UNDER THE CLOAK

by Lennek, Nicole

  Chiara was staring at him. She had heard the sound of the shower and she had woken up. She had wondered what was happening. Then she had remembered what the doctor had said… she had no memory of the past few weeks, but yet her body recognized him as a soul in a blizzard recognizes the fire that could save it from freezing to death. She felt like a siren in front of a sailor, enchanting and enchanted. She took off her shirt with a fluid gesture. She walked in. On the threshold of the shower, she had watched the water that was sliding out of the box open. She took off her bra, tossing it behind herself. She touched his body. It was wet and soapy. She put her hands to his chest with her palm open. Alessandro held his breath. She felt the stiffening of his muscles. With her eyes closed, as if she wanted to find out who he was, she moved her hands over his chest in a gentle motion, brushing his hair. He closed his eyes in turn. She had no idea of the torture that she was inflicting to him. He felt his hands down to the navel. He felt her fingers playing with the tiny bubbles on his skin. Then she brushed his groin. He held his breath again and blocked her hands.

  “Am I not supposed to be able to wash myself? Or maybe you think you are not.”

  “Or maybe both, Ale. What about that? I want to understand the feeling between us. I want to feel alive. I want my memory back!”

  “I hope not too fast,” thought he quickly, and dismissed that concern from his mind. Now, he just felt her hands on him. He grabbed her and made her turn. She found herself pressed against his chest. He forced to himself to be careful. She was recovering from a bad experience. He touched her abs; they were skin to skin. Water slid over them. She had the buttocks pressed against his boner. Alessandro bit his own lip. That was too much. He brushed her skin and inhaled her scent, while her body relaxed against his.

  Chiara’s eyes were closed. She felt the overwhelming virility of him press against her buttocks; his chest was against her back. His lips licked her neck. His hands slid between her legs, soaping. She winced, while Alessandro’s went back slowly, moving his hands in circles. They arrived to her breast. Those slow movements associated with the jet of hot water made her tremble; he just intensified his touch, whispering:

  “Keep calm, Chiara!” His hot breath inside her ear shook her even more. She looked at him, smiling: a tender smile. Alessandro felt his heart leap into his throat. There was no suspect in her eyes. Amnesia helped it. Everything slipped away but them: their hearts beating as one, their eyes chained, their bodies touching. His hands soaped her. She grabbed his neck, pulling him closer; he was happy to go along with her wishes and touched her nose with his lips. He was just Alessandro, not the detective, not the one on which she was investigating, not the one who hid the truth. And she was just a woman; a beautiful and young woman that made his heart beat. He was losing his soul and his reason for her. She was fire and water, storm and sun; she poured on him, she made him blind. He stopped her as she was turning to him. He wasn’t to run hot. He wanted to prolong the joy of those slow caresses. He wanted to taste those moments and serve them for the end: it would have been over as soon as she had recovered memory. So he went on soaping her slowly. He realized that that his heart was beating very fast, too strong. He sighed as she twirled her face and she squinted her eyes, licking her lips, unconsciously, in a seductive gesture.

  Then she leaned against him in a mixture of charm and sweetness.

  He breathed deep and stroked her neck. He lathered her hair: she sighed and gasped when he spun her. She looked up, rinsing the soap, and stared at him, stroking his face. She was looking for his lips in an unaware request of sweetness. He contented her, enjoying those moments, when they were alone in the world. Nothing existed but them. He kissed her, gently, holding her and wrapping her in his arms, stroking her back gently. He kissed her breasts. He continued to caress her. She slipped from the chest to the navel and touched his manliness. He moaned; a groaned hoarse, guttural, that made her shiver. She looked up, watching his darkened eyes:

  “I want to give you everything you want…”

  She stared at him, moving her hands. He inhaled sharply. He leaned against the wall with his back, drawing her closer as she continued to stroke him.

  “Oh, God, Chiara, stop!” He grabbed her hand; just a second more and he had been coming. Alessandro couldn’t believe it: he had never reacted like that, even when he was a kid! He leaned his forehead to hers, then he rolled his eyes; they were dark with desire.

  “You’re hurt!”

  She felt his gaze:

  “Let me feel alive! If we are close as you told me, let me fly, Ale!”

  He shook his head, closing the water, and he held her close:

  “You don’t know what you’re asking for, Chiara!” His voice was husky with desire barely restrained.

  “I don’t know? Really?”

  She pushed her pelvis towards him. The tip of his manliness was pressing against her sex, touching it, tickling it. He shivered. He bit his lips and he ran his hands on her back, pulling her more against him. As he was entering in her, she gasped. He stopped:

  “Did I hurt you?”

  Chiara shook her head. Her wet hair slid on her face. She couldn’t think. He was so handsome, so seductive, charming… What had she found in him to risk getting in an affair with a colleague? Was it just sex? Or not?

  “No matter, Alessandro… go on!”

  She narrowed her eyes, her mind wandering. When he had entered her room at the hospital, she had thought he was an angel, handsome, sexy, a guy like the ones you find in the books: she had been told about a boyfriend; it had sounded so weird, but now, they were there, together, one inside the other… and she felt… home. There was no other way to describe it. She felt home… without knowing how or why. She repeated:

  “Go on, please!”

  As if he could have stopped. He could not even if he wanted to. She was fire in his veins; hot lava flowed like a river in flood. Her, her little moans; she moved her pelvis and brought him to the limit in a few minutes.

  He forced her to slow down and he looked for her lips, desperate; he was drowning inside her. Chiara replied with the same enthusiasm, biting her lips, pushing away his hand with her, covering her and pulling her against his body. Then, he swayed with his pelvis, inviting her to move. She looked up in the shower rain. He watched her lashes, her shining eyes. Time stopped. They were suspended in the air. Alessandro stroked her face and wiped a tear away from her eyes. He picked up a drop and drank it from his fingers. His lips rested on her, stifling a scream while together reached the climax. His arms wrapped her, drawing her close. His hands slipped on her buttocks. Keeping her pressed against his body, he felt her shivers. He closed his eyes. He shouldn’t, indeed he could use this time to reject her and move away from her. Instead, he closed his eyes, leaning his head to hers, forehead to forehead.

  “You’re cold!”

  She trembled in his arms. He grabbed a towel, but she slipped from his embrace and covered herself.

  “Thank you!”

  “For what?”

  “For making me feel alive… Having no memories is so strange. Why am I here? Because of a bomb? I don’t remember…

  She shook her head and looked down. Her arms stirred along the body. He breathed deep, and quickly took pants and a shirt. He reached her barefoot, wandering if he was supposed to open his arms and follow his heart or make the right choice and stay apart. He turned away, even taking a moment to decide, then he came back, realizing that she had moved. She had tucked pants from a suit and a shirt. She approached him, her hair still dripping water on her shoulders, looking for his touch:

  “Let go to the restaurant and have a dinner. In the meantime, if you want, I will tell you what I know about your mission. You came here to take a course of anti-terrorism, but you stayed to help us with threats we received.”

  “I’m not very hungry.”

  He watched her and sighed:

  “I am! Come with me, please…”

  She had used her
laptop… what if she had read her own reports?

  “The doctor said you shouldn’t obligate yourself to remember. Just have some rest, okay?”

  Chapter 34

  It was strange. Chiara felt her head thumping. She looked at Alessandro; her body recognized him, her heart recognized him, but her mind was empty; the more she stared at him, the more she felt less safe. She ate, munching, yet the silence was deafening her. She looked up: Alessandro was engrossed in some kind of thoughts. She stared at him: he was handsome and had a mysterious look. His traits were strong; his lips were half-closed … his lips; her gaze lingered on them while she was remembering when she had felt those lips on herself. He turned his gaze, meeting her eyes. He saw the blush spreading on her cheeks. He looked quiet:

  “What’s up, Chiara?”

  “Nothing. I just wish I had not this huge black hole in my mind!”

  She bit her lip. She had found herself repetitive. She jumped up from the table. She needed to go out, get some air. Alessandro shook his head.

  “I’d better go alone, I need air! Excuse me!”

  She walked toward the inner garden and immersed herself in the nature, looking for relief and peace. She wanted to ring her mother, but she wasn’t sure that was a good idea: her sickness could have been noticed. She felt alone e confused. She didn’t understand what was happening, how and why. She didn’t understand her heart, that made her feel at home in his arms despite her memories not contemplated that. His hands had made her fly high; his lips had made her vibrate like a violin string. His eyes had made her warm, but the hole in her mind was devouring her: she wanted to look at the computer, read dossiers, but maybe he was right. She could wait tomorrow.

  Carlo was perplexed. He was discussing the latest events with Torres. Something sounded odd. He was still thinking to Claudia. He saw her and the blind fear that she was victim of in her last moments. Her big eyes haunted him.

  How did Chiara discover the bomb?

  What did Alessandro know?

  And Amina?

  She didn’t call him asking if he was still safe. Why? Why did she look so scared and tight-lipped?

  He walked quickly toward his ex wife’s home. A scent of oriental spices saturated the air; he could smell couscous and hear rhythmic sounds, happy voices. Laughing children ran in and out, like a small company in a greater reality. Once, that was his home; now he felt like a stranger.

  Carlo reached the address of the mission Amina worked for and arouse on the threshold:

  “Hi!”

  Two pairs of eyes wide and frightened stared at him: two children, about ten, a shade of terror in their eyes. He sighed:

  “Amina?”

  They pointed out the next room. He nodded.

  “Hi, Carlo!”

  “Hi, Amina!”

  He stared at her: she looked beautiful: her skin was amber shaded, her hair was long, and she had thin arms adorned by two bracelets.

  “Amina, what do you know of the attacks?”

  She had a gasp, a slight jump; to him, violent like a stab:

  “Nothing.”

  He advanced, stroking her arm:

  “We always had a good relationship, Amina!”

  “I… heard some voices.” She stared at him.

  The first time that she heard about a “policeman” from Jamal, she had thought and feared that he was talking about Carlo: she had sensed the HQ number and she knew that Carlo was working on that case.

  She had seen and heard too many times about men and women lost. She had seen women and children used as couriers, women used as mats. She clenched her jaw. Her relationship with Carlo had not worked: they had different views, too many misunderstandings. She had thought that he had sold out: he or his colleague. Jamal had the hooks. He got tips-off, he knew too much. He had threatened her more than once, because she was taking the kids away from their hands; Jamal and his organization trained young terrorists, trained them to immolation, victims and perpetrators of the same fate of fire and evil. Jamal had recruited some Italian kids too; they were bored, lonely, desperate, easy preys.

  “Amina, tell me what you know! I beg you.”

  She shook her head: “I will, but… not here, please. Wait for me. Let me fix this. Then we’ll talk somewhere else.”

  He nodded, but as he was leaving, her voice froze him:

  “Aren’t you corrupt, are you?”

  He whirled toward her:

  “Amì, but are you crazy?”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. He ran a hand on his chin. He was puzzled. How could she think that?

  “I’m sorry, Carlo. I had to ask.”

  After few minutes she reached him and slid to his side. She thanked him with a smile when he reached out a bottle of water for her.

  “I can’t tell anything sure. Some of the kids I’m helping were a part of this extremist organization. They spoke about a great blast to gun the strangers down. There is no evidence but… I told it to Torres, you know?”

  Amina looked at him. She would have liked to tell him her doubts about the fact she had reported him and Alessandro as possible corrupt.

  Carlo watched her, thinking back to their time together:

  “Amina, you must help us!”

  “Carlo, someone in your squad is double crossing! The terrorists claim to have someone of you by their side!”

  Carlo winced his eyes wide:

  “Do you know who?”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t.”

  Her gaze had betraying something, because he stared at her.

  “Aren’t you really thinking of me, are you?”

  He ran a hand on his chin, watching her. He was standing up, suddenly:

  “Come on, Amì, you’re my ex wife! Come on!”

  “I’m sorry. I know. I was wrong!”

  A thousand thoughts troubled him, while he was staring at her, reflecting.

  Alessandro looked at Chiara: she was walking in the garden. The sun was going down. The evening shadows were beginning to fall and wrap things and people. Chiara went back to the hotel. He stood still. She chatted with the guy of surveillance and disappeared into the elevator.

  He waited a few minutes before reaching her. She was taking her laptop. He cleared his throat, gently. She gasped:

  “Go to bed, Chiara!”

  “Yeah. I was going.”

  She approached the bed and laid herself down, but suddenly she stood up.

  “I can’t. I need my memories.”

  Alessandro stared at her and lowered his gaze. He hoped that she remembered as late as possible: he needed time to put an end to the whole story.

  “They’ll be back soon.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Don’t worry about me. You must sleep!”

  Alessandro slid down on the couch. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander, free to dream a different past and a better future. Then he looked at Chiara: she was sleeping like a baby, with her hands under the pillow. He forced himself to stay there, still, until sleep overcame him.

  Chapter 35

  Two days of hell had passed for everyone. For Torres, who had cancelled all events; for Carlo, who didn’t know what to think; finally, for Alessandro, who had faced investigation for the bomb and met Jamal. He had deliberately kept himself away from the hotel; he had sent Carlo and other colleagues. Chiara didn’t call him; he was happy, but… damn. He was missing her. Probably she had looked at the computer. He hoped that she had not written too much; maybe, she was like him. He kept everything in mind.

  Those days were very hard for Chiara. She looked at the computer, despite her headaches. She had talked with her mother, lying and cleverly trying to keep her quiet. She missed Alessandro; his hands, his lips, his tongue. Oh god, she was going crazy. He was a colleague. She had promised herself that she couldn’t and shouldn’t go ahead.

  Chiara came to the headquarter. Alessandro gasped. The hot coffee he was drinking seared his hand. He swore, staring at her: he
r legs wrapped in a pair of tight jeans. Her shirt was pulling tight on her full breasts. He wanted to move and reach her, but Carlo went first.

  “Hi!” She was hesitant. She looked at him.

  He smiled: “Hi! How are you?”

  “Better if I could remember who you are... but, can I help some way? Inactivity kills me!” She felt alone, isolated. She wanted to understand. She accepted his help, his words and his explanations. She felt the gaze of Alessandro on her back.

  “What happened between Alessandro and me?” Carlo grew pale and stared at Alessandro. He shrugged his shoulders.

  “You’d better ask him!”

  Carlo didn’t know if he could trust him. Amina’s word haunted his thoughts. He didn’t know what to think or believe. He had a thousand ideas in mind, but he couldn’t reach a result.

  “Sorry, Carlo, can I talk to Chiara?”

  Carlo looked at him and nodded. Alessandro was puzzled. Carlo turned away.

  Alessandro didn’t understand. Was Carlo strange or was he becoming paranoid? He grabbed Chiara’s hand: a violent jolt ran through him when his fingers crossed hers. She gasped and he pushed her toward his office.

  Once they entered, he closed the door behind him:

  “Why did you come here?”

  She stared into his eyes, moving a lock with their hands:

  “Shouldn’t I?”

  She faced him with her chin raised. Her eyes flashed: she looked like a warrior goddess. She was in front of him. He wanted to be able to say something, something more, something true. Instead, he retreated.

  “Sorry, I have no right to…” She stared at him, creeping up:

  “To…?” She was straight, fair, staring at him. She was impudent. Her fists clenched at her sides. Alessandro trembled. He ran his hand on his hair. Then, he stared at her, furious:

  “What do you want?” He walked toward her. He was furious. She stood to face him.

  “Me? Nothing. I want just to remember! Just remember… that’s what I want! I want to know exactly why I’m here!”