Lady of Way

by Rosemarie McCants

  "When did we last go for a walk?" She asked him, seemingly ignoring his question, "A stroll through the park, just to unwind and let our minds soar?"

  "As recently as last week," he replied promptly.

  “You sure? Seems like it’s been ages to me.” her hand had migrated from his shoulder and was now inside his shirt.

  “Thursday, remember? When you had a stuffy, runny nose?”

  "Need you remind me? Anyway, it's still early, and you’ve been going on about those images for three days now… yeah, I’ve been counting,” she added when he glanced up at her in mild surprise. He was surprised to realize that she had made an effort to count the number of days he had spent mulling over those particular images.

  “Well Pangonoter,” he turned in his chair and faced her fully, “What do you suggest to your tired warrior?” She cupped his chin in her hands and caressed his lips with her thumbs. She observed his face with a mild frown as his gray eyes searched deeply into her dark ones.

  “When did you last shave? Your chin feels like its sprouting thorns.”

  “Let’s see, when is today?” he asked as he rubbed her fingertips against his stubble, and smiled when she sighed in exasperation. He loved teasing her whenever she interrupted his work.

  “Come on, Mark, quit playing with me. See how you’ve neglected yourself due to that job- is it the one for the- what was it, that exhibition in New York?”

  “The No Home Like Home exhibition?"

  "Yeah, NOHOLIHO. And for how long will you be gone?"

  "Three days…"

  "Without me by your side, guiding you, supporting you…"

  "…and distracting me with your irresistible chatter?"

  “Damn you, Mark," she let go of him unceremoniously, "We’re going out.” She left him and walked into the kitchen.

  “I hope you’re making coffee!” he shouted in the general direction of the kitchen, “Not tea!”

  "Let's go out if you need coffee!” she shouted back.

  Moments later, she reappeared, mango slice in hand. She stood by the kitchen door, and Mark watched as she bit into the yellow slice, sucking the flowing sweetness noisily, one hand cupped under the other to arrest the dripping juices. She noticed him looking and paused, eyebrows arched in query,

  “I didn’t know watching someone eat a fruit was a hypnotizing method,” she half-chewed, half-spoke.

  "I think it sustains you.” He pointed at the fruit in her hand, then at her, “That’s beautiful.”

  "There’s a piece on the counter if you want... but," she pointed at him, "I know you're taking pictures in your mind. How long can you go without your cameras?" She sucked her dripping fingers as she spoke. Mark continued watching her, seemingly enthralled and entranced.

  "I can live without them and thrive," he took a step towards her, "But I can't resist rarity when I see it… or her," he whispered as he walked into the kitchen.

  He walked out a moment later, mango slice on a plate, which he offered to her.

  “What?” she frowned at him when he prompted her to take it, “You were the one salivating after mine. That’s why I told you there was a slice in the kitchen.”

  He didn't seem to have heard her, “That was beautiful, the way you ate it,” he continued holding out the plate, “Now this time I want you to let a few drops through your fingers- here, while the image is still etched in my mind.” Lisa took the plate and watched as he hurried to his desk, an amused look on her face. He grabbed his camera- nearly swept everything off the desk since the camera was still connected to the computer through a serial bus cable, cursed, yanked off the cable then turned, camera poised. He looked at the small screen, then lowered it, a begging look on his face. Biting back the urge to laugh, Lisa continued looking at him, the plate with slice still in her hand.

  “Lisa…”

  “Sometimes, you remind me of a boy in a man’s body. Seriously, what’s so great about eating a piece of fruit?”

  “I’m a photographer… remember?”

  “And you wanted to capture the soul of the fruit as it disappeared into the yaw beyond…” she crooned poetically.

  “At least hold it well, if you won’t eat it!” Mark aimed his camera again. Lisa continued watching him, her grin threatening to turn into a laugh.

  “Stop barking at me,” she held out the plate, “Here," she held it out to him, "Eat, I’ll take the photo.” She walked over and prompted him to take the plate. Mark took it as he looked at her,

  “Quit looking at me like that,” she took the camera from his unwilling hand. “Won’t you coach me on how to hold and press it?”

  “Just- take- the picture.” Mark walked to the designated spot grudgingly and held up the slice between his forefinger and thumb. He opened his mouth-

  “Wait!”

  “What?” He lowered his hand and glared at her.

  “Firstly, your pose is wrong. Secondly, connect with the slice first- let its essence waft as you prepare to bite…”

  “Lisa,” He cut her short, “Not every artistic photographer speaks like that…”

  “But it helps, doesn’t it?” she smiled smugly.

  “Just take the photo.”

  “Are you mad at me, Mark?”

  “What gave me away?”

  You're seething. You keep expecting me to drop the camera at any moment..” Standing with legs wide apart, she raised the camera to eye level then lowered it again. Mark sighed exasperatedly, “How long will this take?”

  “As long as it takes to make sure that it is a perfect shot…” she noticed that he was glaring at the slice in his hand and squeezing it hard, teeth bared. She smiled suddenly, “And I’ve got just the perfect idea!”

  “I don’t like that smile very much," Mark said warily as mango juice dripped down his fingers, “You’re thinking of something that I won’t like.”

  "Don't worry," she placed the camera on the desk- and could have sworn she heard his sighed relief- "Just keep that angry look on you." She headed for the bedroom and Mark was left alone standing by the kitchen door, squashed mango slice in hand, and slowly, his angry look was replaced by a very wicked one, and he let out an evil laugh as he turned around and entered the kitchen. A moment later, he heard what he had been waiting for. He welcomed the shower sounds with another evil laugh as he grabbed the plate on the counter. In it were several badly-sliced pieces of a very overripe mango. He tiptoed into the sitting room and continued towards the bedroom. A door creaked silently- then all was quiet. Suddenly, his evil laugh rang out as she screamed and begged him to please stop… and a moment was made, with mango slices.

  "I will get you, I promise," she seethed as they walked towards the car. "I will get you good and proper."

  "Too bad I didn't think of grabbing my camera," he grinned, "It would have been the capstone."

  "You could have at least timed before I had showered…" she yanked open her door and smirked with satisfaction when Mark flinched, "But no, you had to lather me with the sticky, stinking juice from an overripe mango!"

  Mark laughed at the memory, "It was a moment…" worthy of savoring."

  "Smile and laugh all you can Mark Thinn…"

  "Oh! Oh! That spells danger…"

  "…but I'm yet to have my own…" she leaned towards him as she buckled up, "…moment…" she held up her hand, fingers bent like claws, which she shook at him, "…yet."

  "That sent a chill down my spine," Mark shivered comically as he started the car, "I wonder if I'll live to tell the tale…" Smoothly and effortlessly, the car obeyed his various inputs with its own outputs and moved… beside him, Lisa hummed a mysterious tune…

  "Lisa Thinn..!" He could barely seethe her name. Behind him, Lisa was bent double, her laughter ringing all over the restaurant parking lot. He thrust a sticky hand into his pockets angrily, fished out his keys- which fell to the ground with a clatter. Lisa laughed uncontrollably, and more so when he attempted several things at once; reaching for the keys on
the ground, reaching for the car's door and trying to turn towards her, a retort ready on his lips. He failed in all and fell… and the woman behind him couldn't have roared harder. Or louder. And Mark couldn't have seethed more.

  *****

  "I can't believe I had to drive," Lisa complained as they headed back, "But it is more preferable than you doing it."

  "I fell," he replied in the back seat where he was sprawled, his clothes and face dusty, "And you refused to delete that clip."

  "Speaking of which…" she reached for the screen in front of her on the dashboard and tapped it a few times… "Eyes on the road," he remonstrated her just as the screen filled with motion. Despite himself, he couldn't help watching and smiling unwillingly as he lay in the backseat.

  The screen showed a couple sitting in a restaurant, seemingly arguing. Zooming in on them, it revealed a man and a woman and on the table between them, a plate with a few mango slices. The woman was holding a camera.

  "If you don't, then I will, right in the middle of the room!"

  "I didn't say I wouldn't do it," the man hissed loudly, "Just not here… look, I'll do it in the park, promise!"

  But the woman was adamant, "Here. And read this please too," she held out her phone to him. He took the phone and glanced at the screen. The look on his face could have placated an impatient volcano, but not the woman giving him instructions. With another glance at the phone, he picked a mango slice from the plate and stood up reluctantly. The camera zoomed in on his face. The woman pointed to a spot, and he walked over…

  Back in the car, Lisa laughed with glee. "There was nothing to dread Mark!" She glanced at him through the rearview mirror, which she kept adjusting with his every shift in the backseat.

  "You could have at least told me you had Linnie recording the whole thing!" He glared back at her.

  On the dashboard screen, the man, mango slice in hand, turned to the woman with a begging look on his face.

  In the car, Mark scoffed, "I wasn't that… that… the camera is making me look like I was about to burst into tears."

  "Make it perfect," the woman on the screen instructed, "Otherwise, you'll have to do it all over again." The man started walking to the designated spot, "If we do it again you'll have to cry as you do it!"

  She called after him. At that moment the camera showed the whole restaurant. It was not full but still…

  "They were all looking at me," Mark complained in the car, "Even the children!"

  "They loved you- shhh! Here's the best part!" Lisa tapped the screen, and the volume indicator increased by a few bars.

  "You're enjoying this…" Mark started, but she quieted him with a shrill shush. The man on the screen stopped at the chosen spot, stood with legs wide apart and cleared his throat. Holding out the slice in front of him, he drew it closer to his open mouth. Suddenly he paused and looked straight at the camera the woman had trained on him, just as she had instructed him. Then with bared teeth and blazing eyes, he squashed the piece and let the sticky juice flow down his arm, and with as much dramatic seriousness he could muster, he turned towards the camera once again, "Remember," he held his dripping hand in front of his face, "It sustains… you!" He turned a full circle while pointing, "It sustains… us! And that… is beautiful!" He retained the pose for close to five seconds. Just as the whole restaurant was breaking into loud applause, he fled. Everyone in the restaurant followed his hasty exit with their blinking phones, many probably believing it was still part of whatever that had been.

  "You just ruined my life," he groaned from behind her in the car, "Just as you promised."

  "Mark…" she glanced at him in the rearview mirror, "It sustains… you!" She pointed and roared with laughter.

  "Well," he sat up straight and stared back at her and pointed, "It sustains… us!"

  "And that… is beautiful!" They chorused.

  It was hard to tell what roared louder, the car as it cruised along the seemingly endless road or the two occupants' laughter inside, creating an immortal, memorable moment.

  THE END

  Cheers of Death

  Description

  FBI Agent Meredith Rhodes is thrown into the world of the NFL when a serial killer targets cheer leaders. Cool, competent and the ability to work under pressure has made Meredith the perfect Agent. What she didn't expect was to meet Ross 'Razor' Mitchell, wide receiver for the Williamstown Wolves who can't keep his eyes off the sassy Agent tagging along with his team. As the killer ups their game, Meredith and Razor must focus on the task at hand while resisting the urge to focus more on one another.

  *****

  A thundering headache was the first thing she became aware of. What had happened last night?

  Blurred memories of drinking and partying came in flashes, like a movie that was missing sequences. Her shoulders ached when she suddenly became aware that her arms were tied behind her back. The metal of the cuffs cut into her wrists and the rope burned her ankles.

  “Hello?” she called out, her voice echoing around her in the darkness. The floor was cold and hard, she was freezing. Her hands were almost numb.

  Closing her eyes tight, she tried to remember what had happened after the last bar. The team had headed back to their hotel and the rest of the cheerleading squad had opted to grab some coffee. She had gone to the ATM and then nothing. Oh God what was happening?

  “Somebody help me please!” she cried out as she struggled, trying to get out of the cuffs. Pain seared up her arms and a cramp tightened her calf muscle.

  “Ow… please let me go. Is anyone there?” she whimpered, tears stinging her eyes. A sob broke free and she tried to hold it back. All that came out was a strangled cry.

  Winter sunshine crept over the horizon, the ground and trees sparkling as sun hit the ice that had formed on top of them overnight.

  “It says here that they were going for coffee and she never showed. When they got back to the hotel they thought she was asleep.” Special Agent Meredith Rhodes flipped through the case file sitting on her lap.

  Her partner, Special Agent Michael Finn shot a quick glance at her before fixing his gaze on the road.

  “Giving whoever took her a good twelve hour head start.”

  “Considering that the last three victims have been killed within three days of being taken, we have about a day and a half to find her.” Meredith frowned.

  “Barbara Terrance is the fourth victim to have been taken by this guy. The second cheerleader to be taken from the Williamstown Wolves football team. The other two were from the Jackson Lions. That’s two cheerleaders from both teams.” Michael kept his gaze fixed on the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

  Closing the case file, Meredith pinched the bridge of her nose and ran each murder through her head. Each method of killing had been identical, strangulation. But the autopsy showed dehydration and starvation. Ligature marks were found on their wrists and ankles but no forensic evidence that indicated where they had been held.

  The huge silver wolf head statue sat on top of ‘The Den’, the pet name for the Wolves stadium.

  “Only ever saw it on TV but it sure is a sight to behold.” Michael said quietly.

  Meredith looked up as Michael approached the stadium, news vans and reporters were outside the gate, waiting eagerly to catch a glimpse of anything they could report.

  They were going to love the fact the FBI was now involved in this.

  Growing up, Meredith had never shown any interest in football. Despite her Father’s attempts to drag her to a game, she preferred hiking in the woods or reading to watching several men fight over a ball.

  As they made their way through the interior of the Den, she could practically feel the testosterone dripping from the walls. Pictures of players scoring touchdowns and trophies in cabinets lined the corridor as they were led to the coaching offices.

  “I can’t believe I’m walking through the Den.” Michael said a little too eagerly.

  “Easy now.” She
said almost through gritted teeth. They had an air of professionalism to maintain and him acting like a star-struck school boy was not going to put much confidence into the people who cared for this young woman.

  An older man stepped out of the door at the end of the corridor. He wore a blue team jacket with the wolves badge on the sleeve and breast, his graying hair swept back. He fixed his dark blue gaze on Meredith and then Michael.

  “You must be the FBI Agents.” He drawled.

  “I’m Special Agent Meredith Rhodes and this is Special Agent Michael Finn.” Meredith offered her hand. The older man shook her hand firmly and motioned for them to go into the office.

  “I’m David Cramner, head coach of the Wolves, this is assistant coach Trent Wilson and cheerleading coach Diana Marsh. Barbara’s parents are at a nearby hotel, they flew in last night when they heard the FBI were getting involved. I guess they want to stay close in case you find something.” David waved his arm for everyone to sit down.

  “Have you found anything?” Diana Marsh asked, she was perched on the edge of her chair, one long bare leg crossed over the other. She was in a dark blue business suit, her tanned legs leading down to some extremely high heels that Meredith couldn’t imagine anyone being able to walk on.

  “We’re not at liberty to discuss a lot of aspects of the case Miss Marsh—“

  “Mrs Marsh. My husband is Carlton Marsh, the owner of the Wolves.” Diana practically spat.

  “Mrs Marsh. As I was saying, there are aspects of the case that we need to keep out of the press should we come up with a suspect. Right now, we need to know as much about Barbara as we can and see if there are any other connections between her and the victims, despite their work for the football teams. The Lions had twenty cheerleaders on their squad and whoever did this chose those two for a reason. It’s the same with your squad—“

  “She-Wolves.” Diana piped in again.

  “I beg your pardon?” Meredith pinned Diana with her gaze, annoyed at yet another interruption.

  “Our cheerleaders are called the She-Wolves.” Diana said with an icy tone.