Broken (24 page)

“You could easily inspire me,” he said.  His
husky voice made her giggle and him bite back a string of choice of
words.  Insincere praise grated on his nerves like the rooster
had when he crowed fifteen minutes too early.  The memory made
him smile now, for a moment, and he was back in the game. For all
intents and purposes, tonight she would do.  He would not have
to face the dark hours alone.

He looked for her best qualities as he walked with her along the
beach.  They headed toward the small shack he’d rented
for the month.  Breathless, she had complained once about his
long strides, but he was on a mission.  Her mini skirt was
tight. He got a preview of the curves yet to come.  The
possibility of uncovering them was definitely something to look
forward to.

“I am on vacation with a few girlfriends.  We just
needed to get away, ya know?” 

“Not really.”  He forced a light laugh. 
“I am a wanderer.  I live on the road.”  He
smiled at his luck as he watched the swing of her hips.

“Why, what is this?  Are you reading
Hemingway?”  She picked up his copy of
The Old Man
and The Sea
from the unmade bed.

“Thought I might give it a try after playing at Captain
Tony’s Bar, the original Sloppy Joe’s where the man
drank.”  He shrugged, keeping to himself that it was
required reading he’d never gotten to at his old high
school.

First things first—he placed his guitar safely in a corner
on the far side of the bed, away from the unsealing door and air
conditioner.  Then he sauntered up to her, pulled her body up
against his, and placed his lips hard onto hers.  It was an
act of arrogance women like her seemed to go for, and one that
suited his means just fine as well.  He only needed to be
touched for a time, for an itch to be scratched and a nagging
loneliness to be silenced.  A girl like her was sadly his only
option, but still a warm body in bed, even if she was a bit bonier
than he preferred.  The softer, more endowed woman suited him
better.  He didn’t have to worry about breaking her if
he lost a bit of control once he was wrapped in her warmth.

This woman’s mouth tasted of cigarettes and cheap fruity
alcohol.  He promised himself a shot of the good whiskey he
had hidden in his travel bag after to wash the taste away. 
Clutching at her shirt, he groaned in relief as her nimble fingers
made short work of his belt, button and zipper.  He had gotten
more than lucky tonight.  She stroked over his hardness.

“Man, you have another fine instrument,
there.”  He hid the roll of his eyes from her, sure she
thought she had been quite brilliant with her over-used
analogy.  “Can’t believe you were hiding that
there treasure under your guitar all night.”

“Lay back on the bed.”

“Sure, Mr. Bossy.”

“Problem?” he asked, not able to hide his rising
irritation with her. Then he tamped it down, humming in his head to
calm himself.  She sounded like home, although he hadn’t
wanted to admit it.  He thanked all that was good in the world
that he had someone willing to spend some time with him.  And,
oh, but she was willing, spreading herself out on the bed and
making herself available for his every physical need.

“No, not at all.”  She looked panic-stricken,
as if she was afraid he might change his mind.  A trickle of
guilt edged up his shoulders.  A woman like her needed this as
much as he did.  Then she squirmed and adjusted, to which he
smiled his gratitude.  She shed the rest of her clothing in
response, inviting him to escape for a moment in the realms of
physical pleasure.  He was glad to oblige, to get lost in the
fire which was the female embrace.

“Is this what you want?” she asked, running her hand
along her angular body.

More kissing was obviously going to be in order to shut her up
and silence the voice that could open the doors of his memories
again.  They were, aside from his slip tonight, only allowed
out on the most forlorn of occasions when they could be most
auspicious to his creative mood.  He went to work immediately,
lining himself up against her.  Taking control, he shuddered
at the sensation of her flesh against his.  He stifled her
screams of bliss with his brazen kisses before abandoning his own
ache into her.

He laid there for some time, letting himself relax in the
presence of another human being.  However, when the recluse in
him won out, he softened his breathing to make her think he was
falling asleep.  For some reason, he didn’t want to
share his space with her all night.  He usually liked making a
small event out of these dates before going on his way to the next
town and the next girl.  Such an existence had taught him, if
nothing else, how fundamentally alike all people really were.

“Bet you are tired from all of yare gee-tar playing out
thare tonight.”  Maybe he was tired, but her slang
seemed to be getting heavier by the minute.  Like her clothes,
her façade easily slipped off. 

“Yep.”  He breathed, out wishing her gone
quickly.  Maybe she had just been a poor choice. Although,
this small island had not been able to offer him anyone he wanted
to have a conversation with, spend some time talking to, or sharing
a meal with.  Something was more wrong about this encounter
than that, though.  He just wasn’t sure what yet. 
Actually, he had no intention of figuring it out.  Any other
time he would have been content to have her share his bed for the
night.  Waking up next to somebody and revisiting the glory of
the evening before was more his thing.  Eating a meal alone
with company was a total added bonus.

“I shall let you be then, so you can sleep.  I am
still wide awake myself.  I can scurry myself back to the bar,
to my girls, and see if any of them are left to shoot another drink
with.”  She had already begun dressing and sashaying
back into her false persona.  Obviously, she had just wanted a
quick romp along with the prize for bagging the musician.  He
stifled the smile initiated by his sense of being used. 
“I am so happy to have got to hear ya play tonight. 
What luck!  Will I see ya there again this week?”

“Sure,” he lied to end the conversation.  He
was moving on.  A string of ten gigs awaited him on the shores
of Miami next week.

If I knew love like I dreamed of…

Never brought me close to anyone…

 Left me standing here with nothing warm to
hold…

The lines flitted through his head again as he watched her push
on her shoes.  Her skirt was not quite set to rights on her
slim hips.  She gathered up her purse, re-applied lipstick,
and then turned to wink at him just before she closed the door
behind her.  Naked and wanting a shower to remove the rose
scented perfume that reminded him of cheap hotel room soap, he
shook his head and grabbed for his guitar.  It tingled with
his own energy, swirling like home fires in his gut. 
What
kind of man have I become?
he though.  He brought the song
to life to drown out the click of her heels walking down the stone
stairs and away from his life.  The complexity of
tonight’s mixed emotions left him unsettled, and in need of
the comfort only a song could bring him.  He sang the last
lines of his final song.

And, I’d like to start all over

And if we get that chance who knows

But till that time, I’ll just walk this line

Cause I’m the one who chose the road

“Maybe this isn’t the road I wish to be on
anymore,” he said out loud to his guitar, his one faithful
companion who had been there for him and provided him the support
he needed for as long as he could remember.  The instrument
was never far away.  Starting over  was the
problem.  He had no formal education.  He’d been
semi-apprenticed as a sorcerer only to the ends of denying what he
was, and the love he had dreamed of, he’d not seen since he
left his hometown twenty-odd years ago.  Even then, the final
months he was there, he had loved Stacey from a distance, standing
under the bleachers like a stalker to watch her at cheering
practice.

That had been the beginning of Stacey’s senior year at old
at Shreve High School.   Except for the call Adam had
finally answered to break up with her, giving little explanation,
he hadn’t spoken to her since the night before his sixteenth
birthday.  He’d acted like a cocky bastard so she would
just hate him.  His idea had been based on the hope that anger
would help her to sooth the pain. 

His father had hoped he would soon re-enter the world that lived
and moved beyond their property as a normal boy in denial of who he
really was.  Yet, the man had not been able to stick around
long enough to find out.  No blame did Adam place on his
father for abandoning him at so tough a time.  He was grateful
for all the time the man had given to raising him until he came of
age.  The guy had surely suffered.  He’d used his
final breath to tell his son he loved him for the first time.

Back in the here and now, Adam laid his guitar gently on the
bed, feeling as if he was leaving an appendage behind.  He
grabbed a few swigs of whiskey before finally showering. 
Ready to move on, he was glad that tonight was his last gig in this
town.  If not for his next set of gigs, he would have nowhere
to go. 

As he showered, he tried  to scrub away thoughts of
Stacey’s deep auburn hair.  The fall leaves on the
ground right now would match it, back on his empty farm.  The
land sat untended, and the house was surely in shambles after being
many years abandoned.  It seemed this road he had been on for
a few decades had finally turned back towards there.

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Excerpt from Scourge: A Grim Doyle Adventure

There were three things that were a little different about Grimwald Doyle.

To begin, Grimwald had two dads.

He was fine with that. Two dads were better than none.

Second, there were six children running around his house. Yes, six. But out of the five others, only one was Grimwald’s
real
sister.

Lastly, was the house. It was filled with oddities — clock-like gadgets, metal objects that spat out steam when least expected, and geared-up devices that crept across the floor all by themselves.

No, things in his house were not exactly… normal.

Grimwald, or Grim as he preferred to be called, had very few friends and no longer invited them over. It was complicated enough explaining that you had siblings that were unrelated to you. Never mind that you had two dads. But having to apologize for your Pop running around the house chasing after an artificial brass mouse that accidentally activated a suit of armor to spring to life and take a swing at the head of your best friend … well, that was something else entirely.

Nope. Not normal.

Not for any ten year old that he knew.

He approached that very suit of armor now as he descended the staircase. After the incident with his best friend, or rather, his
former
best friend, the cumbersome mace and sword were removed from the suit of armor, until Poppa could tweak it to recognize an intruder rather than just swinging at anything in its path. It stood facing the front door, and it even seemed to slump a little, as if it had been punished.

As he took the last step down, a loud thump caught his attention and Grim threw himself against the wall. The twins pounded down the staircase behind him.

Benny wielded a plastic sword. “Come back here, you fiendish lout!”

Barny said nothing in response, but the smile of mischief on his eight-year-old face was matched by that of his brother.

“Hi, Grim!” they both shouted as they whizzed towards the kitchen.

Grim peeled himself from the wall. “What’s wrong with you two!”

They both laughed and disappeared into the yard.

He hadn’t taken two more steps before something twittered at his feet. It was a brass mouse, the same one that had cost him his best friend. It stopped to look up at him as if trying to apologize for its previous misdemeanor. Grim kicked at it and it scurried into the front room.