Remember Me

by Rainwater, Priscilla Poole

  The small apartment was tiny compared to the three bedroom unit she had lived in when they first met, and it really bothered him that she had lived so simply all this time, while he had had the best of everything. He smiled a little when he spotted a table in one corner. The table was weighed down with books, and she even had several stacks underneath. He would bet good money that she had read each book more than one time. Actually, from what he remembered, she usually read a book several times before growing weary of it. But even then she could never bear to part with them, she treasured them the way some woman treasured fine jewelry. He remembered that a few months after they had first met, she had taken him to what she called her special sanctuary. It turned out to be a used bookstore in the Abington, Virginia Flea Market. She had walked into the junk market, that had been once a livestock yard, with all the excitement of one who was on their way to the Royal Court to meet the Queen of England. Her eyes had lit up when she stepped into the small, cramped interior. Books were piled everywhere. Both on sagging shelves, and in boxes that were lying in the narrow aisles, which made it difficult to navigate your way around the place.

  “Why Cassandra, what are you doing back again young lady, you were just here yesterday” a plump, elderly white woman from behind the counter had greeted her with a friendly smile.

  Smiling, Cassandra had grabbed his arm excitedly and said, “Hi, Beatrice. This is my friend, Granger. I brought him here because all he reads are stuffy old business reports. I wanted to show him all your wonderful treasures.”

  The woman had chuckled, her gray eyes twinkling with amusement and curiosity. “Well well, you must be something special, Mr. Granger. That young lady has been coming here for two years now, and YOU are the first person she’s ever brought along with her.”

  The shy look on Cassandra’s face had told him the elderly woman was telling the truth.

  That day Cassandra had introduced him to his now-favorite author, Carl Hiaasen. Not in person, but by her glowing summary of a book of his entitled ’Lucky You’. He had bought the book, and had enjoyed it so much he had bought every subsequent book released by the author. ‘Lucky You’ had been a comedy/romance, and was still the funniest book he had ever read in his life.

  Snapping out of his daydream, he looked at the large potted plants arranged on and around the small bay window. It seemed most of the things she had loved before hadn’t changed, and that gave him some degree of comfort. Hanging on one wall were several framed photos, and he walked over to examine them more closely. Most of the photos were of smiling children, surrounded her. In one, both she and the children were covered in paint, and it looked as if they had been working on a mural of some sort. Looking at the children, he thought of Regan. He had yet to figure out how he was going to tell him that his mother didn’t remember him. What do I say? How can I make him understand what’s going on, what happened to his mother? He wondered.

  “Granger?” Jocelyn’s voice called.

  Turning, he smiled softly. “Yes, hon?"

  “Cynne’ is taking me to the supermarket to get some things, I want to cook a nice meal for all of us. Why don’t you keep Cassandra company while we‘re gone?”

  His gaze went to his wife as she twisted the poor throw pillow. Will she give me a chance? Can I get her to trust me? He thought. “Alright, don’t you worry, we’ll be fine.” As they stood to leave, Cynne’ gave him a sly wink. Silently mouthing the words “Thank you.” to her, he watched as they both grabbed their purses and left.

  Glancing at his wife, it hurt him deeply that she looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. You’ve gotten this far, you can’t fuck it up now. Just be patient, give her time.. He reminded himself. His large shoulders slumping in resignation, he turned back to the framed photos to gather his thoughts, hoping he would figure out a way to reach her. “Those are my children in my craft class.” he heard her say, so softly he could barely hear her. Turning, he was unable to hide his surprise that she had even spoken to him.

  Taking that as a positive sign, he walked to the chair opposite of her and sat down. “You teach crafts at the children’s home? Do you enjoy teaching?” he asked softly, and for a change, was rewarded with an emotion in her eyes other than fear. Her brown eyes now glowed like tiger-eye stones.

  She perked up, a faint smile on her lovely face. “Oh, yes, I love it! Actually, I use art as a form of therapy for the children. Several are responding very well. As far as the abuse they’ve suffered, it’s often easier for them to express themselves through art, rather than words. Some of them are very talented.”

  As she talked, his smile broadened. She seemed reanimated, and was expressing herself just as much with hand gestures as she was with words. Just like she used to. She’s still the same woman… he thought.

  Standing suddenly, she went to a small bookcase he hadn’t had the time to look at earlier, reached down, and pulled out a thick, leather-bound scrapbook. “This is some of their work. The children’s, I mean. I’ve managed to get some art students from the college to work with them, from time to time. Even a local sculptor, too.”

  Approaching his seat, he was surprised when she actually sat down on the arm of the chair, opened the scrapbook, and offered it to him. Flipping through the pages for him, she explained each page, and gave a brief description of the child who did it. With growing fascination, he sat spellbound as she told him that not only did she work at the home during the weekdays, but she also volunteered at a local daycare center on weekends, one for low-income families. It was non-profit organization that was ran by a local church.

  She actually beamed when he informed her that she had previously ran a daycare at the community center in their own hometown, and that she held a degree in early childhood development.

  “That’s great, maybe I can use that to get Sister Catherine to allow me to take over the daycare full time.” she gushed, her beautiful smile making him want to melt.

  Frowning slightly, it suddenly occurred to him that she had no intention of leaving, and planned on staying right where she was. Shaking his head, he said in a soft, but firm voice, “Cass, you’ll have to give up your job here. I can’t ignore my businesses, and more importantly, we have a son to raise.”

  Her own smile vanishing suddenly, she shook her head and replied, “What are you talking about, this is my home. You can’t ask me to just leave the only place I know, and the only people that I know. People that I trust.”

  Feeling overwhelmed, she jumped up and reached for the scrapbook, intending to put it back in its place, and became alarmed when Granger stood himself and grabbed her arm firmly. “Don’t you touch me!” she cried.

  Without letting go of her arm, he bent down and placed the book on the coffee table, then turned to face her with a grim look on his face.

  He’ll never allow you to leave this time, he’ll lock you away from everything and everyone you love! Why did they leave me alone with him, and why did I trust him? Her mind screamed in a panic.

  The look of terror in her beautiful eyes cutting his heart like a knife, he released her and held both his hands out to hopefully calm her. “Cass, you have no reason to be afraid of me, sweetheart. I would rather die than hurt you! Please…please believe me. You have to come back home, I need you, WE need you.”

  In a voice was that was as distant as an echo in an empty crypt, she asked, “My son, our son, Regan, does he ever ask about me? Why I left? Does he think badly of me?”

  Not wanting to alienate her further by telling a lie, he answered truthfully. “Well, he was hurt. He’s heard some pretty unflattering things from his friends. Friends who were just curious, repeating gossip they had heard from their mothers.”

  Covering her face with her hands, she began to weep silently as she backed up to the couch, sat down heavily, and began rocking back and forth slowly.

  “Cassandra, I’m sorry, but under the circumstances…” his voice trailed off as he gestured helplessly with his
hands.

  “I never would have left him, I feel that in my heart.” she sobbed. Looking up at him with tears were flowing down her dark cheeks, she said, “I dreamed about him, and when my mother showed me the picture I knew he was my son, there was no doubt in my mind.”

  Sitting down beside her, he slowly and carefully reached over and brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Please don’t cry, there‘s really no need to. Here, let me show you something that will make you smile.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled his wallet out. Flipping it open, he pulled out a small photo and handed it to her. “Regan is a wonderful boy. He’s a great student, very intelligent, and very well mannered. He’s a lot like you, you know. He has an artistic side, he loves creating with his hands, and he loves to draw. You know, Regan makes me feel like I matter. It’s like, no matter what the rest of the world thinks of me, or how they see me, it doesn’t matter, because to him, I‘m Dad. That feeling alone makes living worthwhile.”

  Studying the tiny photo intently, she smiled faintly, sniffed, and blinked back a stray tear. “He looks like you, almost a carbon copy.”

  Pulling out another photo, he handed it to her. It was a picture of her, cradling their newborn son in her arms, as he stood behind them both, with his arms wrapped around them protectively. “We look so…happy.” she said with wonder, wishing desperately for the elusive memory of that day to return.

  “Yes, we were." he said quietly.

  Looking at the photo even more closely, she spoke more to herself than to him. “I look a little different”

  Reaching out slowly, he touched her chin, and tilted her head up until their eyes met. “Your hair was a little longer, and your nose a bit wider, but you’re still beautiful to me.” he whispered. Unable to help himself, he reached out and slowly began running one big hand down her short, silky hair. When she didn’t move, he brought his other hand up, gripped both her shoulders firmly, yet gently, and pulled her close. Bracing himself for rejection, his heart soared when she didn’t protest.

  Part of her wanted to bolt, but deep down, she found his touch exciting. What’s wrong with me, this is too much, too soon! Her mind screamed.

  This woman moves me like no other woman can, still…. he thought as he gazed into her eyes. Leaning down, he brushed his lips against hers, then traced the soft, fullness of her lips with his tongue. Feeling her body shiver, he thought, She may not remember me yet, but her subconscious and her body does.

  Her entire body heating from the touch of his lips, she was completely unaware of the moan of pleasure that was escaping deep from within her. Closing her eyes, she shivered with delight again as his mouth finally bore down full-force on hers, his tongue exploring, probing. Squirming, she was acutely aware of how wet her panties were becoming. It’s been so long, too long… she thought

  Slow down! Granger’s better judgment screamed in warning, but the throbbing erection that was pressing painfully against his zipper of his tailored pants screamed, GO GO GO, DON’T STOP!

  What control he was holding onto by his fingertips quickly slipped away when her hands buried themselves in his hair, and her nails scraped his scalp. Lowering his head, he began kissing and nibbling her neck, and the sounds of her desperate panting only served to fuel his primal need even more.

  Pressing her back against the couch, he grabbed her leg and pulled it over his lap. With one quick motion, his large hand found its way underneath the waistband of her pants, then slid inside her panties.

  “We should stop." she whimpered helplessly as she felt his large hand groping, searching, probing.

  Kissing her passionately on the lips to silence her, his probing fingers found her hot, throbbing center. Sliding one thick finger inside her, he slowly began working it in and out, in and out, then began moaning himself as he felt her orgasm.

  The shrill ring of his cell phone broke the passionate moment.

  With a dazed look on her face, Cassandra sat forward, grabbed his hand, and pulled it out of her pants. “How could you take advantage of me like that, my vulnerability?" she asked in a tremulous voice, then bolted from the couch, sobbing.

  Leaping to his own feet, he watched helplessly as she ran down the narrow hall, went inside a bedroom, then slammed the door shut. He flinched when he heard the click of a lock being thrown into place.

  Groaning and cursing his own impulsive behavior, he tried to adjust his throbbing manhood. Pulling the cell phone off his belt, he had to fight an urge to hurl it against the wall. Instead, he clicked ignore, and sent his mother’s call to his voice mail.

  Settling back on the couch miserably, he looked down the hallway at the locked bedroom door, and knew she wouldn’t be coming out until her mother and Cynne’ returned.

  Chapter 19

  Martina opened the door, greeting her unsuspecting prey. “Mr. Martin, come in, come in, please.” her eyes glowed with pleasure as she waved her hand in grand fashion.

  Uncomfortable with the look on the redheaded vixen‘s face, Buddy’s normally silent inner voice whispered, Just say to hell with the money and leave, something’s not right here! But in typical fashion, his greed overrode what little intuition he possessed. Running his hand over his mouth nervously, he stepped inside and mumbled, “Listen, my plane is leaving in just a few hours, so if you don’t mind, I’ll just get the cash and leave. You won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

  Closing the door and locking it, she smiled winningly and hooked her arm through his, leading him into the dining room. “Slow down, relax.” she cooed . “Brett will be here shortly, so don’t you worry, you’ll get yours in a few minutes.” Chuckling softly at her own play of words, she said, “Let’s have a drink. I have some brandy, and you simply must have dinner with us! Humor me, please?" she pouted. “Brett rarely has company here, he works so much. We also have some plans we need your help with.” she finished, then released his arm and made her way to a small, but expensive bar in the corner.

  Looking at the elegant table that had been set up like a feast for a king, his stomach rumbled. Hell, I could use a drink, and a good meal.. He thought. His nerves had been on edge for several days, what with the specter of Raidon Bishop and Granger Mortensen’s potential wrath bearing down on him, and he had eaten very little. He had lost five pounds, in fact.

  Pouring brandy into a fine crystal goblet, Martina approached him and handed it to him.

  Taking a huge gulp immediately, he closed his eyes in anticipation of the burn, but it never came. Smooth stuff. Well, I suppose they can very well afford the best of everything.. He thought, just as a sudden voice made him flinch and open his eyes.

  “I see our guest has arrived. Welcome to my humble abode, Mr. Martin!” Brett said as he stepped into the room. Nodding at Martina, his smile broadened with approval as he looked at the table.

  “Well, you boys sit down, and I’ll be right back.” Martina smiled.

  “Well, let’s have a seat, shall we, Mr. Martin?" he said as he gestured to an empty chair, then sat himself at the head of the table. Pulling a thick envelope out of his suit pocket, he slid it in Buddy’s direction, then smiled as the man’s beady eyes locked on it.

  “Dinner is served!” Martina chirped eagerly as she returned from the kitchen and placed a steaming plate in front of the private detective. On the plate sat a thick rib eye steak smothered with mushrooms and onions, and mashed potatoes smothered with gravy.

  Going back into the kitchen, she returned seconds later with a nearly identical plate for Brett, and a plate of chicken salad for herself, then sat down to join them.

  Mouth watering and stomach rumbling, Buddy hesitated for a moment and thought, Why am I so jumpy? They wouldn’t do anything to me, it would be too obvious. After all, Bishop knows Brett hired me.

  Cutting into his own steak, Brett forked a steaming morsel into his mouth, began chewing, then mumbled, “Dig in, Buddy, while it’s still hot!”

  Setting to with a will, Buddy began cutting his steak into
chunks and shoveling them into his eager mouth with the rapidity of machinegun fire.

  Watching the man dig in, Brett exchanged a quick, furtive glance with Martina. “Mr. Martin, my cousin and I need to get an untraceable weapon, along with some identification and passports for ourselves. Like you, we think it’s time we flew the coop, things are getting a tad messy here. We’re willing to pay ten thousand if you can produce them by tomorrow.” he said.

  A huge smile spread across Buddy’s face, it seemed his luck was finally taking a turn for the better. “That could be arranged, but I would need twelve thousand.” he replied, then thought, And if I play my cards right, I can have these two on the hook for a while. Shit, I’ll never have to work again! I could be in women and booze heaven. I think I could get used to the good life!

  “I hope you like the steak. You should try the potatoes, our grandmother gave us that recipe. I grow the herbs myself, gardening is a hobby of mine. It’s a valued family recipe, and we only serve it on special occasions.” Martina purred, then exchanged a glance once more with her cousin.