The Quest of Perkins Vale

by L. B. Dunbar

  “Play what?”

  Lansing smirked at the other boys for a moment before glancing back at me.

  “An instrument. The drums?”

  “I don’t play.”

  Lansing continued to look at me in wonder.

  “Well, you should. We could use a drummer.”

  “Who could use a drummer?”

  “The band.”

  It was my turn to be thoughtful.

  “I’d like to play.”

  “You might have to prove your worth with Arturo first. But I’ll definitely put in a word for you.”

  I nodded as if I understood what this meant. I wouldn’t know the greatness of this offer until weeks later when I finally met Arturo King.

  The rest of the day after…

  [Perkins]

  The rest of the day in Arturo’s apartment passed in slow seconds of waiting. With each passing hour, there were fewer and fewer answers and the possibilities seemed exhausting. Mure Linn hadn’t returned a single call to the hundreds of messages left throughout the day. Ingrid phoned Ana, and through her tears explained what she knew, sticking to the same story she shared with the group. She professed her faith in Mure Linn to find Arturo and take care of him. She believed he would make the right decisions for Arturo, regardless of what those reasons were.

  I sensed these were hints to what Ingrid knew. She had spoken to Mure. Arturo’s mentor did know of Arturo’s whereabouts. Whether true or not, I decided I wanted to hold onto this belief, because it was better than thinking the worst. Arturo King was dead.

  Exhaustion took over the group as a whole. The emotions draining slowly out of everyone, and Guinevere was the first to retire. She demanded to return to their shared bedroom, knowing it would only be a painful experience. Ingrid went home. Tristan found a bottle and between him and Lansing the night took a turn that didn’t interest me. I wasn’t much of a drinker, and that wasn’t the way I wished to pass the night. I’d lost two important people in one day and wanted to wallow in my personal misery alone. If Arturo were here, he would understand. But he wasn’t. Here.

  Taking my time to cruise the avenues aglow with orange streetlights, I let the lull of the engine diminish my thoughts of anything. A rhythm in my head matched the scream of the bike under me, and I drove the Ducati through the abandoned streets toward my home. Passing an occasional person slumped in the doorways between boarded buildings; I was immune to the sight. It wasn’t uncommon, despite the sadness of it. The last thing I expected then was to find a body wedged up against the industrial-garage door of my home. If it weren’t for the headlight of my bike as I turned to face the door, I would have passed right by the huddle tucked into such a small ball, dark hair draped over the pulled up knees and tightly wrapped arms.

  I couldn’t stop the bike without turning it off. I decided to risk the challenge and pull into my garage, before hopping off the bike to address the person making my doorstep a home for the night. I pulled off my helmet, as I spun off the Ducati, to find the last person I expected to be standing in front of my garage.

  “Hollister?” my voice sounded my defeat. I couldn’t do this now.

  She approached me slowly, and I pressed the switch to close the garage door. She stood before me within seconds.

  “How are you?” she asked softly. There was no bite in her tone, something I had grown used to in the short time I’d spent with her last night.

  Was it only a night ago? The past twenty-four hours had been a lifetime long.

  I didn’t respond to her, only ran my hand over my shaved head in that nervous habit I had.

  “How is Arturo?” her soft voice was breaking me. I could only shake my head at her in continued defeat.

  Fingers trembling, a shaky hand reached out for me, but I flinched out of her reach. She quickly retracted her arm to her side, hanging her head.

  “How did you get here?” I finally spoke.

  “Do you really want to know?” Steel gray eyes filled with concern.

  “No. I want to know why you ran in the first place.”

  “I’m sorry,” she gently squeaked.

  A nod signaled I forgave her.

  “Come inside?” Tonight I would ask her, not force her. There would be no other reason to have traveled this far unless she wanted to come in.

  “I should get back. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” She spoke motioning over her shoulder with her thumb, pointing toward the door behind her.

  My face gave away my surprise.

  “You came all this way for that? You could have called me,” my voice hinted at my anger.

  “I didn’t know your phone number.”

  I opened my hand to signal for her to give me her phone. Taking it from her hastily, I entered my contact information and handed it back.

  “Next time, you can save yourself the travel.”

  We stood in silence neither making a move.

  “Listen, it’s been a hell of a day. I’m beat, but I can take you back to the shelter.”

  Shaking her head, she stepped toward the bike and placed a delicate hand on the seat.

  “Or I could come inside?” she said surprising me.

  I nodded toward the door and stepped aside for her to lead the way.

  When we entered the living space, she surprised me again and took my large hand, directing me to my oversized couch. I sat with a thud as she sat close to me. Her thigh brushed mine, and the connection leapt to a place that should have been as drained as I felt. I was silent as I leaned my head back on the edge of the cushions and closed my eyes. She let me stew in silence for a few moments, but the weight of unsaid words was heavy in the dark room.

  “Want to explain why you left this morning? Without a word?”

  She remained silent, and I stood up so quickly she flinched.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” I hissed in disgust and ran a hand over my hair. I walked away from her to stand in front of my drum set. My hand hovered over the cymbals for a moment, caressing them without touching them. I remained silent, but I heard her sigh.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered in the darkness behind me. My back was tense and I felt her looking at me, but I refused to turn. I couldn’t do this tonight. I was secretly thrilled she was here, but I couldn’t handle the inquisition I needed to deal with her. Not tonight.

  My hand flickered over the drums before me, and I leaned over my kit to grab the sticks on the stool.

  “Do you need to play?” she asked. My heart jumped at the thought that she might understand. Yes, I did need to play.

  I rounded the set and sat on my stool, as I looked over my favorite drums to see her bend her knees, pulling her legs up onto the couch. She was stretching out on her side, hand under her head to watch me as I began to play something slow and rhythmic. Her gray eyes continued to stare at my hands, and I had to close my eyes to concentrate. I let the beat take me as I played through my favorite classic, “Sunshine of Your Love” by Cream. While my thoughts were on the movement of my sticks, I heard the sound of her voice drift into those thoughts as she sang the words from the chorus.

  It was a song of waiting. A song of longing.

  I closed my eyes as she continued to sing, but her voice was drowned out in my head as the motion of playing took over. I was lost in the beating rhythm.

  I wasn’t sure how much time passed, but enough that when I was finally exhausted from playing, I noticed that Hollister had fallen asleep, despite the loudness of my drums. I watched her for several minutes. She was twisted on my couch, and I liked the look of her splayed out. Her head was angled so she could have been watching me, and her hands were under her head as if in prayer. Her upper body was on its side, but she had one leg balanced forward in front of the other. She looked relaxed, comfortable, and safe. I hated to disturb her, but I didn’t trust leaving her on my couch. I was certain that whether I moved her to my room or not, she would run again.

  Deciding I wanted to have h
er close one more night, I crossed the room and gently slid my arms under her, raising her up against my chest. She surprised me again by slipping her arms around my neck and pressing her face into it. I was positive she was sleeping as she placed a gentle kiss against my warm skin. I was sweating from playing so hard for so long. I had needed the release of the tension of the day and the confusion of her reappearance. I was relieved to have her here again because it was one more chance to gain answers.

  As I laid her gently on my king size bed, her arms remained around my neck as if she was pulling me down with her. I lay next to her and she turned her face into my neck again. She hovered there, but didn’t kiss me.

  “Hollister?” I whispered.

  “Hmmm. You play really well.” Her breath caressed my damp skin and I felt a shiver crawl down my big body.

  “Where did you learn to sing?” I asked softly.

  “My mother,” she spoke quietly under my ear. Her arms were still wrapped around my neck and one of my arms was under her. My other arm, I brought up to her shoulder and let my hand hover there, like I had done to my cymbals. Without touching her, I outlined her arm down to her wrist. She must have sensed the motion, despite the lack of contact because she shuddered. I let my nose glide across the delicate skin under her ear.

  “Tell me about your mother,” I whispered, as I continued to let my nose tickle the side of her neck.

  “I didn’t know her. Not really. She died when I was only three, but she must have sung to me. It must be how I learned, because it’s such a vivid memory. Her singing to me.”

  “Hmmm,” I replied, as she had earlier as my nose still traveled over her skin to her shoulder. My hand that floated over her wrist, slid to her stomach and hovered as my palm sprawled to its full expanse. I could cover her waist and the tip of my longest finger would nudge her breast, but I still wasn’t touching her. I let my hand continue its touch-less caress, stopping just under her breast, imagining the heaviness of it without feeling it. She made a noise that sounded like a contained moan.

  My nose moved under her chin and I scooted my body down along hers. I wasn’t pressing into her, but my body was close and we were hyperaware of one another. My breath tickled her neck as my hand slipped behind her. I air-caressed her ass then floated up to her hair. My hand tangled in her long black locks, and I tugged it gently to expose more of her neck to me. I sniffed her and she shivered under my warm breathing.

  I moved my head so my lips were over the skin of her neck instead, and my closed eyes imagined what it would be like to kiss her; to taste her skin in a way that would make her moan and give in to me. But not tonight, not yet. I swallowed hard and thought she might have felt it because she swallowed in return. My mouth skimmed under her jaw to her chin, where I blew on her lips. Her lips parted and my own hovered over hers, without touching, before I traveled along her jaw to her ear again.

  My body had been moving and so had hers. Her leg wiggled between mine and I let my large leg cover her hip. She slipped her knee up under my center, and I shifted us so my leg nudged hers away and was placed between her thighs instead. My knee came just under her core and her head fell back. My hand was still in her hair and my lips lingered above her ear. I was over her in a way that my chest skimmed one of her breasts.

  I dragged my body down her, letting my chest brush across her breasts, and I heard her whimper. I hoped it was from excitement. I continued to move my large body between her legs. My nose traveled a trail over the skin exposed outside her t-shirt, above her breasts and eventually continued its exploration through the valley between them to her stomach. I wasn’t applying pressure but she winced and I looked up at her. Her eyes were closed, squeezed shut, and I assumed I must be hurting her. I immediately rolled off her and she opened her eyes instantly.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “It’s nothing,” she said. I noticed she moved her hand over her stomach. My eyes drifted downward and without her permission, I pulled up her t-shirt to expose a large bruise across her abdomen.

  “What the hell’s this?” I balanced up on my elbow, my eyes now focused on her bare skin that was purplish-black. My own hand hovered over her naked stomach.

  “It’s nothing,” she said again in disgust, attempting to return the material to cover her.

  “That’s not nothing,” I snarled and scooted my body downward again to get a better look.

  “What is this?” I demanded a second time.

  “Occupational hazard of the job,” she snorted.

  I didn’t like the sound of that. I didn’t like any of it. I knew she lived at the shelter, but I was becoming more concerned that she was a lady of the night and in danger. This wasn’t the girl I remembered. I knew my memory would haunt me again later this evening.

  “I don’t like this,” I said softly to her.

  “Well, you don’t…” she stopped herself.

  We stared at one another for several moments. I held her gaze and slowly slipped myself back to her side. Her eyes followed my retreat and she eventually turned into me. We resumed our position from the previous night: my leg over her ankles, my hand on her lower back, and her face into my chest. I held her several moments, assuming she was asleep, before I rolled out from under her and went to take a shower.

  Lady of the evening…

  [Hollister]

  His hasty retreat could only mean one thing; he went to whack off. His erection was so obvious in his low hanging jeans; I was prepared for it to peek out the top of the waistband. I hadn’t caught sight of elastic tonight, and I assumed he must be commando today. If he was excited by my presence, though, I didn’t understand why he ran away.

  I scolded myself. My intentions for the evening were unclear to me. I only knew as soon as I heard the news of Arturo King, I had to get to Perkins. Despite his large stature, there was something in his eyes that told me he might be the responsible type, meaning he would feel accountable for the separation from Arturo and ultimately his accident. I felt as much to blame for the accident. If we weren’t trying to outride who I assumed were Jordan’s men, Arturo would have never been in the position of a crash in the first place.

  I had only wanted to see Perk. Visually confirm he was okay. Convinced that once I saw him, I would simply return to the shelter. My resolve broke the moment I saw his face when he got off his bike. It was a combination of defeat, anger, and relief. Two of the three were directed at me.

  Defeat: he wasn’t going to fight with me tonight. He looked exhausted.

  Anger: he was pissed off at me, despite his lack of fight.

  Relief: I could only hope he was pleased I had returned.

  I didn’t like to give myself false hope. I had already done that before.

  When Perkins returned to the bedroom, drops of water still caressed his neck. I instantly pushed away the thoughts of licking the liquid off his body. His large chest was on full display as he had only replaced his jeans, which hung low again on his broad waist. A large shield with a red cross covered his heart and an intricate design wrapped up and over his left shoulder down to the top of his elbow. He was so fit; it was like a giant arrow point straight to his treasure, a spot that was lead to by the dark trail of hair. Swallowing hard, I needed that water drop to quench a sudden thirst inside me. A thirst I wasn’t sure I’d ever had before.

  At twenty-four, I often choose to forget my sexual experiences of the past, rather than remember what I had experienced. I knew how to please a man, even if I wasn’t convinced I had been pleased myself. I wanted to know such pleasure at one time, but I believed that time was long past. I had been content to focus on myself for the past few years. I’d gotten into some tricky situations and made some risky decisions, but I always got out of them before it was too late.

  I felt the small pulse of a desire I’d never known as I gazed upon the masculine spectacle before me. He was more male than I could handle, but handle him I wished I could, so without thinking, my snippy tongue got
the best of me.

  “Feel better?” I scoffed, letting him know with the glare of my steel gray eyes that I knew what he had just done.

  He didn’t blush or look ashamed, but the rub of his hand over his hair gave away his guilt. My frustrated energy made me snap at him again.

  “I could have taken care of that for you.”

  Returning to the bed as quietly as he could, I nuzzled into him.

  “I could have helped you with that,” I whispered into his chest.

  “My shower?” The smile in his voice was apparent.

  “What you did in the shower,” I replied without a change in my tone. If he was surprised at my boldness, he didn’t let on.

  “Who are you?” he whispered into the darkness and closed his eyes without wanting a response to the question. His tone gave away his disappointment in my cavalier suggestion that it would have been no big deal to join him in a shower, wrap my hand around him, and relieve him.

  But he had asked a question I had been wondering most of my life.

  Who am I?

  I’d been told I was special. I needed protection. I had been told that by more than one of the wrong kind of men. I had believed them both foolishly, leaving me asking myself the same question.

  Who am I?

  Eventually I began to ask myself a question I considered more important.

  What was my purpose?

  My uncle had been the motivator for that question. He claimed that he had lost his focus when he was young, which caused him to lose everything. He had to find his purpose to rebuild himself. When the same thing seemed to happen to me, I knew I had to make the same decision. Rebuild myself.

  I woke in the morning to be enveloped within Perk’s protective arms again. I hated to admit I liked the safety I felt within them. His large bicep was over my smaller one and his hand was placed on the small of my back. I breathed in his scent of woods and cleanliness mixed with sleep. He was comfort and I had to move away. It would be dangerous to get too comfortable with him.