Unforgettable - Chapter Four
Title: Unforgettable ~ Chapter 4
Authors: aussie and bugs
Genre: AU, Romance, Drama
Rating: MA
Word Count: 3000
Summary: It's a dark and stormy night for all concerned.
Chapter Four:
"And up the wave we go," gasped Laura between her giggles. She slid up Bill's body and nearly off his erection.
Chuckling, Bill grabbed her hips and thrust into her, chasing her slithering body as the ship rode the storm.
"Are we on the wave's crest yet?" panted Laura, muffled by the tangle of her curls.
"Almost," Bill managed to say as she escaped him, her breasts at his face level. He took advantage of the opportunity, suckling at one while kneading the other.
High above him in the dim room, Laura's giggles turned to moans of pleasure.
This is what she needed after the distressing evening. He had seen she was upset as he'd guided them across the unstable deck to their stateroom.
“You and Sesha; you were good friends?” Bill had asked carefully.
“We were at college together, and then we shared the same circle of friends afterwards,” she replied, swaying against him as the ship rolled into the surging waves. “Our fathers did business together on occasion.”
“I see.”
“You know what occurred to me tonight though. We never exactly shared confidences.”
“That sounds like a wise decision,” he said diplomatically.
“Bill, I’m sorry.” She laced her fingers with his. “I don’t remember her being so openly unpleasant. I think we should avoid them from now on,” she resolved, her tone hard. “This is our honeymoon. We’re here to enjoy ourselves, not make stilted small talk with a woman who’s become practically a stranger.”
“Maybe she changed after the accident?" he asked, trying to comfort his troubled wife. "After all, Emily thought you’d enjoy each other’s company too.”
“She was always one to turn a vulnerability into her advantage," Laura mused. "I realize that she was just more charming about it then."
She lay her head on Bill's sturdy shoulder, her voice becoming more intense: "Promise me that you won’t let me act that way if something was to happen to me.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised, squeezing her fingers tightly, feeling the pressure in the scar on his chest.
She only hummed in reply, a worried sound.
He decided to change the subject away from the Dorals. The ship rose with a swell and he drew her even closer, leading her to their door. “Don’t fight it,” he murmured close to her ear. “Just let your body go; move with the ship and you’ll soon find your rhythm.”
She smiled at him. “You’re usually very good at finding a rhythm I’m happy with.”
They entered their cabin just as a particularly large wave rolled beneath the ship. Laura stumbled. Bill caught her and pushed her against the cabin wall in one motion.
He pressed his weight against her to keep her upright.
“I think the safest place for you would be the bed.”
She wrapped her arms around his middle. “The bed? Really? But I may roll out.”
“Which is why I’ll have to join you." He had slipped her fur cloak from her shoulders, letting to drop to pool around her ankles. "I might even have to get on top of you, pin you down to the mattress,” he had murmured into her ear.
That's when their laughter had started, and it hadn't stopped.
Wiggling in Bill's grasp, his lips firmly secured to her nipple, Laura was caught between her giggles and gasps of exasperation. "Le' go," she grumbled, nipping his ear.
He let go, but had to add his own complaint. "That hurt--"
She slid back down on his erection and he groaned in approval. The ship topped the wave and shuddered for a moment, sending everything in the room rattling.
"Oh, that feels good," Laura whispered in approval.
Then the large vessel started to ride down the other side of the wave and Bill almost lost her again. Their renewed laughter didn't help at all.
"That's it," gasped Laura. "We're buying our own boat as soon as we get home."
"Then we'll just sail around, waiting for a storm?" teased Bill. His humor changed to consternation when he discovered she was getting away from him again. There was only one solution. With the vessel rolling side to side now, he flipped her, thrusting deeper with this maneuver.
She writhed beneath him even as she scolded. "Hey, no fair!"
"On the high seas, I'm in charge," he growled, feeling the end was near and determined to send her there first. "You follow my orders." He gave his hips that twist he knew would escalate her arousal.
Her eyes flashed in the dark. "I'll mutiny." She tried to push him back over.
Grabbing her wrists and pinning her hands above her head, he had to dig his knees in for leverage as the ship began to climb another wave. Daringly, he slipped his free hand to their joining, finding her swollen and slick. Neither was hanging on and could truly fall. As the bed shook and shimmied, their cries of completion were drowned out by the vessel's deep groans.
*
Peter Laird offered Emily one half of his sandwich after unwrapping the wax paper. "My wife makes the best stakeout food," he said with a grin.
Thinking of her dark flat with her nearly empty icebox, Emily took a big bite and sighed around the nutty homemade bread. She never had learned how to cook. She worked from the day she'd married Alex to pay for his debts, then after his death, to support her small family. When the girls were old enough, they'd taken over the cooking duties, much to Emily's shame.
“Do you need to call anyone? To tell them you may be late home?” the detective asked.
She swallowed the creamy liverwurst and thick mustard. “No.”
“Can I ask you a personal question, Mrs Kowalski?" He nibbled a corner of the sandwich and accepted her silence as permission. "When we first met, you asked me to call you ‘miss’.”
She blushed. That was when she was dressed up in one of Laura’s party frocks and an attractive gentleman had shown her attention. Reality had returned soon enough. “You told me you were a reporter,” she said, trying to sidestep his line of inquiry.
Peter chose to ignore her taunt about his undercover guise. “When you hired me for this job, you asked me to call you ‘Mrs Kowalski’. You're married after all?” he asked, still confused.
“I'm a widow," she said shortly. "It’s just me and the girls now.”
“Sorry to hear that," he said. "Girls?”
Self-conscious, she shrugged. "Young women, really. They attend Mills College. They could live at home with me, but I wanted them to have the complete experience, so they live on campus.”
“One posh school. Must cost a lot of dough to send them there.” He dug around in his pocket for a churchkey and opened a bottle of root beer. It frothed and they both laughed a bit stiffly.
He went to the small bathroom and returned with two glasses and carefully divided the soda pop.
Emily felt she had to explain. "That's one of the things, you see. Mrs Adams pays their tuition, board, books, everything really. I owe her so much."
His sympathetic eyes made her look down at the last bite of sandwich in her shaking hand. "We met at Mills.”
“You went to Mills? And now you’re her secretary?” he asked gently.
"Yes. As I said, I owe her," Emily said sharply, effectively shutting off his questions.
Sensing her intent, he went to the curtain and checked the dark building across the street. "When is Zarek going to show up?" he grumbled.
Feeling she's behaved rudely to this man who was helping her so much, Emily piped up: "Do you have children, Detective?"
His grin flashed in the dim room. "Sure do. Two strapping teenage boys and the sweetest little girl in the world.”
Emily sighed again, and forced herself to smile in return.
*
Doral staggered along the rolling deck, barely able to keep on his feet. He'd drank several brandies and smoked too many cigars. He considered emptying his stomach over the railing, but was afraid he'd topple over with its contents.
"Sir, do you need help back to your cabin?" A young crewman, his wet slicker streaming, appeared out the gloom.
"Leave me the hell alone," bawled Doral, pushing the crewman.
"Yes, sir!" The yellow slicker bobbed away, leaving Doral holding himself up on the railing along the bulkhead. Their cabin was here somewhere...Their cabin. No, her cabin, his closet.
His damn wife should be in bed by now. If there was ever an experience he wished to avoid, it was watching the nurse assisting Sesha with her night time routine.
He’d frantically whispered in Paulla’s ear on the way from the Grand Lounge, suggesting she administer Sesha just a little more medication than was needed so they could have a couple of hours' peace.
He intended to suggest they do it in the bed beside Sesha. He might even get lucky and his frigid wife could wake up during their act for a suitable payback for her shrewish behavior.
Fighting with the swinging door, he finally entered the interior corridor and managed to find his cabin, the number looming out of the dimness before his bleary eyes.
When Doral fumbled with the light switch inside the cabin door, nothing happened. "What the hell?" he whined.
"The power's out," said Paulla, appearing very close beside him in the dark.
"Son of a bitch!" He jumped. "Dammit, woman, you scared me!"
"Sorry."
Peevishly, he reminded her, "We have to be quiet; don't want to wake the beast."
"She's not going to wake up."
"Thank god. She's asleep already?" He reached for the nurse, slipping his grasping hands around her waist.
"She won't wake," Paulla said agreeably.
He pressed her curves against his body, grinding their hips together. But her slightly hysterical laugh made him uncomfortable.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"She won't wake up," repeated Paulla.
Clutching her strong young body to his, he stared over her shoulder at the closed bedroom door. "What do you mean?"
Taking his clammy hand, she led him to the door enticingly, a perverse enactment of his fantasy.
She opened the door, and in the darkness, he could only see a lump under the bed's blanket. But no face; the blanket covered the entire body.
Doral grabbed the nurse's arms and shook her until her cap went askew. "What have you done!?" he screamed.
"We can be together at last," she said, still maddeningly calm.
"Perhaps she's just asleep," he said, taking a step toward the bed.
"Please, go ahead and look. But I promise you, I know dead bodies," Paulla said, her voice filled with humor.
"Do you know what you've done?" he sobbed, tears welling in his eyes as his fury turned to panic. "The will...The will says if she's murdered, I get nothing, not a damn dime for all these years--"
"That is a problem," Paulla agreed.
He took a step toward the bed, then swayed away. "No, no, I can't look!" He covered his eyes with his shaking hands, pressing the palms into the sockets.
Paulla was thinking. "So we have to get rid of the body."
"What?!" he yelled. "Get rid of the body!?"
She slapped him so hard that he staggered. "Shut up, you little twit. There's a storm, but these walls aren't made of stone."
"Yes, yes," he babbled. "You're right. What--we have to get rid of the body--"
"Yes," she said, her dark eyes glowing in the dark.
"But then what?" he wailed. "I'm going to have to produce a wife at some point!"
"Oh dear, you're right," Paulla said, tapping her lips with the tip of her finger.
He raised his hand, anger returning in waves as high as those pounding the ship's bow. "You silly little bitch..." he hissed. "What have you done to me?"
"Put you in a bit of a pickle," she admitted. His quivering fist by her head didn't seem to scare her in the least. "But you need a woman, a woman in a wheelchair, who's known for wearing large hats in the sun," she said, smiling.
"Or perhaps she can suffer from mal de mer," she mused.
"Yes, yes," he said frantically, his thoughts spinning wildly.
"But first, we must get rid of that body," she said, clapping her hands together.
Cocking her head, she listened to the whistling wind outside. "And it's a perfect night for a body to be hurled overboard."
"Of course. Yes." Doral stepped back.
She raised her eyebrows. "Not me, sir. This will be your honor."
"Me?"
"You," she said.
*
Bill had finally found the perfect position to keep Laura secure in the bed despite the storm's strengthening, when he felt a cold, wet nose on his exposed bare foot.
"Buddy, it's pouring. You don't want to go out there," Bill rasped, trying not to wake Laura. She grumbled sleepily.
Jake whined.
"Okay, okay," Bill muttered. He gently disentangled from Laura and slipped from under the bedding.
"Where you goin'?" she protested, still mostly asleep.
"Jake needs to be walked." Bill moved carefully to the dresser bolted to the wall and undid the latch keeping the drawer from flying open. He sought the garments he'd seen Elosha tuck at the bottom, puzzlement written on her face.
Laura woke more. "You shouldn't go out in this weather," she insisted, half-rising. "You're still not fully recovered--"
"You weren't acting like that a minute ago," he said lightly, leaning over to give her a quick kiss.
"Bill--"
He slipped into the worn blue work pants and misshapen fisherman's sweater. He'd brought them along, just in case his assistance would be needed below decks. Sitting in one of the white velvet chairs, he quickly laced up his rubber-soled deck shoes. Instead, they would be his costume for late night dog walks on the Promenade deck. Rising, he realized his life was just never going to be the same again.
He gave the worried looking Laura one more kiss. "Trust me, this mutt's going to take one look at this rain and do his business in a red hot minute." He gently forced her to lay back on the pillows and tucked the bedding up under her chin. "I'll be back before you're even asleep again."
Reassured, Laura let her eyes drift shut as Bill pulled his trench coat from the closet and tugged one of his faithful watch caps down close to his ears. Snapping the leash on Jake's collar, he led the dog to the glass door which led onto their deck veranda.
Sure enough, Jake laid back his ears when they could see and smell the thundering rain on the deck. Giving the dog a gentle boot on the rear, Bill forced him from the comfortable room and into the heart of the storm.
They made their way along the rolling deck, Jake becoming more and more miserable.
"You wanted this," grumbled Bill. "And we need to be on the upper deck."
Suddenly, thunder rumbled so loudly that Bill felt it in his bones, and a fork of lightning lit up the sky. The dog yelped, ripped the leash from Bill's hand and dashed off into the dark and rain.
"Oh, son of a bitch," groaned Bill, trotting after the flash of white tail tip as it rounded a corner.
*
Staggering beneath his blanket swathed burden, Doral finally made it to the top deck. Paulla had led him as far as the stairs, and was waiting below on lookout.
"Drop her off the back of the boat," she ordered. "Hopefully her body will be cut up by the propeller.”
He'd nearly thrown up on Paulla right then, but forced himself to ascend the stairs. Stumbling across the rolling deck as he shifted the slack body, he swore he heard a moan and felt a movement, and wet his pants in his terror.
Was Sesha still alive? Perhaps he should take her to the sickbay? See if she could be revived?
No.
There was no turning back now. He must be free of her.
Teeth chattering, he hoisted the body up to the railing and dared to look over to the swirling black waters below. The vessel was running on a few emergency lights and no one could possibly see him in the darkness.
He pushed the body, and it fell, the blanket wafting away. He saw stiff white legs, a hank of dark hair, and then he had to turn away.
A strong male voice bellowed, "Hey!" from the deck below.
He had been seen! Terrified, Doral began to run, but like some old Keystone Cops comedy, his feet just kept slipping and sliding on the wet deck and he fell. Scrambling to his feet, he lost his balance again, rolling across the water-covered surface.
Sobbing like a child, he lay on the deck, waiting for big hands to grab him.
Nothing. He listened again. There was nothing but the yowling wind and pounding rain.
Then Paulla's innocent voice. "Aaron, darling, come here," from the top of the stairs.
On his hands and knees, he crawled to her. Grasping the railing for support, he managed to get to his feet. In a grotesque attempt at maintaining his appearance, he straightened his tie and slicked back his sopping hair.
She smiled approvingly at his effort. Tipping her head, she directed his attention down the stairs. "I'm sorry, but there's another body to get rid of."
Doral slowly approached the large form draped face down on the stairs.
"He saw you," she rasped in his ear, following closely.
Extending his leg, Doral pushed the head over to see the face.
"Oh damn!" he gasped.
"Yes, that's why we have to get rid of him," said Paulla, still calm as a summer pond.
Doral stared down at the man and felt another flood of urine run down his leg.
The end ~ Chapter Four
Authors: aussie and bugs
Genre: AU, Romance, Drama
Rating: MA
Word Count: 3000
Summary: It's a dark and stormy night for all concerned.
Chapter Four:
"And up the wave we go," gasped Laura between her giggles. She slid up Bill's body and nearly off his erection.
Chuckling, Bill grabbed her hips and thrust into her, chasing her slithering body as the ship rode the storm.
"Are we on the wave's crest yet?" panted Laura, muffled by the tangle of her curls.
"Almost," Bill managed to say as she escaped him, her breasts at his face level. He took advantage of the opportunity, suckling at one while kneading the other.
High above him in the dim room, Laura's giggles turned to moans of pleasure.
This is what she needed after the distressing evening. He had seen she was upset as he'd guided them across the unstable deck to their stateroom.
“You and Sesha; you were good friends?” Bill had asked carefully.
“We were at college together, and then we shared the same circle of friends afterwards,” she replied, swaying against him as the ship rolled into the surging waves. “Our fathers did business together on occasion.”
“I see.”
“You know what occurred to me tonight though. We never exactly shared confidences.”
“That sounds like a wise decision,” he said diplomatically.
“Bill, I’m sorry.” She laced her fingers with his. “I don’t remember her being so openly unpleasant. I think we should avoid them from now on,” she resolved, her tone hard. “This is our honeymoon. We’re here to enjoy ourselves, not make stilted small talk with a woman who’s become practically a stranger.”
“Maybe she changed after the accident?" he asked, trying to comfort his troubled wife. "After all, Emily thought you’d enjoy each other’s company too.”
“She was always one to turn a vulnerability into her advantage," Laura mused. "I realize that she was just more charming about it then."
She lay her head on Bill's sturdy shoulder, her voice becoming more intense: "Promise me that you won’t let me act that way if something was to happen to me.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised, squeezing her fingers tightly, feeling the pressure in the scar on his chest.
She only hummed in reply, a worried sound.
He decided to change the subject away from the Dorals. The ship rose with a swell and he drew her even closer, leading her to their door. “Don’t fight it,” he murmured close to her ear. “Just let your body go; move with the ship and you’ll soon find your rhythm.”
She smiled at him. “You’re usually very good at finding a rhythm I’m happy with.”
They entered their cabin just as a particularly large wave rolled beneath the ship. Laura stumbled. Bill caught her and pushed her against the cabin wall in one motion.
He pressed his weight against her to keep her upright.
“I think the safest place for you would be the bed.”
She wrapped her arms around his middle. “The bed? Really? But I may roll out.”
“Which is why I’ll have to join you." He had slipped her fur cloak from her shoulders, letting to drop to pool around her ankles. "I might even have to get on top of you, pin you down to the mattress,” he had murmured into her ear.
That's when their laughter had started, and it hadn't stopped.
Wiggling in Bill's grasp, his lips firmly secured to her nipple, Laura was caught between her giggles and gasps of exasperation. "Le' go," she grumbled, nipping his ear.
He let go, but had to add his own complaint. "That hurt--"
She slid back down on his erection and he groaned in approval. The ship topped the wave and shuddered for a moment, sending everything in the room rattling.
"Oh, that feels good," Laura whispered in approval.
Then the large vessel started to ride down the other side of the wave and Bill almost lost her again. Their renewed laughter didn't help at all.
"That's it," gasped Laura. "We're buying our own boat as soon as we get home."
"Then we'll just sail around, waiting for a storm?" teased Bill. His humor changed to consternation when he discovered she was getting away from him again. There was only one solution. With the vessel rolling side to side now, he flipped her, thrusting deeper with this maneuver.
She writhed beneath him even as she scolded. "Hey, no fair!"
"On the high seas, I'm in charge," he growled, feeling the end was near and determined to send her there first. "You follow my orders." He gave his hips that twist he knew would escalate her arousal.
Her eyes flashed in the dark. "I'll mutiny." She tried to push him back over.
Grabbing her wrists and pinning her hands above her head, he had to dig his knees in for leverage as the ship began to climb another wave. Daringly, he slipped his free hand to their joining, finding her swollen and slick. Neither was hanging on and could truly fall. As the bed shook and shimmied, their cries of completion were drowned out by the vessel's deep groans.
*
Peter Laird offered Emily one half of his sandwich after unwrapping the wax paper. "My wife makes the best stakeout food," he said with a grin.
Thinking of her dark flat with her nearly empty icebox, Emily took a big bite and sighed around the nutty homemade bread. She never had learned how to cook. She worked from the day she'd married Alex to pay for his debts, then after his death, to support her small family. When the girls were old enough, they'd taken over the cooking duties, much to Emily's shame.
“Do you need to call anyone? To tell them you may be late home?” the detective asked.
She swallowed the creamy liverwurst and thick mustard. “No.”
“Can I ask you a personal question, Mrs Kowalski?" He nibbled a corner of the sandwich and accepted her silence as permission. "When we first met, you asked me to call you ‘miss’.”
She blushed. That was when she was dressed up in one of Laura’s party frocks and an attractive gentleman had shown her attention. Reality had returned soon enough. “You told me you were a reporter,” she said, trying to sidestep his line of inquiry.
Peter chose to ignore her taunt about his undercover guise. “When you hired me for this job, you asked me to call you ‘Mrs Kowalski’. You're married after all?” he asked, still confused.
“I'm a widow," she said shortly. "It’s just me and the girls now.”
“Sorry to hear that," he said. "Girls?”
Self-conscious, she shrugged. "Young women, really. They attend Mills College. They could live at home with me, but I wanted them to have the complete experience, so they live on campus.”
“One posh school. Must cost a lot of dough to send them there.” He dug around in his pocket for a churchkey and opened a bottle of root beer. It frothed and they both laughed a bit stiffly.
He went to the small bathroom and returned with two glasses and carefully divided the soda pop.
Emily felt she had to explain. "That's one of the things, you see. Mrs Adams pays their tuition, board, books, everything really. I owe her so much."
His sympathetic eyes made her look down at the last bite of sandwich in her shaking hand. "We met at Mills.”
“You went to Mills? And now you’re her secretary?” he asked gently.
"Yes. As I said, I owe her," Emily said sharply, effectively shutting off his questions.
Sensing her intent, he went to the curtain and checked the dark building across the street. "When is Zarek going to show up?" he grumbled.
Feeling she's behaved rudely to this man who was helping her so much, Emily piped up: "Do you have children, Detective?"
His grin flashed in the dim room. "Sure do. Two strapping teenage boys and the sweetest little girl in the world.”
Emily sighed again, and forced herself to smile in return.
*
Doral staggered along the rolling deck, barely able to keep on his feet. He'd drank several brandies and smoked too many cigars. He considered emptying his stomach over the railing, but was afraid he'd topple over with its contents.
"Sir, do you need help back to your cabin?" A young crewman, his wet slicker streaming, appeared out the gloom.
"Leave me the hell alone," bawled Doral, pushing the crewman.
"Yes, sir!" The yellow slicker bobbed away, leaving Doral holding himself up on the railing along the bulkhead. Their cabin was here somewhere...Their cabin. No, her cabin, his closet.
His damn wife should be in bed by now. If there was ever an experience he wished to avoid, it was watching the nurse assisting Sesha with her night time routine.
He’d frantically whispered in Paulla’s ear on the way from the Grand Lounge, suggesting she administer Sesha just a little more medication than was needed so they could have a couple of hours' peace.
He intended to suggest they do it in the bed beside Sesha. He might even get lucky and his frigid wife could wake up during their act for a suitable payback for her shrewish behavior.
Fighting with the swinging door, he finally entered the interior corridor and managed to find his cabin, the number looming out of the dimness before his bleary eyes.
When Doral fumbled with the light switch inside the cabin door, nothing happened. "What the hell?" he whined.
"The power's out," said Paulla, appearing very close beside him in the dark.
"Son of a bitch!" He jumped. "Dammit, woman, you scared me!"
"Sorry."
Peevishly, he reminded her, "We have to be quiet; don't want to wake the beast."
"She's not going to wake up."
"Thank god. She's asleep already?" He reached for the nurse, slipping his grasping hands around her waist.
"She won't wake," Paulla said agreeably.
He pressed her curves against his body, grinding their hips together. But her slightly hysterical laugh made him uncomfortable.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"She won't wake up," repeated Paulla.
Clutching her strong young body to his, he stared over her shoulder at the closed bedroom door. "What do you mean?"
Taking his clammy hand, she led him to the door enticingly, a perverse enactment of his fantasy.
She opened the door, and in the darkness, he could only see a lump under the bed's blanket. But no face; the blanket covered the entire body.
Doral grabbed the nurse's arms and shook her until her cap went askew. "What have you done!?" he screamed.
"We can be together at last," she said, still maddeningly calm.
"Perhaps she's just asleep," he said, taking a step toward the bed.
"Please, go ahead and look. But I promise you, I know dead bodies," Paulla said, her voice filled with humor.
"Do you know what you've done?" he sobbed, tears welling in his eyes as his fury turned to panic. "The will...The will says if she's murdered, I get nothing, not a damn dime for all these years--"
"That is a problem," Paulla agreed.
He took a step toward the bed, then swayed away. "No, no, I can't look!" He covered his eyes with his shaking hands, pressing the palms into the sockets.
Paulla was thinking. "So we have to get rid of the body."
"What?!" he yelled. "Get rid of the body!?"
She slapped him so hard that he staggered. "Shut up, you little twit. There's a storm, but these walls aren't made of stone."
"Yes, yes," he babbled. "You're right. What--we have to get rid of the body--"
"Yes," she said, her dark eyes glowing in the dark.
"But then what?" he wailed. "I'm going to have to produce a wife at some point!"
"Oh dear, you're right," Paulla said, tapping her lips with the tip of her finger.
He raised his hand, anger returning in waves as high as those pounding the ship's bow. "You silly little bitch..." he hissed. "What have you done to me?"
"Put you in a bit of a pickle," she admitted. His quivering fist by her head didn't seem to scare her in the least. "But you need a woman, a woman in a wheelchair, who's known for wearing large hats in the sun," she said, smiling.
"Or perhaps she can suffer from mal de mer," she mused.
"Yes, yes," he said frantically, his thoughts spinning wildly.
"But first, we must get rid of that body," she said, clapping her hands together.
Cocking her head, she listened to the whistling wind outside. "And it's a perfect night for a body to be hurled overboard."
"Of course. Yes." Doral stepped back.
She raised her eyebrows. "Not me, sir. This will be your honor."
"Me?"
"You," she said.
*
Bill had finally found the perfect position to keep Laura secure in the bed despite the storm's strengthening, when he felt a cold, wet nose on his exposed bare foot.
"Buddy, it's pouring. You don't want to go out there," Bill rasped, trying not to wake Laura. She grumbled sleepily.
Jake whined.
"Okay, okay," Bill muttered. He gently disentangled from Laura and slipped from under the bedding.
"Where you goin'?" she protested, still mostly asleep.
"Jake needs to be walked." Bill moved carefully to the dresser bolted to the wall and undid the latch keeping the drawer from flying open. He sought the garments he'd seen Elosha tuck at the bottom, puzzlement written on her face.
Laura woke more. "You shouldn't go out in this weather," she insisted, half-rising. "You're still not fully recovered--"
"You weren't acting like that a minute ago," he said lightly, leaning over to give her a quick kiss.
"Bill--"
He slipped into the worn blue work pants and misshapen fisherman's sweater. He'd brought them along, just in case his assistance would be needed below decks. Sitting in one of the white velvet chairs, he quickly laced up his rubber-soled deck shoes. Instead, they would be his costume for late night dog walks on the Promenade deck. Rising, he realized his life was just never going to be the same again.
He gave the worried looking Laura one more kiss. "Trust me, this mutt's going to take one look at this rain and do his business in a red hot minute." He gently forced her to lay back on the pillows and tucked the bedding up under her chin. "I'll be back before you're even asleep again."
Reassured, Laura let her eyes drift shut as Bill pulled his trench coat from the closet and tugged one of his faithful watch caps down close to his ears. Snapping the leash on Jake's collar, he led the dog to the glass door which led onto their deck veranda.
Sure enough, Jake laid back his ears when they could see and smell the thundering rain on the deck. Giving the dog a gentle boot on the rear, Bill forced him from the comfortable room and into the heart of the storm.
They made their way along the rolling deck, Jake becoming more and more miserable.
"You wanted this," grumbled Bill. "And we need to be on the upper deck."
Suddenly, thunder rumbled so loudly that Bill felt it in his bones, and a fork of lightning lit up the sky. The dog yelped, ripped the leash from Bill's hand and dashed off into the dark and rain.
"Oh, son of a bitch," groaned Bill, trotting after the flash of white tail tip as it rounded a corner.
*
Staggering beneath his blanket swathed burden, Doral finally made it to the top deck. Paulla had led him as far as the stairs, and was waiting below on lookout.
"Drop her off the back of the boat," she ordered. "Hopefully her body will be cut up by the propeller.”
He'd nearly thrown up on Paulla right then, but forced himself to ascend the stairs. Stumbling across the rolling deck as he shifted the slack body, he swore he heard a moan and felt a movement, and wet his pants in his terror.
Was Sesha still alive? Perhaps he should take her to the sickbay? See if she could be revived?
No.
There was no turning back now. He must be free of her.
Teeth chattering, he hoisted the body up to the railing and dared to look over to the swirling black waters below. The vessel was running on a few emergency lights and no one could possibly see him in the darkness.
He pushed the body, and it fell, the blanket wafting away. He saw stiff white legs, a hank of dark hair, and then he had to turn away.
A strong male voice bellowed, "Hey!" from the deck below.
He had been seen! Terrified, Doral began to run, but like some old Keystone Cops comedy, his feet just kept slipping and sliding on the wet deck and he fell. Scrambling to his feet, he lost his balance again, rolling across the water-covered surface.
Sobbing like a child, he lay on the deck, waiting for big hands to grab him.
Nothing. He listened again. There was nothing but the yowling wind and pounding rain.
Then Paulla's innocent voice. "Aaron, darling, come here," from the top of the stairs.
On his hands and knees, he crawled to her. Grasping the railing for support, he managed to get to his feet. In a grotesque attempt at maintaining his appearance, he straightened his tie and slicked back his sopping hair.
She smiled approvingly at his effort. Tipping her head, she directed his attention down the stairs. "I'm sorry, but there's another body to get rid of."
Doral slowly approached the large form draped face down on the stairs.
"He saw you," she rasped in his ear, following closely.
Extending his leg, Doral pushed the head over to see the face.
"Oh damn!" he gasped.
"Yes, that's why we have to get rid of him," said Paulla, still calm as a summer pond.
Doral stared down at the man and felt another flood of urine run down his leg.
The end ~ Chapter Four