all, he does sit next to my mother on several charity boards. I laugh, and thump my chest to feel anything about them, about this, about myself.
Taylor my new body guard, gives chase into the elevator. I see my housekeeper Mrs. Jones in the staff doorway. How I wish they would be here next week, but I know they will run for the hill, when my true purpose and future crimes are exposed.
Heading north along the dark streets towards Discovery Park, maybe loop around Union Lake. A pace to burn the pain from my soulless heart. I wish the fates would for once allow me to outrun the pain of my past. The desolation of my future. Isla Más a Tierra of my present. A man alone. A man without purpose or want. Adrift!
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a-pov
Sitting in cold, damp, Wanda; wondering where my next thought, next meal, even should I care. Staring out over the black, foreboding waters of Magnolia Tidelands Park. Should I just swim out and never come back.
Here I am, twenty-one, useless BA in English literature. Bankrupting student debts, no job and nearly raped by the first and only publishing job: I'll ever have after defending myself.
My former roommate, former best friend, left me homeless. When she decided without telling me about her escaping to, a great dream job in Christchurch, New Zealand. Moved out, skipped graduation two weeks before our exams.
I came home from working a double shift in the hardware store. Turning down the brother of the boss at the hardware store would end that job the next day. Bullshit about a downturn in their business, and full timers needing more hours.
To a stripped empty apartment. My pitiful three boxes of stuff and a note telling me: I had to move out within 24hours from her mother. Kate could not or would not be bothered to tell me, in person or writing. Impugning me of being a drudge and economic burden; she would never bear that again, so beneath her. Did not know she had morphed in to her mother.
Could not tell Ray; I was living in Wanda the last two weeks of school. He's already working too hard; trying to live and helping to cover my college debts. Graduation was a bitter pill lying to him about my future in Seattle.
Car camping that first month in Seattle. My fifth week in Seattle, third week at SIP, last week. Was it just last week the future was looking up. Just had enough money saved, to get a one room SRO, south of the Stadium in the Industrial section of Seattle.
Hyde, my boss took me for an after-work drink with the staff; end of the month tradition, He said with Miss 'HR' Elizabeth Morgan nodding. Next thing I know, he is dragging me into a storeroom. He thought I was drinking the drink, Elizabeth from HR kept shoving on me.
After the wires come out of his jaw. His nose may be straight-able. I left most of his teeth on the floor, in the piss puddle his busted family jewels left. Lucky for me an off-duty cop was in the bar. Staggering out of that storeroom; grabbed the unfinished drink, and dared Miss HR to lie about the drugged drink. He prevented the posses from attacking me.
The police found a dozen roofies in her purse; she sold him out. What a tangled web of blackmail, sex, and drugs. The trial is in four months. Do I care anymore? So tired, So hungry.
Getting out of Wanda, wandering about the Magnolia Tidelands Park's empty lot near the rich-guys marine on Elliots Bay. Letting the night hide me in the shadows, as dawn is still hours away.
Trying to makeup stories of daring deeds, swashbuckling heroes, and defeated villains. Wolf Larsen battles Humphrey Van Weyden for possession of his soul; brutalizing the better angels of his heart. Fantasy sputters and fails in the growling of my empty stomach. A new day hunts twilights fading glory; starving, Fruitless job searching and soul crushing hopelessness. The wavelets look inviting. A taste of peace and finality.
"sle-e—e-e-e-ch" what was that? Turning to the sound.
I see a flash and hulking shadow approaching me. Sprinting for Wanda and my gun. What a fool to be wander in the night, unarmed. Reaching for Wanda's door handle. Please baby do not stick.
"Bang"
Slamming into Wanda, landing on my back; eight, maybe ten feet from her. That asshole slammed me into my car. He turns; I know him. From the Police station, Miss HR lawyer? He flashes the knife, long fake Rambo blade like they sell in Pikes Market for twenty bucks. I simply relax and let the world go. At least food, won't be an issue anymore. I close my eyes, surrender to fate.
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c-pov
Turning onto a short cut into my Elliot Bay marina, passing my thirty-foot hybrid foil powerboat Stygio Gubernatore Gubernante (Charon's' helmsman). Such a wickedly brutal, elegant design. Roz thought I should have named her Ross Wolf Orca; She custom made the windshield cover with the Gray Orca's maw.
She flies over the water at close to hundred MPH for more than three hundred miles. Swift, deadly and surefooted, my baby. Even at rest she feels wantonly aggressive. But that is not for me now or here. I need to sooth the doubts and fears and not run screaming thru town with Dk Tahg Daggers unfurled. The becalmed water birds alee at Magnolia Tidelands Park is ahead. Early in this light, they are peacefully soothing. A balm to my tortured soul.
Seeing a shadow, sprint from the dark, a man chases man? I think? Drug deal gone bad, loan shark, maybe just a thrill killer? Drifting towards them, I see the knife; slamming his prey into an VW bug. Ancient, I wonder if I could rehab and sell it, maybe dune buggy hot-rods it.
Should I enjoy the show or just cruise away. Feeling Taylor ready to jump in when I see the long hair; This is still the northwest, grunge-de-Ville, it could still be a guy? Till a flash of car headlights on the road behind us show a face that enrages me.
Moving like a demonic hound, Garm indeed. Slamming the hunter, now my prey over the VW bug; jumping over the car. Knees and elbows damage and destroy his face, body. Feeling the elation of finally having someone to punish for my pain. Till Taylor cocks his gun in my face, "SIR, STOP!" Looking at him in the eye. Daring him to choose, debating if he's a better choice for humanities sake. Should I jerk, make the choice for him.
Walking away. To her; Looking down at her. The image of my mother, the crack whore, the druggie, Ella. Her eyes are closed, breathe shallow, she gave up and was waiting for death. Like she did before, I remember.
The rat infested, dirty, tiny two room apartment in a one of the nameless slums of inner-city wilds of Detroit. The house of pain, burning flesh; mostly mine. This was hell, without relief, hopeless and timeless. Time measured in johns and drugs and food. She sat on the floor, cuddled me, "Maggot I'm so sorry." She laid down and just left me. I stared for days, just the two of us. Waiting for me to leave.
No! never again! "No!" I kick her. Eyes open. "NO!" I rage "GET UP."
She staggers to her feet, looking at me, challenging me. Looking into those deep blue eyes; a lose my mind. My hands move without thought or knowledge. Taking her chin, looking into those deep blue eyes. Kissing those teasing lips.
Like home, like a stun gun on overcharged. This is all I ever wanted; why here and now? At the bottom of my darkness. In the crucible of my despairing war. She looks into me; sees the monster, and just accepts me. She accepts me, how? Deeping the kiss, we just exist; right here and now. She must come and be with me. There is no life without this angel. How could I ever leave now?
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A-pov
"No!" A kick to my ribs. Opening my eyes, who are you and where did the lawyer, killer guy go? "NO!" He barks, rage filled "GET UP" he demands. Something in me, wants to obey; wants to be saved. But something deep in my heart screams save him. Save him?
Rolling and crawl to my feet. Looking into deeply painful green-grey eyes, alight with what? Rage? Lust? Hopelessness? Like me looking in the mirror. I see the damage man hiding behind the lost boy. Lost inside his mind, his fears, his pain. Like me; But I see the doorway out of this darkness open for us. Because he sees me, truly see me.
Taking my chin, we kiss and everything I knew, thought, believe, fades to nothing. It's just him. Right here, right now. And all I can do is just be here in the now with him, my copper haired god. The world may turn tomorrow, I mean today; but right now, I do not care. This moment can last forever.
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He breaks the kiss, "angel?"
"Anna? My Parsifal warrior?"
"Christian. Sweet angel. We should go home." He purrs to my lips, eyes lock on mine.
"I have no home." My failed life will ruin this. There is no Chapel of St. Augustine in the White Forest waiting for me.
"Anna, we are going to our home. Please?" A castle to brace the siege of evil against us.
A place to heal each other. Do I dream of tomorrow. Do I dare? "Okay. Wanda's out of gas."
"Wanda?"
"My car, the vintage VW bug; I am a magpie of classic automobiles. Did you not know." I do my best Elizabeth Bennet impression to lighten his horrors at the ancient wreck and the mugging. I don't know why the humor comes out of me. Maybe he needs it. Or do I need it?
"Well, Now, that you mentioned it. [putting his head to mine] Psychopathic, sociopathic, hoarder of fine young blue eyed, brown hair vixens. Care to succumb to my evil good looks and manly endowed charms?" He leers in a fake Bogart Key Largo smile. I wet at his intensity and words; the boy can play.
Letting the muse heal us. "Why yes, how do we get to your LAIR? Psycho-pathetic or social-convincing Duke Mantee" I giggle. And laugh at his fake pout, and little boy sideways leer.
"Angel, you're not Bettie Davis; Miss Fairchild. I be more soulmate David Larrabee than complicated killer Duke Mantee." He smirks. Wrapping my arms around his neck and kiss him. He is educated. This will be fun.
"Bogart fan?"
"Film Noir, Bogart was just icing."
"Love the old films, Noir and more. My Knight Parsifal." We kiss. And I loss myself in his magic.
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"Sir. Mr. Grey?" A voice behind us, startles me. Turning in his arms, who are you? Military looking bad boy? Reminds me of Ray.
"Yes, Taylor?"
"Sawyer is here with the car."
"That was fast?"
"He was following us at a safe distance. I can have the Magpie's car towed to Escala?" We both giggle, at his smirking pout.
"Ok, my lady, your carriage awaits." He leads me to the big SUV, black, tinted windows. Dawn is breaking the eastern mountain. The very image of wealth and power. I should be afraid, but he is touching me and all is right in the world.
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Escala penthouse: a-pov
Walking into our house, our penthouse; high above the Sound. Wow its big, really friggin big, and cold, and very sterile. No color alleviates the sterile or cold. No plants or anything warm or tells me anything about this man holding me, making me feel. What do I feel? Is it real? Can I live in this place, his worlds?
"Hungry?" he asks breaking my self-doubt thoughts
"Yes. Christian?" I meekly stutter. Suddenly more unsure of everything and anything. What do I know, I'm only twenty-one.
"You can tell me anything?" he hugs me, whispering in my ear.
"I've never been with a man. I mean never!"
"Ok, I can understand. I have not been with a lot of women. Never did the girlfriend thing. I mostly used BDSM submissives. Pros? I cannot really take people touching me; my chest and back."
O' God! Am I causing him pain, hurting him. I think, I would die if that was the case. "Does my arms, hands, am I hurting you?"
"No. You are the first person to touch me without pain." He fades off lost in some memory. It doesn't look like a good one.
"Could never hugged the people who bought me. I mean even my little sister could only touch me for a second or two."
"Bought you?" What the frigging hell does that mean?
"I mean adopted me; It didn't work out. I left when I was fifteen. An incident happened. They are not in my life anymore." He says but I feel an open wound, and an open question of the past, will it rule and ruin our future.
"I can understand. My mother is dead to me. Her third husband tried to rape me when I was ten. She chose him over me. That was it. My stepfather Ray, her second husband, is great but I'm a burden to him. Poor indebted college grad, a bad stereotypical twenty something."
"Not anymore. I can fix those things." He confidently cheers; Is he buying me?
"I'M NOT A WHORE OR A CHARITY CASE!" I cringe inside, what must he think of me, pauper, busted out posies selling flower girl.
"Your mine. My girlfriend, my fiancé, my soon to be wife. You are smart, funny, and everything I am not."
"I'm just plain jane poor me." trying to make him see me and not some prince valiant fantasy.
"Boy! I thought my self-esteem was bad. Ok, first food, then bed, cuddling only and later. I kinda started; a war here, today."
"OH? A war with who?"
"My former family; the world. I didn't think I had anything to lose. Till right now, I can't lose you. Maybe we should escape back to New York?" AH! The open wound: Must help him navigate to ensure our future.
"No. We both need to carve our life in stone and not sand. And we cannot do that running away. Besides you promised to tell me; why the rain is so damn interesting on the Spanish plains." I giggle, walking to the what I hope is the kitchen and food.
"What?" he chases me into the kitchen.
O' my god. I've died and gone to culinary heaven. I want to bake right now. Cook a ten-course dinner. A blonde woman is putting bowls of steam mac and cheese on the counter. Who are you?
"I'm Mrs. Jones; the house keeper."
"Do you have a first name?
"Gail, Miss?"
"Anna Steele, but call me Anna."
"Mr. Grey prefers more formal"
"Well, that was him then, this is me now. And I cannot deal with servants, or staff. Friends yes. So, Gail, I am Anna. Please to meet you." We look to Christian. He shrugs
"Her house, her rules." He coos to me. Taking a seat. My rules, I feel that is a big step in him healing. Letting someone else help him, carry a burden breaking his back. I can do that at the least.
"Gail why don't you set a bowl for Jason and you, so we can cover thing once." Christian says. We eat.
"Anna? Rain on plains in Spain?"
"Mr. Grey? Ah? Christian; a movie 'My Fair Lady.' Ring any bells?" Gail laughs at him. He is still clueless, till he can google the info.
"You better get used to obscure quotes, I am a very recent graduate, 4.0; bachelor's English Literature. Want to play Scrabble!" I perk up between mouthful of heavenly pasta.
"Why do I suddenly fear book reports and pop quizzes." He laughs, as Taylor sits down, he must be Jason.
"The guy at Elliot Bay. Spilled in the ER, about having a contract to kill you, someone named Hyde?" Jason says looking at me and my reactions.
"We will cover that in detail later. Hyde was my former three-week editor boss at Seattle Independent Publishing; who tried with his posse to drug my drink, and rape me in a bar call Fifties over in city. Last week." Taking a bite, chewing slowly. Condensing my thoughts.
"I'm leery of drinking in public, a couple of near things in college; my former BFF and roommate got dragged four times; So, I broke his manhood, nose, extracted most of his teeth and a couple of chucks, of his jackass jaw bone. The trial is about four months out they told me. The Guy tonight is Hyde's cohort, Miss HR's lawyer; or so he said at the police station last week." I empty the bowl, and feel like I'm going to heave it on the floor.
Chris picks me up and take me to his room, no that is incorrect thought, our room. Everything feels like ours instead of his or mine. We shower. The warm water, the gentle touches. The shameless and unafraid to be naked in mind, body, spirit. We just let the water wash away the past.
Living in the here and now. "From this moment forward, all the past is just that past. Between us, it's just tomorrow, future thing to worry, dream, hope. We will not be divided, if things get out of hand for you, talk to Gail or Roz." Christian whispers in my ear.
"Roz?"
"My COO, you will love her. Three years older, rude, crude, doctor of economics, MBA 4.0, one inch taller than me in socks. Her wife Gwen is an industrial design artist. A live wire of arts, music, and know it all, working on her fourth BA. Come to think about it your scrabble archenemy opponent."
"I think Gwen would like the bets. Strip scrabble, you are the boss in the bedroom scrabble, or try my kinky fu&&*kry scrabble" I giggle into his ear, with my tongue.
"Bad Idea. Scrabble only with me, or maybe billiards, pool?" Christian giggles into my ear with his tongue. I hope he doesn't see the custom pool stick Ray made when I won my third tournament in junior high school.
Not before I win something indecently naughty from him. A Comic Com dominating Klingon Dahar Master, or Scottish Games kilted bad boy warrior, or Renaissance Faire costumed Minnesänger (troubadour Knight) like Ulrich von Liechtenstein. Zoning out into the ether. Rubbing my thighs; the possibilities are so.
Teeth bite my lip. "oh"
"Your asleep in my arms. To bed." His sweet voice. I nod to him my personal god. We go to our bed naked.
Dawn is only a few hours old. I sleep in arms, hear his heart beat; safe and loved for the first time in years. Love, a strange word after all this time. Dreams of Chris and wildflower fields windswept with salted scented airs.
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Talyor-pov
We have worked for the boss, two years, first Gail then me. Now we are a couple. If Grey does not like it, we can leave. We want this to work out. We both need the money and stability. I watched them in the living room. They seem different. He seems different from just hours ago. More human and vulnerable. Strange, very strange this turn of the dice.
Gail talked about his touch issues and the need to control his sex partners. As the reason for the submissives. Swimming in the gym, I see the burn scars. Hear the nightmares. Watching him work out with various martial arts and combat training like every fight is a deathmatch.
After destroying that tabloid sleazes, who pushed on his back, to get a picture. Welch hired me; to protect him from the external threats and his internal demons. Like in the marina parking lot. I nearly had to kill him to get him to stop. I sensed he was daring me to pull the trigger. Scary.
I nearly puked that first week on this job: The submissives in New York give gold digging whores a run for ownership of that very bad but true stereotype. But then he focused on this move to Seattle. Nothing like them in a year. I wondered why, now this threat package on his family, a family no one knew existed.
The first surprise, Sunday was copper hair, and that shaved face. He de-aged twenty years. I could not find any pictures or anyone on staff who knew he was not black haired and none without a full beard. As this coming war has become the sole focus of his being. Well before Anna arrived yesterday.
Last month, that private combat gun range is Eastern Connecticut; the shoot-house. With those generic middle-aged women as an enemy's target. What does it mean? The threat package photos of his family; why did that target look like his mother? He is complicated and dangerous.
Welch had no idea when I briefed him on the mugging and the girl. The car registration provides a lot of information. The girl is an open book, nothing in her record has anything close to a red flag. A deeper scan may find something; but I doubt it.
Her virgin status is shocking. Gail thinks she will be good for him. Gail arranged for better more appropriate cloths, for business and casual, for Anna to go with Christian into work tomorrow. Seeing them together, I think everyone will benefit from a non-berserker Boss.
They sleep till well pass noon that first day; the new sign was delayed by the weather. Roz resets for tomorrow. She is happy the boss has a woman, a not another gold-digging submissives.
Once awake they listen to music, the boss plays happy tunes on his piano; did not think he knew any. I watch the secret whispered conversations; Watching them watch some old 80's film: Mannequin, a romantic comedy. Gail giggles that it's a version of My Fair Lady. Will have to watch the movies or read the book. Or both the more I interact with Miss Steele.
They finished the night watching and dancing to music video of the nineties. They seem happy. Acting like they have known each other forever. Despite it only being hours, a day. Dancing back to their room, arm in arm.
I feel Gails arms around me. Tongue on my ear. Naughty thoughts of her invade my minds. Turning, taking her lips, and leading her to my bed. Wrong thought Jason Taylor. Our bed, taking to our bed.
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Grey house 0900am Wednesday:
We sit in the car, watching the world flow by into my fortress. The former Antikyreos building, now 'GREY HOUSE.' The logo hangs over the entrance. On the doors the GEH, Inc. name and emblem smack the staff in the face. My f8475k you to the world, Seattle, and my family.
Prove me wrong Carrick. That the three icons under the Chief (bar across top edge of shield) Is it not me.
Another storming night, Saturday I worked clearing the rubble of the Lincoln new pool. The ice tea and the blow job. The smacks, the play room. Could I accept the challenge of being a submissive. Just for the sex relieve? No. That path will never lead forward, away from the dirty apartment prison; trapped in my mind and chained to my soul. A book lays on my desk, 'Razors Edge.' Is this tome a roadmap of my life, a fantasy of what never will be? I know to the tips of my toes that if I stay; I will succumb to the bitch, becoming the pimp, Ella, or a worst monster then is see in the mirror.
I see my reflection in the window pane. The flashes of sunlight, showing the inner man.
My crime spree south started with a stolen motorcycle at a Bellevue biker bar. Took his money too. Probably saved the drunk's life. Ditched the bike in the concrete desert outside of Long Beach Harbor (California) just 24 hours later. I wander about the industrial sections. Thinking, realizing.
Island Yacht Anchorage look ripe, one of the boats must have food, something to sell. A couple of street kids proclaim the Strip; I could find a family and make money, selling drugs or my body. I may have to? I start to climb on a boat. "Kid?" I stop and look about.
A tall, heavy man steps from the shadows. The eyes remind me of the pimp and my eyes in the mirror. We size each other up.
"Another lost boy?" His whiskey gruff voice barks, smacking me as worthless.
"Bonello, friend of Frederic Henry" I speak from somewhere in the recess of my mind. That character does fit me.
"The deserter, running away from responsibility. The false harbor of safety?"
"You speak like you're not named Bonello?" We stare and I know for the first time in my life; someone gets me. Truly gets me.
"Come, we sail beyond the reach of man and god." He turns a head down the slip. A heavy weathered two mast boat, Bar Pons Sublicius on the stern. A strange name for a boat, but maybe relevant; Horatius I think. Casting line away, climbing aboard, we warp out and land's false horizon does not mar our dawn astern and the start of my third new life.
Samual Summerton. A loner, bereaved of family, friends. He gives me a future; At one time; soldier, sailor, spy, and government deployed criminal. A lonely broken man on the sunset of his life. Cancer is slowly killing him; I gift him a son to pass his knowledge, wisdom, and wealth. I become the student, the con-man, the shadow warrior, and the business savant.
Some day he was Aristotle, Archimedes, with logic and math. The spy craft and warfare of Sun Tzu and Rudyard Kipling's. Sailing, Navigation and Leadership to rival E. H. Shackleton, Ulysses, or Kautilya. Monipodio's Fagin cruelty of criminality: learning to steal, grift, hunt the hunter. Live in the shadows and warrens of the gray that we all exit in and fear to know.
Some days the pillars and follies of Adam Smith, economics, and business. But always knowledge with application. I learned and understood all I have been, and will be.
The student has become the master, by the time; I set the Bar Pons Sublicius afire over Raeder's Rook; legions off 37°17'55"S 12°40'22"W. A Viking funeral for the old warrior and my truest friend. As the flames licked the waves sinking into the abyss. My father chosen by me is gone forever.
Daring the Gods to take me, by sailing, a ten-foot open sailboat, to Cape Town. Time to mourn, time to think. Time to scream and rage against the world and God and myself. If the gods approve it should take me twenty-eight days. I have supplies for thirty.
It would take me thirty-eight, thus God test of my will to live stretched into the maelstrom of my soul. I found peace, I found purpose. I found myself and made a truce with the monster hoarding what is left of my soul.
After three years, traveling the world, creating the false legend of black-haired Chris Grey Martin. The documents and the paper trails, we painfully, slowly, created. Remerge into the shadows and grays of this world. Standing in the airport causeway about to board. The Warrior unleashed, back into the mercy of God and the man's laws and morals. Time to nut up, grab my courage and start my company.
Anna takes my hand and we enter. The lobby is nearly empty. Riding up the executive elevator; all the plans, tactics, thoughts of last week have fled. This is a new dawn; I am a new man. If my family brings the war, I will rage till no one stands against me. Anna makes me try to be the man she believes I am. So, I will not seek out a fight. Nor will I run from it.
Looking in to blue orbs; she takes my chin and kisses me. Soft and lite. A tease of things to come. "ding" The elevator opens on to my executive floor. Roz and Andrea and staff wait me. Correct, us. We walk out girding our loins for battle.
a-pov:
We are high up; He must have an altitude thing. Christian office is shocking just like his penthouse. Cold sterile, and terrifyingly monochrome. Does this man not know what a color palette is? I see a tall blond ice princess, I bet she can freeze falling rain water.
A tall auburn hair, mocha skin amazon, I suspect that is Roz. She looks the type to arm wrestle Ray, possibly beating him. The Guy behind her, screams British butler, brown hair, and eyes over John Lennon little glasses.
A weird pair of guys stand near the reception desk. The older one looks like refugee from this Old House, the company handman maybe. The other guy looks like a high schooler visiting Uncle Bob at work.
Raggy jeans, comic book store t-shirt, possibly some game or animate super hero, needs a haircut badly. Or a detangling brush at the minimum. Looking westward to the Sound. Seeing the tourist Ferris wheel below the window. What do I do or say?
"Hello beautiful, I am Gwen, Roz's wild untamed wife. You must be the lady to this struck dump lummox." She walks from behind me. Touching my arm. She feels honest and trustworthy. Kindred spirit? Hard, sad but kind eyes greet me, with mischievous tint.
Looking at Christian; he is completely lost in this moment. I lean up, kissing sleeping beauty. That woke him up. Turning back to the corporate horde.
"I am Anna Steele of this kingdom, ah Greyville. Girlfriend of Duke Christian 'Orsino' Grey." (Stepping out of his arm, to curtsy.) "I hope we can be friends, if not, off with their heads, my cohort Gwen of the?" I look about lost for the right word.
"Bedrock, my Lady 'Viola' Anna. [with a hand sweep fitting a grand Russia Duchess of the Royal Court] This is Andrea and Lewis: Personal Assistances (PA) to our lesser partners." Gwen smirks and stifled a giggle.
"Front and center my court jesters." With an arm flourish and hand jive flurry. The two guys near the desk walk up unsure and afraid "Our loyal Flintstones. The geniuses of our IT and technology departments."
"Flintstones?" I ask usure what that means. Gwen curtsy and twirls, she must be a hell of dancer with ballet move like that. My feet are both left and prone to tripping over dust motes.
"Anna; Fred Miller, IT super god since Apple 2, nuts & bolts cutting edge tech. The oldest, on the senior staff, at fortyish. His protégé and Head of the Information Technology Department. He is twenty-four, although he looks sixteen. Barney Sullivan, IT demigod, in training to be super villain or our side kick or both. We poached him from an NSA think-tank gulag outside MIT. Thus, FRED AND BARNEY: Flintstone, and thus Bedrock."
Laughing stepping away from Christian. Throwing my arm around her shoulder. We are damn near the same height.
"Since I am an English Lit major. I can see the company desperately my creative skills. Christian said you are an artist. I do not blame you, my new BFF. I forgive you." She sticks her tongue out at me. "Play Competition Bridge?" she coos.
"Yes, later baby." I command.
"We will defiantly be changing the color palette of this monochrome monstrosity. First thing, Design a sign for our loyal Flintstones fiefdom. I hear by dub you 'Lady Gwen of Bedrock University'" I giggle
"Excellent! BFF. Sub sign 'IQ must equal body weight'." Gwen pops back. We laugh at the sour puss pout of Fred, Barney, and Christian. Andrea, Roz, and Lewis's sneeze hiding their laughter.
"Maybe a tad too much; suggestion Fred?" I soothe the fragile male egos.
"Bedrock University is fine; the sub sign should be 'Federation Explorations Directorate, Seattle: USS Greystar (NXF-100): Oberth Class Frigate Home Port'" Fred smiles as Christian and Roz look suddenly pukey. Giggling nearly peeing myself.
"Cool. What is Christian's rank?"
"He refused, with Roz to participate." Gwen laughs
"Barney?"
"Captain of the Greystar. Fred is Commandant Admiral of the Federation Explorations Directorate. Gwen is my Science Officer." Barney smiles, Damn the boy is cute.
"Have a Federation order, whatever numbers next. That I, Commander Anastasia 'Borg Duchess 2of3' Steele, formerly of the Prometheus class USS Buckmire Slough; Do here by today. promoted to Captain, on assuming command of the Federation Explorations Directorate, Seattle; Library. Orders first sub section: I hereby involuntary press into service two disreputable space vagabonds for the good of Humanity: Item one. Christian Grey, formerly Admiral Terran Empire, rank ensign. Item two. Roz Baily, formerly Grand Nagus tax collector, Ferengi Alliance, rank bar tender. Item three. Jason Taylor, lieutenant J.G. assign security. Four. Luke Sawyer"
"Ah Captain Steele. "Lieutenant Sawyer, security on Greystar." Fred smiles
"Mrs. Jones?"
"Lieutenant Jones, is are supply officer with enlisted ratings Andrea and Lewis her staff." Gwen smiles.
"Well, that's: that! last item on the memo. Order second sub section, Bar tender Roz assign USS Greystar. Any other fleet business?"
They all nod except Roz and Grey. Who looks mutinous.
"Notify Gail, draftees will require proper uniforms. I will need a new uniform, I have all the metal work, and patches. A broken thermostat at the old condo dryer ate my dress and day science blues. Both original and DS9."
"Not a problem Anna. We can suit everyone up before the next club meeting" Gwen smiles.
"All right you slackers! You have your orders. BFF. Enough for this morning. We will do a lunch and gossip madly, soon; planning our pranks on Thing one and Thing two." [Pointing at Christian a Roz}
"Jennifer Walters come along Titania needs a minute." Gwen coos to Roz
"Jennifer who?" Roz asks clueless
"She-hulk, come to your archenemy Titania [points at herself], need some loving"
Laughing taking Christian arm. "Lead me, Dr. Victor von Doom to your Laboratory." In my best German mad scientist voice.
"Anna am I, Thing one or two" Christian asks. I look over at Gwen; she arcs her eyebrow. I suspect Roz has asked the same question. Clueless males and pseudo males;
"You two can flip a coin every morning and the winner gets to choose. Lewis, get buttons, so they will not forget which they choose." Everyone in laughing including Thing one and Thing two walking into their respective offices with their respective spouses. The day is so bright we should have worn shades.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Christian office:
The only color or break from the white is a picture, an array of ordinary things. "Extraordinary? The artist has lifted them from the ordinary to the extraordinary"
"Yes, thought that too. An Irish artist, Trouton." He says dragging me to his desk, sitting down he pulls me on his lap.
"Who is Dr. Victor von Doom?"
"Did you not read comic books. I'll download you, a comic book character primer." He just kisses me silly.
I bite his lip to get released. "Christian, behave. Now what is on the scheduled?"
"No idea, we are waiting for Andrea." As if on que. Andrea walks in followed by a blond bombshell with her lace bra showing in the V of her open cleavage.
Miss Open Invitation is carrying a tray, a coffee mug and tea set. A box of earl Grey. I have been had? But who? Gail!
Getting off his comfortable lap. Stop the tray bearer. Pointing to the desk. She puts the tray down and stay locked on my man. Dumb blond.
"You are?"
"Oliva, I work for Mr. Grey" She perks up throwing her chest in his face. I reach up hook a finger in her V, and snap my arm down. The blouse button cannot take both strains, and explode around the room.
She looks horrified. "Oliva, from now on your blouse will be button to the neck. Skirt mid-calf. Or you next boss will be an acne lepper and you will be asking fries with that burger. Am I being clear? Crytal clear! Because the next person to violate that dress coat trying to steal my man will be escorted out of the building, chrome domed and in their birthday suit. Andrea put a memo out. Now go home and get properly dressed. You have one hour, late? Do not come back. HR will send you a check and notice of miss-conduct." She runs for her life. And she is not that wrong.
Turning to Christian. He smirks. "Anna, the coffee is cold. Get me another please."
I pick up the tray and walk out. Lewis smirking at me, leads me into the break room.
I stare at the alien machine I am supposed to operate. "You guys could not of had a simple coffee pot. How can I operate this thing. I would have to be rocket scientist? LEWIS?"
After the laughter fades. "Anna, it simple, take a cup, put it here. Touch the menu. Here. See most everyone has a standard set of coffees. Here is your boyfriend 'Ogre male.' 'Female ogre' care to guess?"
"No, I'm sure its Roz." I smirk at him.
"Should have bet money, Andrea is female ogre. Roz is Evil Mayor; Gwen is Cat Brat."
"Your handle?" I wonder what it would be.
"OH! How dare you madam! I AM AN ENGLISHMAN, that foul uncivilized brew epidemic to this climate; will never touch these Britannic lips. HUMMFFP" he chides me.
"How many civilized people on the floor?"
"With your addition, three. I expect the hot pot refilled. And any weird, hipster tea blends will not be in the tea caddy on the counter. I do not want those cooties infested weirdos contaminating my perfect, respectable, cultured tea blends. You may put them in this cabinet with the cookies and power bars."
"Ok; not a problem. Gail ratted out my teas?"
"Of course; I appreciate the classic as well. She also had the brown sugar pop tarts put in the back of the cabinet. Any other specialties?" I look around all conspiratorial. Lean closer and whisper.
"I occasionally: guiltily; Indulge in Drinking Chocolate and packets of hot spiced apple cider." He nods.
We get the tray reset. I take the lord high Christian his liquid drug. "Your swill" I smirk at him throwing my chest and flirting like dumb blond earlier. He looks about, I hear a metallic click.
"Miss Steele; If you expect to continue in this career." He sips his coffee.
"Feed me a cookie, properly attired" he turns his chair sideways to his desk. I unbutton my blouse, draping it over his suit. "Must not get crumbs on your very sexy suit, master." Sitting on his lap, wiggling my ass to get the right effects. Let my girls loose over the top. Placing the cookie above my nipple. Presenting it to him.
"I really need this job Mr. Grey. What must I do to keep it, anything for you Sir!" As he eats the cookie. I am about to scream down the building.
"ITS UP ON JUPITER'S FACE" his phone screams. I look at it. His face goes from playful sexy to seriously watching puppies drown.
"SHIT! GET DRESSED. NOW ANNA."
"Taylor!" Christian looks stressed. "What!" He stands up and paces pulling his hair. I just hug him, walking with him.
"We are on the way" he turns to me. Puts his forehead to mine. Breathing deeply. "Robert, Sawyer, and Gail are on the way to the hospital. A woman T-BONED the SUV as they exit at the Pike Market drop off. The Vehicle clipped them and two others. It serious."
I take him out of the office, Roz and Gwen step out of their office. "Have Welch brief everyone. Move up security. Bring on relieve for Jason, He will be with Gail. Andrea, clear today and tomorrow." I say as Christian mind is in fighter mode. Christian pushes the basement button. Parks is waiting with Jason at another armored SUV. We head to the hospital.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Thirty minutes later, Hospital parking lot.
Walking into the hospital's emergency entrance. Sweating that Gail is in this hospital, Mom's hospital. The risk of her being here is high; but Gail is more important. "Christian?"
"My mother is a doctor here."
"Christian, stop. Look at me." We stop; Jason is antsy to move. I ignore the world, pull his head down to me. "Breath, let me carry the family bullshit. You concentrate on Gail, Luke, and Mike. Support Jason. I will support you." I kiss him deep and healing. I feel the tension escape into the ether world. We turn and follow Jason into the ER.
Inside we find Samual, the second oldest CPO, holding down the fort. "Mike Robert has a broken upper arm. He was driving. Luke has a concussion and dislocated hip. Luke shielded Gails fall, except for a broken bottle in the gutter. Sliced her hand."
"Jason, except for the broken bottle cutting her hand, maybe twenty stiches. She has only bruised and scraps." Samual tells Jason, putting his hand on his shoulder. They served together in the army.
Anna hugs Jason letting him get his shit together before seeing Gail. My Girl is kind caring, the green monster cannot find fault. Besides she knows I see Gail and Jason as family. "Security, the driver?" I demand.
"Lady, self-medicated with prescription drugs and alcohol; her mental breakdown. Her pathic husband of twenty years served divorce papers and left her on the first anniversary of their sixteen-year-old daughter's death from cancer. Last night at the memorial church service."
"That is so tragic, we will make sure that is the real story and be appropriate in response. Christian"
"Ok, Anna. Let us see to the wounded." Taking his hand; walking into treatment room as Gail last few stiches are inserted. She smiles as Jason lightly hugs her. Like she is fragile. She pulls him, and kisses him sane.
Samuel pulls us out of the room. "Luke will be overnight; Robert's wife is picking him up."
"We will take Gail home to Escala." Anna takes charge, making me sane, with not having to make decisions.
We pick up hot wings, fries, and veggie sticks; Gail's comfort food. We make them comfortable in the staff quarters. Jason can restart tomorrow, tonight he needs to be a boyfriend.
Anna takes my hand, leading me to the elevator. Samuel drives us out of Escala. A long cruise along the Sound before we return to Grey House. Anna quiet strength, centers and calms me. Letting the mood heal my wounds. Real and imagined.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
A-pov
Andrea could not delay two video conferences till tomorrow. Christian needs the activity, soothing his mind and temper. Venting his angry, I make sure the assholes don't boost him into thermonuclear meltdown.
The first one is done; Those people in the South Carolina Uplands; Need to pray to God or whatever, that they are not in front of me right now. I would throw them off the roof. Drag them back up to the roof and repeat: Maybe three or four times.
How can you look at a spread sheet, that you wrote! A not stand by the numbers, or try to gaslight your new boss on the spread sheet you wrote, in his friggin hand, reading it.
On how the sales and cost projection for the next six months are not some fevers driven fantasy. After your last three years, actual figures are three hundred percent lower; I can plainly see this bullshit; an I am a friggin English major.
Standing near Andrea desk; Oliva ran away the second I exited the conference; better than when we arrived back from the hospital; she heaved into a trash can under her desk. But I transgress.
"Hey Losers!" I yell, everyone looks at me. Unsure of what is going on. But I must solve the problems in front of me. And not worry about tomorrow.
"Yea, You Loverboy! Yea, you the copper haired loser!" pointing to in front of me. Needing to get him back into a better mood; and everyone else. The herd walks over.
"You are the biggest losers. I swear Gwen, how does he do it"
"Do what?" the choruses' pleas.
"For the last time 'I before E, except after C, or when sounded as "A", as in neighbor and weigh, but seizure and seize do what they please' [cite Dr Brewer]." They all look at me like I'm the insane ones. I try a different take, as that sure fired one is not working; I don't understand it never failed at college.
Doing my best Marylin and Jesssica Rabbit wiggle, like Kate taught me. "I am standing HERE. All perfectly HOTTIE, [shimmy] and your over THERE [point to the conference room doors]. Firing people left and right. With no concern for my BOREDOM. [back of hand to my forehead] I mean I was so bored; I could not decide whether to HAIR FLIP: right or left. [pouting] Can you believe that Gwen. Right or left. These losers we have let into our lives." Vamping the whole time, trying hard to keep a straight face. The light bulbs over their heads brightens and flashes, finally.
Christian hugs me, kisses me. Looking into my eyes. He laughs in the kiss. I bite his lip. Break apart we see Roz and Gwen kissing.
"Baby; you so had me so going. Thank you." he laughs.
"I could have used that line, but the 'FRO don't move. Maybe if I get braids next month." Gwen laughs. Swishing her head. As Roz final gets the joke. Laughing at Gwen and mine tension breaking skit.
Andrea walks up "Johnson and Hardee are flying out tonight; they will have Greenville straightened out by next week. God, Anna! How we could have used you in New York all last year. I swear NICE SANE GREY is much easier that evil, berserker Grey."
"Yea, Anna do not disappear before the next conference in two hours. I want to go home on time. Gwen is dragging me to a lecture at the MOHAI (Museum of History & Industry) at Union Lake. On what again baby?"
Gwen mocha skin turn several shades. "Lesbianism in Washington state: founding to today, with docudrama film about World War Two 'Rosie the Riveter and her wife'."
"Cool, bring me back the book list. If lover boy here does not work out. I might switch to the home team. Andrea, you open?"
"Sure, but I am not giving up my warm bodied vibrators. One is lovely, two is special, three is kinky, and four to thirty is perverted. An, a damn waste of good coffee." She has us laughing
Barney walks up, lost in nerd thoughts. Looking up to suddenly find us in front of him. "OH! Good my warm bodied boy-toy, Caffeinated up." Andrea laughs. Christian and Barney both turning fire truck red. The rest of us just break down in laughter. Andrea grabs Barney's shirt, dragging him away, making buzzing sound effects. Laughter rises to snorting level. Lewis just waves two armed, like He is directing an airplane with wands, towards our offices.
Roz hooks Gwen as Chris hooks my arm leading me away to his office super villain lair. Maybe his blood sugar is low and he needs another Cookie? A girl can hope.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Four hours later:
Having spent the remainder of the day helping Christian and Roz navigate the business stresses. Gwen brings Chinese food and we eat on Roz office floor about her coffee table. Talking, goofing, mostly at Roz's attempting to eat with chopsticks. "Baby, I'm sorry I forgot your lobster bib" Gwen laughs; as Roz hand throws a sesame chicken piece. Gwen catches in her empty tea cup.
Just relaxing in the moment, after the stress of opening the new company and its newly frocked headquarters; then the weird traffic accident. Friends like I thought I use to have.
I take Christian to bed and cuddle him. Sex is still down the road, maybe tomorrow night. Right now, we just need to feel, empathy, and really make both of are nightmares disappear. The night is clear with stars speckled over the Olympic Ranges shadows.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
GREY MANOR, Bellevue, WA. Monday Morning
Our backyard along the Lake Washington shore line. Laying on the teak wooded double lounge, in our four-season gazebo, hidden among the evergreen shrubs and flowers. The storm is roaring, we are huddling in each other's arms. The night is ticking down into the new day. A day, years before that shattered our world and we lost a precious son.
It was storming that night as well. At dinner, I had argued with him. Hurt, I escaped to my home office to work. Work back then eased the pain, my failure as a father. Or so I thought then. With my daughter or our eldest; I was golden, with my middle son. I could never break thru. Those old demigod poisons from my old family. The family before my goddess; cured me of those false fantasy of my grandfather and father. or so I had thought until that night. Not till morning did I realize they had seeped back into my mind. An destroyed the world.
She shifts in restless slumber, remembering that storm's broken dawn: the pain and horrors of our missing son.
We searched, but nothing could ever be found. It was as if he vanished in the fog. The police believed he threw himself into the ocean. We never believed that, we never can believe that.
Then the aftermath, when the Lincolns' horror was exposed. CDs of her hard-drive arrives anonymously to the FBI field office. The words in court to Grace and me. That She had caused our pain, our grief. She was why he had left us. The evil we had let into our house. She laughed at us, taunted us with Christians possible suicide. Elliot's confession of her attempt months before. The rain suits my dark mood on this bleak and self-loathing anniversary, darkly violent and miserable.
Then the bad years that followed; Grace quit the hospital; Mia homeschooled after three months exile on the grandparent's apple farm. I cut my hours to nothing. Nearly crashed and burned my old law firm. Elliot came home from Stanford and spend a wasted year here. Barely taking classes in University of Seattle. Did not play any sports; nor date, nor did anything really. Wallowed in depression for months; a shell of our former happy go-lucky guy.
About the only thing he accomplished was building this four-season gazebo. With glass roofs pieces and clear and stained glass patterned plastic side curtain that zippered down to enclosed the space. An integrated gas fire sculpture & heater, Mia designed and Elliott worked out the mechanics and built it. An unbelievable fire waterfall, a spinning firelight water spinning kaleidoscope orb on top. Like an inverted disco ball with live plants spotted about the structure.
Mia and Elliot spend weeks carving the eight main posts as totems. Each a story of one member of the family. With one partially uncarved totem, for Christian. We will finish carving the totem when we know. It has been so long.
Elliot returned to Stanford, becoming a walk on junior, for the football team he had started as a drafted freshman. He would set several school and PAC records as a tight end his last two years. After graduation he spend a month getting his contractor licenses and starting his company. Grandpa T funded him.
A college teammate, who the Seahawks drafted in the seven rounds, talked him into going out for the Seahawks practice team. Instead, they signed him as a blocking tight end(run) and special teams. Halfway thru the season, the star Quarterback was injured and the third backup Quarterback took over.
The guy Elliott's practiced with all the time. Their first game saw them connect four time for touchdowns. The Seahawks lost the league championship on a busted field goal. The next season the third Quarterback was starting and Elliot was his number one target.
They lost the Superbowl, fourth quarter one minute to go, on the opponent ten-yard line, a fumble down five points. Elliott caught for 100 yards and ran for another hundred that game with 2 touchdowns.
That continued thru the next season, in the league championship. An accidental low shot on a defenseless receiver saw Elliot knee explodes. The Seahawks lost; Elliot playing days were over. Eight months of surgeries and rehab before he was off crutches and only occasional walks with a cane.
His construction business is going well; he finished a twenty-story office building downtown before going to Santa Fe to finish the green conversion of an old Grand Canyon resort. He is finished, thinking a low-income housing rehab down off Federal Way is next.
Mia finished high school two years early and her BA in Culinary and Hospitality Management in London, nearly two years early. Finishing two years at a Paris cooking academy. The extrovert and social butterfly disappeared that bad year.
Mia has become a loner, temperamental and very withdraw. Jettisoning all her old friends and not making many new ones, that we know about. The relationship with her mother never recovered. Nor her relationship to me. Daddy's girl stopped, replaced with independent anti-parents' woman. I fear once Mia has her trust fund; we may never see her again. It would be the final nail in Grace's coffin. To say nothing of mine.
Final nails: My old law partners four years ago tried to get me to petition the state to declare Chistian dead. But I do not feel it in my heart, my soul. Even though I know the strong possibility in my head. The heart rules. And I refused. They know now to never bring it up again. I left that firm in January. Besides Grace would never belief without a body, or a body parts.
Each year it become harder to get everyone together for holidays or just visits. At least Grace restarted at the hospital. I have started a new more laid-back law practice; I was tired of the high-pressure legal world. I have talked to Grace about moving out of Seattle and nearer to her parent's apple farm. She is considering it.
After this last gala; I will broach the subject again. A friend of Grace's will be taking the charities over. A transplanted British headshrinker and his American wife. The wife had a life parallel to Christian's. She managed to save her sister and herself. But lost two brothers. They will do well leading the Charity, I think.
Holding Grace tighter, letting the tears flow, letting the world fade with lightning flashes and thunder claps. Tomorrow will be hell on earth for us all. This weekend is the gala. Elliot is due this Friday, with Mia flight touching down that afternoon.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Saturday: Esclala:
Anna is relaxing after Franco finished her hair and makeup. My princess warrior is standing in our walking-in closet. Looking in the naughty draw. I gawk, drool wetting my chest. As she lightly touches the lingerie, feeling the silks, satins, and lace.
She picks up a very stunning cream lace merry widow. She slowly glides the lace creation over her legs, and hips. Tying the straps around her neck. Running her hands, smoothing the fabric. I want those to be my hands. But I'm stuck here in the doorway. Gawking like a schoolboy. I zone out imagining her under me.
"You're just going to stand there and gawk, and drool. With that painful looking tent." She leers at my groin. I cannot believe my vixen was a virgin two days ago. Stepping into the closet, sweep her to the window. ripping the lace fabric. As my needs are a frenzy to be release and be one with this goddess. My goddess!
Afterwards holding her on my lap. Cooing words into her ear. "That was wild Mr. Grey." I lick her neck the salty sweetness, post orgasmic sex. But I know the time is against us tonight. The Gala and the war. "We need to shower and get dressed"
"You better hope Gail can get my make-up and hair in order. Otherwise, you're going bald, Daddy Warbucks." Anna laughs, getting up and heading in to the master bathroom. I start to follow. "Other shower, satyr! We need to get going, arriving after the Fireworks burst; is pathetic, not fashionable late. Pevert, leer at a lady in her dressing!"
"Yes, I enjoy watching the show as much as you loved teasing me. Temptress" heading to the spare bedroom bathroom to shower. How a week has changed my world.
footnote1: if you goggle names, places, the story may take a different meaning.
footnote2: CG part at the beginning, is a death-spiral reminiscing(looping conversation in the head) moving from lament, blame, to justifying, to aggression(sadist transference(need to hurt other because your in pain) and masochist (I deserve to be hurt, because I hurt inside))
footnote 3: AS part in the beginning is classic per-sucide mental justification.