by D. M. Pratt
“It’s important you put her down right away. That lets her understand the feeling and learn to recreate it for herself. That way she doesn’t need me or you to calm her.”
“Uh huh,” Cora said, speaking from some out-of-body space.
“Keep breathing and I’ll put Delia in her crib and get you some water. Let your mind take you where it wants to. Enjoy,” Zamara said.
Cora heard her pick up Delia. Her footsteps moved away from her down the hallway. There was a moment of relaxed silence, a long slow breath and her eyes opened. Cora saw Zamara standing in front of her. Cora watched as Zamara knelt down in front of her, parted her legs and let her, hot, smooth and very gentle hands slide up her thighs. Cora wanted to gasp, to cry out, but only a long, slow hiss of a moan came out as her lips parted. One of Zamara’s hands slipped slowly under her dress and caressed her breast. The other hand slipped deeper between her legs and snapped the lavender silk ribbon of her La Perla thong like it was a piece of spider web. Cora couldn’t move. She sat motionless as Zamara unbuttoned Cora’s dress and pushed the bra down allowing her left breast to lift itself out with the turn of a single finger. A gentle pinch of her nipple and Zamara’s face leaned in. She brushed her lips against Cora’s erect nipple and at the same time slipped a very wet finger into her. Cora closed her eyes. Zamara’s warm tongue traced around the hard flesh and then her mouth attached and gently sucked on her nipple. Her free hand massaged Cora’s breast, slipping sensually over the flesh between every third or fourth squeeze with velvet perfection. Between her legs, Zamara’s finger seemed to swell as it slipped in and out and in and out, again and again in motion with the glider chair. The rhythm seemed to fall into slow easy, gentle motion, unhurried and oh, so good, giving her wave after wave of pleasure. Then Zamara’s full lips slowly kissed their way up Cora’s décolletage; tiny, hungry kisses and little licks with gentle bites that traced up her neck and into her ear where her gentle breath flowed out like honeyed smoke that slipped into Cora’s ear. The warm feeling curled into her body with the warmth of a hot summer rain on naked flesh. Cora felt Zamara’s fingers coaxing her pulsing pussy into opening and closing and sucking on the flesh that stroked inside her. The whispered breaths in her ear stopped as if Zamara knew to continue would bring Cora to orgasm. Zamara’s lips brushed across Cora’s face until they reached her mouth. The kiss sent waves of passion through her and Zamara’s fingers inside her swelled again. All of it at once filled Cora in a way that she had only experienced once before … Beau. That one night they had succumbed to each other wrapped in grief. The night the doctors were sure Eve was going to die and they wept in each other’s arms. Their grief led to kisses and kisses to desperate passion. They made love for hours, far into the morning and early afternoon.
That encounter came rushing back to her in vivid detail. Cora opened her eyes and looked up … it was Beau inside her. She wanted to scream, but what she was feeling was beyond pleasure. She was helpless. She couldn’t stop even if she wanted to and she in no way wanted to. She had hungered for him for so long. She’d worked so hard to push the feeling she had for him away because she loved Eve. But when Cora looked into his eyes and ran her fingers into those perfect curls she couldn’t stop. He kissed her, devouring her mouth, as hungry and desperate as she was. He stopped and his face dropped down between her legs. His tongue was hot and hard as it vibrated against her clitoris. He slipped one hand under her hips and his finger went inside while his tongue and lips licked and sucked. The other hand pinched her nipple, sending her into a frenzy of erotic passion.
“Beau … please … oh God please … we can’t,” she moaned.
“Beg me again,” she heard a voice say and the … the orgasm took her.
He lifted her from the chair and laid her on the floor. Both naked, he slipped inside of her and found the rhythm of her passion. He rode her easy, hard, faster, slower. Her body arched and he rode her harder. He sustained the height of her orgasms until her body vibrated with his. He was an amazing lover. She felt as if they blended into one fluid being. When she was spent, she relaxed. He hovered over her, his wet skin taught as it stretched over the perfectly sculpted muscles in his arms, chest, stomach and thighs. Still throbbing inside her, he slowly pressed down, flesh against flesh, on top of her. He kissed her lips and stroked her hair. His face went to her ear and he breathed one last time in her ear. She completely surrendered, collapsing into his arms. Her face found its way into the crook of his neck and there she planted the gentlest of kisses as she felt his arms coil around her. She was happier than she’d ever been in her life.
“I love you, Beau,” she whispered and drifted into sleep.
Zamara stood at the door to the playroom holding the glass of water. She crossed the room and sat it down on the floor next to a sleeping Cora, still in her dress and very much alone.
Chapter Seven
Detective Macklin Blanchard stood just inside the closed door of his precinct commander’s office. Lieutenant Mitchell Hanover; friend, hero, leader, tough guy and one mean ass son-of-a-bitch when he needed to be. A collection of qualities that could make him turn from friend to foe in a heartbeat. At the moment he was fuming, and, had the situation been a cartoon, Mac was sure he would have been able to see steam shooting from his ears.
“What are you doing?” Hanover shouted. “Beau Le Masters has a court ordered restraint for you to stay off his property and four hundred feet away from his wife. What part of that don’t you understand detective?”
“She’s not his wife,” Mac said.
“Seriously? Did you actually just say that to me?”
“Technically, she’s not,” Mac added.
“What the fuck is your problem?” Hanover asked.
“She was raped, impregnated with a child that bears little resemblance to the father and…” Mac started to explain.
“Stop! Enough!” Hanover told him. “You have been walking a very fine line. You do understand that every precinct in New Orleans is under the high-powered microscope of the U.S. Attorney General’s office?”
“Yes, of course, but—” Mac tried again.
“But what? You don’t care because your record’s clean? Shit, half the cops in this city are facing charges of excessive force, acts of omission, multiple criminal civil rights violations and a truck load of other major criminal acts including misconduct. They’re looking at everything from illegal stops, searches and arrests of individuals without reasonable suspicion and probable cause to police beatings and shootings.” Hanover said as he picked up a stack of affidavits. “According to these documents and in some cases videos, they have a fuck load of severe infractions of unreasonable use of force. Far too many to ignore. We’re in a state of siege and behind it a tsunami of major reform. So, if you think I have time to deal with your bullshit, voodoo ass, conspiracy theories, you’re crazier than I thought. Now do the Goddamn job the city pays you to do and stay away from Eve Dowling.”
Mac didn’t move. “She’s in danger and I want it on the record,” Mac said.
“Well, when you can tell me what she’s in danger from except being one rich and very powerful lady, I’ll spend a micro second being concerned. Until then …” Hanover stopped talking and reached into his desk, pulling out a card. “You’re going into therapy. Call her. Set an appointment. You are now on psychiatric leave of absence.”
“Under what …”
“Under my orders as your commander, so don’t argue with me Mac. Eight sessions. Now, call her and get out of my office,” Hanover said. “Mac, you’re a good detective. One of my best and I need you here, but I need all of you here.”
Mac took the card. He knew there was nothing more to say. He stepped out and closed the glass door, heading back to his desk. From the looks of the other detectives, Hanover’s voice had carried far enough to draw looks from his fellow detectives.
He sat, looking at the pile of cases stacked on his desk. He knew that’s where his head should be. That
’s where his efforts should be, but his eyes were drawn back to the New Orleans Post clipping announcing the wedding of Eve Dowling and Beauregard Le Masters.
Let it go, he said to himself.
“She’s not your concern and it’s costing you your job,” Officer Vantes said.
He was tall and thin and walked with a limp.
“Hey. That loud huh?” Mac asked.
“Yeah, that loud.”
“Vantes? How are your legs? I mean have the doctors figured out what started the degeneration?” Mac asked.
“X-rays showed multiple fractures all through my body. They said maybe stress. X-ray technician said it was the damnedest thing he ever saw. He thought I’d have had to been lifting a building for those to come naturally,” he responded. “I’m healing. Should be back pounding the pavement in a few months. Don’t that just sound like peaches and cream?”
“That’s good,” Mac said.
“Hey, Mac,” Vantes said, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “I want you to know I think somethin’s funky with both members of the Le Masters clan. I’d check the old man, if I was investigating. Which I’m not, mind ya.”
“No, you’re not and technically neither am I,” Mac replied. “I’m gonna go get my head shrunk for a few weeks.”
“Between my bones and these stupid headaches and weird ass dreams, I need to get in line behind you,” Vantes said.
“I didn’t know you were having dreams,” Mac said, giving him his full attention.
“Yeah, over a year and they’re getting worse, not better.”
“What kind of dreams?” Mac asked.
“I don’t know. A bunch of weird shit that doesn’t make sense. I feel like I’m reading a science fiction book and remembering stuff that never happened in the story. Don’t tell anyone or they’ll think I’m crippled and crazy.”
“Guess we’re in the same sci-fi book,” Mac said, pointing to himself. “Headaches and bad dreams for over a year and getting worse. Sometimes I feel like… it’s some kind of premonition… like something’s supposed to happen and I’m supposed to know. The Dowling woman mentioned weird dreams once when I first interviewed her and then shut up.”
Vantes’ body cramped, a rush of pain shot through him and registered on his face like someone took a bite out of him with electric teeth.
“You okay?” Mac asked.
Vantes looked around as if he were being watched.
“No, and neither are you,” Vantes said.
There was a wild, paranoid terror in Vantes’ eyes as they darted around the room looking for something that wasn’t there.
“Yeah, maybe we both need a shrink inside our heads,” Mac said.
“Maybe. Just watch what you say, Mac. They’re here,” he says and looks around again. “Myself, I think they’re everywhere.”
Vantes walked away. His limp was suddenly more pronounced than before, the throngs of some unseen pain digging into him deeper than ever.
“Who’s here?” Mac asked himself, as he picked up the card and turned it over to read the doctor’s name. Dr. Lisette Honoré.
Chapter Eight
Eve sat in the waiting room for Dr. Cheney Renfroe, New Orleans’ finest and most renowned pediatrician. The parents of her clientele, Beau and Cora insisted, were the who’s who of not just New Orleans, but of much of the surrounding state. Rumor had it, women drove from as far away as Baton Rouge to give birth and have her care for their little ones. She had brought Philip into the world and managed to induce labor in a comatose woman which, by all medical information Eve was able to Google, was highly difficult and unusual.
Eve held a sleeping Philip, gently rocking him rhythmically back and forth as she nestled in the plush cream couch. Interesting choice for a pediatrician’s waiting area, Eve thought to herself, with all those sticky little fingers, snot, puke, pee and well … she shuddered and decided to stop imagining the rest. Yet, the soft mushroom brown color of the plush sofas and chairs that ringed the office looked as though the furnishings had been delivered this morning.
Eve quietly observed the seven other children waiting with their mothers in the outer office. All of the women looked to be about Eve’s age, perhaps maybe a little younger. They were exceedingly attractive with good cheekbones and, curiously, all of them had long hair. Not as long as Eve’s perhaps, but even the shortest fell mid-back between the tanned shoulder blades of a sweet-faced young woman with chestnut curls and an olive complexion.
She smiled at Eve. Eve smiled back realizing she must have been staring.
“How old is she?” the tanned woman asked.
“He,” Eve said correcting her. “Eighteen months.”
The moment Eve heard the words come out there was a rush of disbelief. She looked down at Philip.
“Tall for his age,” the woman added.
The fact that so many months had passed sent a shiver up her spine. He was tall. Even for 18 months he looked more like a three year old than a two year old and that wouldn’t be official for four more months.
“Well, I’m tall and so is his father,” Eve said.
“Tilly’s tall too,” she said referring to her daughter. “She’s fifteen months.”
Tilly had the same thick curls as her mother. Sweet face but her skin looked pale in comparison. Not as much sun worshiping, Eve surmised. Still for a girl and fifteen months, Tilly was almost as tall as Delia, and Delia was just a little smaller than Philip.
“Somethin’ in the water. I’m quite sure of it,” another woman added in a thick Southern drawl.
That fact made several of the women laugh. It was an inside joke because Dr. Renfroe had insisted all the children drink only a special brand of PH water. Eve was fine with it because Philip hadn’t gotten even a sniffle since she brought him home from the hospital. No colds, flus, ear infections and Dr. Renfroe had not given any of the vaccinations she’d read about. That fact had been troublesome to Aria, but Philip was her ward, not her child, so she stated her case and backed down.
The conversation woke Philip and he wiggled out of her arms and onto the floor. Eve kept him trapped between her legs, but Tilly toddled her way over and the two children discovered each other.
“Kelly,” the tan woman said, introducing herself.
“Eve.”
“She’s usually not very friendly. I’m surprised she’s so curious.”
Eve let Philip slip to the floor. The green carpet was soft and clean and looked more like grass than carpet. The two children sat staring at each other when Tilly, who had been carrying a small duck plushy, offered it to Philip.
“Duck,” said Philip.
Eve just about fainted. He may have been tall, but until that moment he’d not said one word. Not mama or dada or water or anything.
“Oh my,” Eve said with a smile. “That’s his first word.”
“Duck,” Tilly said, as clearly as Philip.
“I’ll be dipped in honey and molasses,” Kelly said, blurting out the words with a laugh and a smile. “That’s hers!”
It was at that moment Eve noticed that all the children had squiggled out of their mothers’ arms and were moving toward Philip. She didn’t know if she should gather him up and take him away to protect him or leave him to see what he would do. It was then she realized all the babies were girls - except hers.
“My daughter hasn’t spoken yet either,” another woman said.
“My mother told me that was normal in some cases,” a third added.
“My father said just the opposite,” a fourth woman said, trying to keep up with her daughter who had crawled next to Philip and plopped down on her bottom.
She stared at Philip like an eager puppy, grinning an adorable grin.
“Duck,” Philip said, pointing at the duck.
“Duck,” the puppy-faced girl uttered.
Eve didn’t know what to do or say. She turned to the mother of the puppy faced girl.
“How old is she?” Eve asked.
Eve looked at her. “Appropriate? What do you mean … appropriate?”
“Appropriate may not be the right word: unusual. She … makes pictures with anything she can get into: spilt milk, her little blocks. When we gave her my iPad to play with,” the woman stopped and pulled out her iPad, calling up a page and turning it around.
The expression on everyone’s faces in the room was shock.
“Tsung is twenty months and she can play the piano. At first we thought she was fascinated by the keys and let her bang, but last week we heard lines of Mozart’s that matched from a record playing in her room,” a woman with Asian features and a river of straight black hair said.
The room was silent. Eve could tell by each woman’s expression that their daughters had displayed some ‘unusual’ behavior. Though she couldn’t explain Philip’s prodigal talents, she knew her son was unusually advanced for his age.
“Philip Le Masters?” the nurse called as she opened the door.
Eve looked at the other women in the room. They had shared a moment, something unanswered hung in the air, inexplicable, but very real.
Eve stood and gathered Philip into her arms. He felt heavier than before, as if, since she’d set him down and picked him up he had gained a few more pounds.
The other women said nothing as Eve and Philip slipped behind the door, down the long corridor and into the brightly colored examination room.
The examination room was more kid friendly with black and white and primary colors splattered across one wall for the less developed eyes of infants and bright colors and shapes for the fascination of the toddlers. None of the characters that looked back at her from the walls were fairy tale characters - no Aesop, Grimm, Hans Christian Anderson – the figures looked Egyptian or perhaps older and the symbols were some kind of ancient hieroglyphics.
“Please undress him and lay him there on the scale and we’ll weigh and measure him to see where he fits on the growth chart,” the nurse said with a warm smile.