Mitchelli motioned to the valet. He then moved towards MacJames breaking the silence, “Were you trying to tell me you’re ready to leave?”
“Yes!” MacJames gasped.
“May we go to the boat for a nightcap?” he inquired cautiously.
“Yes, please.”
“Ok then, well can we…Were you serious about the middle-aged fornication?” His voice rose as he finished the question.
She was to quick to respond. “No… Yes… get in the damn car, Peter.” The silver coupe pulled up; its paint looked wet under the city lights. Mitchelli tipped the valet and the engine growled as they drove away.
They parked at the dock, quickly running to the boat in a heavy downpour. The little river separating the island from the mainland was dotted with hundreds of dock lights that set the mood. Mitchelli went down below to turn the lights and air conditioner on.
He yelled from below, “Angela--scotch, wine, or vodka?”
“Scotch, of course.” She looked out at the marina as the rain pounded ever harder on the boat.
He came up from the salon with two crystal glasses filled with ice and scotch. MacJames was sitting on the settee next to the hatch. He dimmed the overhead lights and sat next to her.
“Please tell me your wife hired Stacy,” she said. MacJames was feeling intimidated by the young girl’s large breasts.
“You’re fishing, MacJames; don’t analyze me when you know the answer. I’m not playing your bureau games.” Mitchell sipped his scotch.
She moved closer to him, their torsos facing each other. She began unbuttoning his shirt. “I want to look at your shoulder. I’m not analyzing you. I’m sure your wife hired her, because if my husband hired her, I would have killed him on site once I saw both reasons for her employment.”
He gently took the sides of MacJames’s face in his hands and they kissed. “My son hired her, best summer of his life at the country club pool, lucky…” MacJames gently bit his lip.
“Don’t push it, Peter. Did your son ask her on the boat for the day?” She passionately began kissing his neck.
“No, Kaitlin did, that was the best day my son had on the boat…”
“Oh my God, does that hurt? Holy shit, I’ve never seen anything like that! Are you ok? I knew you shouldn’t have left the hospital.” MacJames was shocked; Mitchelli’s shoulder and upper chest were a deep black. In the dark, they almost appeared as though they were painted, his bandages stained with a small amount of blood. She gently touched the area, “My God, Peter. Is it painful?”
Mitchelli didn’t seem fazed. “You get used to it,” he said. “I’ve been feeling better every day, but after being out in this damn rain, now I’m starting to get stiff.” She began softly rubbing his shoulders, her hands moving slowly to his neck and his upper chest. Mitchelli tried to clear his mind and focus on being with her. He repeated her name over and over again in his mind. He looked into her eyes as frequently as he could, the lights reflecting off her vivid green eyes. MacJames deserved his full attention; he owed her that. He had slugged his scotch down quickly in an effort to help him forget, softening his Mitchelli Mind Kill, drowning his self-inflicted torture.
It had been years since he had touched a woman. MacJames’s soft skin brought back memories long forgotten. Lightning flashed and lit up the cockpit, revealing the couple intertwined, their shirts nearly off. He grabbed her hand, leading her into the cabin. At the bottom of the six steps was the salon; a couch and coffee table on the right, an island and kitchen on the left. The salon had a dark wood floor, red cherry cabinets, and a bone white leather coach. Facing them was the three-panel gloss lacquered door to the forward master stateroom. The dimmed courtesy lights set the mood in the cabin.
Mitchelli refilled their glasses with ice and Japanese single malt scotch. He opened the door to the stateroom; the raised bed matched the contours of the tapered bow. The ceilings and walls were buff white with deeply lacquered cherry wood trim and cabinets. The bed linens were a simple but luxurious blue, the comforter a dark striped blue, throw pillows a satin light blue. Mitchelli set their glasses on the counter, which ran parallel to the bed.
She removed his shirt as he stood at the foot of the bed. MacJames studied his shoulder wounds, his hip just as bad, bandaged across his waist. Caught up in the mood, she paid little attention to the old multiple scars along his ribs and abdomen. She ran her hands slowly across his chest, and up to his neck. Her Irish, Germanic husbands hadn’t had any hair on their chests. Her Italian love was quite the opposite. Mitchelli’s physique was rugged; a far cry from the typical manscaped metro-sexual MacJames was used to. She gracefully removed her shirt; her skin and figure were elegantly flawless. Mitchelli ran his hands along her waist and up her back. He stopped for a moment, just a second, and looked away. MacJames knew his mind was waning; she gently pressed her hands against his face, redirecting his focus on her and not at the floor, gently kissing him. Both were nude above the waist, kissing and holding each other in front of the elevated bed. He winced as he shifted his weight from leg to leg; he had to lie down. They moved on top of the bed and MacJames removed her clothes, lying along side of him, her torso over the top of his.
He looked into her eyes. “You’re beautiful Angela, absolutely perfect,” he said. “You can do better.” His mind continually refused to recognize his own attributes.
“I’m pretty damn fortunate with what I have.” Her mind drifted for a moment to her potential interview with Mitchelli’s football coach. She shut her eyes briefly, gathering her thoughts. They had no one but each other, neither would let go; they held on to each other for dear life. As rough as the journey was, for now they would hold each other and persevere.
She carefully positioned herself on top of Mitchelli, his injuries restricting his movements. She bumped her head against the low padded ceiling; they both smiled while holding each other. One of them uttered, “Middle-aged fornication, hazardous to your health.” They laughed. The bond between the couple had grown; their age and current circumstances had accelerated its strength. At last, a well deserved night of intimacy.
CHAPTER 19
The morning sun cast its golden light across the fields of Clarence as Mitchelli drove to work. His pickup truck rumbled down the rural roads, the whistle of the diesel engine’s turbocharger was like music to the contractor’s ears.
As he turned on to Main Street a white Mercedes sedan passed him speeding ahead. The driver, a beautiful brunette, ignored him as she drove away. Mitchelli recognized the car and the beautiful brunette. He drove faster to catch up to the stylish sedan. He glanced at his speedometer; he was traveling seventy-five miles per hour down Main Street, which was posted at forty-five. The Mercedes made a sudden left, jerking into the center lane and then turning down Shimmerville, a residential side street that led to Wehrle Drive. The big Ford Super Duty slid sideways through the intersection, nearly missing an oncoming car. The Mercedes easily increased its distance from the pickup truck. It was nearly a half-mile ahead of him now. He held the accelerator to the floor, yet failed to gain on the brunette. The Mercedes turned right onto Wehrle Drive. The truck’s diesel engine screamed, the turbocharger smashing air into the engine. He increased his speed to over a hundred miles an hour. Mitchelli was determined to catch the sedan. He drove through the fourth busiest intersection in Erie County. As the truck hit the center crest, it leaped into the air; all four wheels came off the ground. When the truck landed, its stiff suspension bounced the truck again into the air. The tailgate slammed open, falling off the truck. A quarter mile down Wehrle Drive, the white Mercedes made a soft left turn into Mitchelli Construction. Relieved, Mitchelli slowed as he turned the big truck into the long driveway and screeched to a stop.
He yelled to the middle-aged Hispanic brunette as she walked up the sidewalk towards the office entrance. She ignored him and he yelled again in desperation as he ran towards, her begging her to stop. He sprinted to the front door with surprising ease. As
he walked into the office, he saw the brunette heading towards the rear office area, the door shutting behind her. Mitchelli slammed into the door, knocking it off its hinges; she was headed to the second floor of the steel building, the upper warehouse. He could see her head up the open stairway. Again, Mitchelli commanded her to stop as he ran up the stairs. The door at the top of the stair closed as Mitchelli reached it. Throwing it open, he suddenly stopped in amazement as he watched the brunette talking to a little girl.
She bent over in her designer jeans whispering in the little girl’s ear, looking at Mitchelli as she spoke. Her beautiful eyes, flowing brown hair, and large red lips were stunning. Her arms were around the girl, her fingernails perfectly painted a classic red. The little girl and the brunette laughed as they looked at Mitchelli, then they turned away from him. The brunette kissed and hugged the girl. The little girl asked her mom for another kiss. Then the woman turned and walked toward the back of the warehouse. Mitchelli started after her again.
The little girl stopped him by holding up her hands. “Wait, Mommy wanted me to do something for you, please wait, pretty please.”
The little girl had an orange extension cord in her hand. Mitchelli looked away from the girl to the back of the warehouse, his eyes frantically scanning for the beautiful brunette. He turned to his right and saw the little girl on a ladder. She threw the extension cord over a beam, which was ten feet above the floor. Mitchelli turned away, still searching for the brunette.
He felt the little girl tug at his hand. She walked him over to the hanging extension cord. “Mommy wanted you to have this, I made it for you myself. She said you should put it to good use. Daddy, Mommy says if you do, it will free us of our misery. Here you go, Daddy.”
His daughter handed him the end of the extension cord, it was perfectly tied into a hangman’s noose. Confused, Mitchelli looked away from the little girl, to the back of the warehouse. He panicked; he desperately had to speak with the brunette. The little girl climbed up the ladder and placed the noose around Mitchelli’s neck. She hit his shoulder and he screamed in pain falling forward, the noose tightening, squeezing around his neck, choking him. The plastic cord burned his flesh as it tightened around his neck. He desperately clawed at the cord with his fingers, as the cord cut into his throat. The brunette stood in front of him, dressed in a short black linen dress, the low cut top revealing her cleavage. The little girl was in a matching dress; simultaneously they kissed their hands, blowing Mitchelli a kiss.
***
Comfortably under the sheets, MacJames laid by Mitchelli. Out of necessity, his arms were extended so his hands could touch MacJames while he slept. MacJames could not sleep, she held his hand draped over her bare shoulder while she admired the boat’s detailed woodwork. The highly lacquered wood surrounded the bed. The boat rocked gently; the wind was still blowing and the rain continued to pelt the deck above. Although the lights were off, the room was far from dark. The thermostat gave off a bluish glow on the starboard bulkhead, casting its light on her while the green light from the CO detector cast a green hue on the port side of the bed where Mitchelli was sleeping. The warmth of him lying beside her comforted her. She quietly laughed, remembering when she hit her head on the low ceiling, and she kissed his hand.
Suddenly, Mitchelli’s body jerked, surprising her. “Peter, are you alright?” She turned towards him, the sheets falling away from her chest. Vanity had long left MacJames after her third marriage; her breast exposed, she looked attentively at Mitchelli. She studied his face as he slept. His eyes were winced tightly. He quietly mumbled; he was talking in his sleep, the words unrecognizable. MacJames remembered as a child she had watched her father sleeping on the couch Sunday afternoons when they had returned from boating. Mitchelli acted like her father, he was having a night terror. Her father had suffered from night terrors, never getting over the trauma of his combat experience in Vietnam. As she watched Mitchelli’s face she remembered her mother telling her not to worry; the doctors said that most of the Veterans suffer from posttraumatic stress syndrome.
As MacJames watched helplessly, Mitchelli’s body stiffened, his arms bent at the elbow, and his fists clenched tight. His face turned from side to side and he began to overheat. She could feel the immense heat radiating off his body, and sweat began to pool on his chest. She didn’t know whether to wake him or let the dream run its course. His arms straightened on either side of his body, his mouth opened, and he suddenly sat up, his head just clearing the ceiling. He screamed, “Nnnnno! Nnnnno!” His hands went to his neck, searching for something to grab, his right hand found his bandages and he ripped them from his shoulder.
MacJames yelled, pleading, “Peter, wake up! It’s alright, it’s a dream! Wake up Peter, please wake up!” She grabbed his face, pulling it towards her. “Peter, look at me, look at me, Peter. It’s Angela, it was a dream; you’re awake now.” The heat from Mitchelli’s body was immense.
He leapt out of bed, wearing only his spandex boxers. His shoulders and hip were bleeding. He had pulled his sutures, slightly reopening his wounds. He rushed over to the kitchen sink and splashed water in his face. He desperately needed to wake up. His body was burning with pain. MacJames jumped out of bed after him. She stood at his side, unaware of her lack of clothing.
She said softly, “Peter, it was only a dream. You’re ok, everything is ok. You’re bleeding; I need to dress your wounds. PETER!”
Mitchelli looked into her eyes, but he couldn’t see straight. He quickly clicked on the galley light. His contacts were removed and he still had trouble seeing her. He grabbed her firmly, just below her shoulders, pulling her towards his face. He had to see her eyes. His face inches from MacJames, his shoulders settled as he began to relax; he recognized her. He leaned back on the counter. MacJames stood between his legs, wrapping her arms around him in a protective embrace.
She consoled him. “It’s ok, you’re alright. Honey, you’re with me, it’s going to be alright. You’re awake now. Hun, you’re burning up, why don’t you take a cool shower? It will relax you.” Mitchelli wrapped his arms around MacJames, holding her in a giant bear hug; his hands went down her bare back and rested just below her hips. “Maybe I should put something on, I’ve been living by myself for too long, force of habit.” Mitchelli did not speak; he went into the shower adjacent to the forward head. MacJames slipped on her negligee and made two cups of organic tea, hoping it would help relax Mitchelli.
He emerged from the shower wearing heavy black-framed glasses, not his designer rectangular frames. The black frames were similar to glasses Cary Grant wore during his senior years. The black, inexpensive shop glasses completely changed Mitchelli’s appearance. He was in a fresh pair of shorts, and a black t-shirt. He sat on the couch next to MacJames. It was quite apparent in her see- through negligee that she was cold. He quickly took a soft red blanket from the cabinet above the couch and wrapped it around her. They sat next to each other for almost an hour, slowing sipping their tea. MacJames leaned against him and eventually he put his arm around her.
MacJames had to break the silence. “Peter, it was a bad dream. Maybe you should write it down so you’ll remember it in case you want to talk about it with Dr. Rubin.” No answer came from Mitchelli. “Peter, did you hear me?”
Mitchelli hesitated before he replied. “I saw that movie; after what you just saw, do you think I’m going to forget that damn dream anytime in the near future? I’ve had hundreds worse. Let me tell you, I’m not forgetting them. I’m not walking around with a nightmare diary. I wish I could forget them. I’m sure as hell not going to write them down in an attempt to commit them to memory. I’m not talking to Rubin.” Mitchelli took a sip of tea. “I can’t stand those questions he asks, ‘So how did that make you feel? Why did you put your hand through the wall?’ I feel like a child getting asked those questions, like an experiment being studied, the psycho being psychoanalyzed.”
“I’m sorry.” MacJames put her head down and stared into
her mug. She was still learning how to play Mitchelli.
He looked at her, regretting his comments, “No, Angela, I’m wrong, I’m an ingrate. You didn’t deserve a smartass comment. I know you care. I have a problem, and I don’t think seeing Rubin is going to help me get over it. I can’t stand taking those tranquilizers he gives me. My grandmother called them DOPE. Ann never liked me taking pills; I stopped taking them before she died. Italians have anxiety issues, I got a triple dose.”
“So if you don’t see Dr. Rubin, what do you plan on doing to get better?” MacJames had gotten Mitchelli to apologize. Next he needed to get help. “How are you going to control your triple dose of anxiety?”
“You don’t want to know. Let it go.” His tone had changed; his voice was deeper. Mitchelli did not sound or act panicked or afraid. MacJames knew she may have over-manipulated her love.
“Peter, you’ve admitted you have a problem and it isn’t going to go away…” She looked into his eyes and saw it, the empty cold stare that looked right through her, not at her. She was smart enough to realize his eyes were a warning of what was to come. A warning that should be heeded, for O’Shid could attest, the explosion was devastating and deadly. She remembered Mitchelli recalling his mental state at the grain elevator, “I could have killed them all.”
Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder Page 29