Chasing Those Devil Bones

by W E DeVore

  Sanger’s eyes glazed over. “And what does that mean?”

  “It means it’s hard to play, Sanger, really hard,” she clarified. “So, I play it for him and he says, ‘if you can play that, a little solo of mine shouldn’t be a problem.’ And he knocks on my head.” She reached over and gently tapped her knuckles three times on the side of Sanger’s head to show him. “Says, ‘you’re thinking too much.’ After that I spent every afternoon, except Sundays, for six months here at his house, learning how to play like him…well, play like me, I guess, nobody plays like Stanley. I’d come at lunchtime, he’d feed me, then we’d play all afternoon and he’d feed me dinner, send me home. He helped to build me back up, Aaron.”

  “And he never tried anything…” He stitched his eyebrows together, clearly suspicious that a man like Stanley would let a young woman into his home every day for six months and never make a play for her.

  “No, it wasn’t like that. I think he always wanted Savion to play music, but he wasn’t interested. On Sundays, he’d take me to church with him. Savion’s an atheist, so he’d never go. People must have thought it was strange. White girl with a nose ring and purple hair sitting with Stanley Gerard in an all-black church. But they never said anything. Stanley said that if I wanted to learn how to play, I had to learn how to pray. That God could hear me just as well in a full gospel service as He did in a synagogue.”

  Sanger smiled to himself and turned his face back up to look at the dark blue clouds moving against the black sky. “I’m guessing this is a big deal. Him teaching you to play like that.”

  She struggled to find an analogy to help him understand. “Imagine you were friends with Lukas Nelson and you showed up at his dad’s house on a Monday afternoon and said, ‘teach me how to play ‘Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain.’”

  He looked at her, wide-eyed.

  “Now, imagine Willie says, come on in for some lunch, Aaron. I’ll loan you my guitar.” She looked up at the stars. “That’s why I don’t talk about it. It’s a very big deal. It’s also only between Stanley and me.”

  “I’m an asshole,” he said. “How could I have not known she was married? I’m a cop, for Christ’s sake.”

  “No, you’re not an asshole, Aaron. This is on Tori, not you.” Q tried to think of some words of comfort. “If you knew she’d gotten married would you have slept with her?”

  “That’s why I’m an asshole, Clementine. I don’t think I would have cared.” He watched her, waiting for her to react.

  “Well, now that you know that her husband is my friend, I’d appreciate it if you kept your hands to yourself, cowboy.” She smiled and winked at him.

  He laughed out loud. “Just for you.”

  He stood and stretched.

  She stood up next to him and said, “I’m serious, Aaron. Promise me. I hate to do this to you. I saw it. How much you care for her. It’s just for now.”

  He pulled her into a hug. “I promise, Clementine. Come on, let’s hunt for that phone of yours and get out of here. You take that side,” Sanger instructed, pointing to his left.

  As he walked to the opposite side of the courtyard, Q said, “Hey detective, just call my number, will you?”

  He stopped at the foot of the ice luge, admiring its remnants as water rained down from every surface and into the pool beneath. He pulled out his phone. Q immediately heard her ringtone to her left and she found her phone under the azalea bush beside the bench where she and Sanger had been sitting earlier.

  “Found it!” she called out.

  “God damn it!” Sanger exclaimed. “Good, call 911.”

  Q did as she was told and rushed to the other side of the ice sculpture to see Sanger dragging a man out of the pool of melting ice where he’d been slumped face first in the water. When Sanger laid him on the ground and felt for a pulse, Q gasped and fell to her knees, helping to position him flat on the ground.

  Savion Gerard wasn’t breathing. His rich, cocoa skin had a sickening blue undertone to it. She took his icy limp hand in hers, holding it to her mouth to try to warm it.

  “How does someone drown in six inches of water?” she asked.

  Sanger undid the collar on Savion’s shirt. “Don’t think it was water when he fell down. You know him?”

  “It’s Savion. Stanley’s son.”

  He began to perform CPR just as the 911 operator finally came on the line. Q informed her that there had been an accident and that an NOPD detective was on the scene before giving them Stanley’s address and hanging up.

  She held Savion’s hand in both of hers, willing him to wake up, helplessly watching as Sanger blew his breath into the still body.

  “Breathe,” Sanger commanded, compressing Savion’s chest. “God damn it, breathe.” He looked up at Q. “Go wait for the EMT’s.”

  “I’ll go see if there’s a doctor close by. You’re doing great, Aaron. Thank god you’re here.” She ran at a full sprint upstairs and burst into the house.

  “Stanley!” she yelled, getting the attention of everyone in the room. “There’s been an accident. Downstairs. The EMTs are on their way, but is one of your neighbors a doctor? Aaron’s doing CPR, but he could use some back-up.”

  Stanley rose from the piano bench and shook his head helplessly.

  “I told you this party was a bad idea,” Tori reprimanded. “It’s a wonder someone hasn’t died in all these years.”

  Q moved to Stanley and told him to sit down. She knelt in front of him. “It’s Savion, Stanley. We found him face down in the pool of water below the ice sculpture. He’s not breathing.”

  Pain and fear raced through his face. Tori rushed to him and Q moved out of the way.

  Stanley looked up at Q and said, “We’ll need to unlock the gate.” When he stood up and his wife protested, he gently pushed her aside. “I want to see my son, Tori. You go wait in front for the ambulance.”

  As Q and Stanley walked downstairs, he looked defeated. “She’s right, Q. I should have shut this down years ago.”

  “They’re called accidents for a reason, old man. You’ve been having this party for years…”

  They unlocked the gate and propped it open with a brick. A gagging sound caught Q’s attention.

  “See?” she said. “Sanger’s got him breathing. He’s going to be ok.”

  They walked towards the remnants of the ice sculpture to find Sanger moving Savion onto his side to vomit out the water he had ingested.

  Sanger slapped his face. “Hey, brother. Wake up.”

  Stanley started to move forward, but Q held him back. “Give Aaron some space.”

  Sanger continued to try and get Savion to open his eyes and say something. He turned to Q. “He’s breathing, but I can’t get him to wake up.”

  “Give him a minute. He’ll be ok,” Q said, hoping she was right. Savion moaned and tried to open his eyes. “See? He’s stirring.”

  Sirens grew closer and Stanley ran to the front to guide the EMTs to the courtyard.

  “What the hell happened, Aaron?” Q asked.

  “If I had to guess? Tequila. Lots of it.”

  He stood up and arched his back to stretch it. As he did, Q noticed Savion’s legs twitching and she looked to his face to find foam coming out of his mouth.

  “Aaron!” she screamed. “He’s having a seizure.”

  Sanger knelt back down and Q looked around for something to put into Savion’s mouth. She finally sat by the top of his head and held it in her hands. Savion’s back arched and his entire body stiffened before he collapsed to the ground.

  “What drugs does he do, Clementine?” Sanger demanded.

  “None, he’s a fucking mathematician. He barely drinks. He has epilepsy.” She felt Savion’s throat. “I don’t think he’s breathing, Aaron.”

  He felt for a pulse and shook his head, beginning chest compressions again as sirens screamed closer.

  ◆◆◆

  Bright morning sunlight streamed through the trees by the time Q and Ben
made it home. Sanger had been able to get Savion breathing again, but almost as soon as he’d drawn breath, he’d had another massive seizure. After Stanley and Tori had left for the hospital, Q, Ben, and the remaining guests had stayed to answer questions for the police and to clean up any part of the house and courtyard that they could. They'd left Walter dozing on the couch, waiting for his brother to come home.

  Q sat on the porch steps to remove her mud-soaked sneakers. She peeled off her socks and regarded the color variation between her legs and her relatively clean feet. Ben opened the door behind her and she stood to go inside, leaving her shoes on the porch. He kicked off his flip-flops and followed her into the house.

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked.

  “I am, if you’re thinking that we’re both definitely taking a shower before sleeping until dinner time,” she replied as she slowly climbed the stairs to their bedroom, willing her legs to keep her body upright.

  “You read my mind.”

  They walked through their bedroom, to the bath attached and Q stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a pile on the polished cypress floor. She opened the shower door and turned on the water before stepping inside. As she rested against the wall to let the water rinse away the dust and dried sweat, she closed her eyes and tried not to see Savion’s face as he seized on the ground.

  Ben stepped in behind her. He undid the clip that held her braid and took the washcloth from her hands to carefully clean her entire body. She turned to face him, wetting her hair and he rotated them, so that he could do the same. As his hands massaged her scalp, she traced the outlines of the lean muscles on his chest with a bar of soap and washed him clean. He scrubbed his own scalp and rinsed his hair and Q moved beyond him to stand directly under the water. She placed both hands on the shower wall and let the water pound down on her back.

  The comfort of the water relaxing the tension in her body allowed all the stress of the last few hours to rise to the surface and she began to cry. Ben turned her around and held her to him.

  “He’ll be alright, darlin’.”

  She nodded against him. Even though she’d hardly seen Savion for longer than a few minutes at his father’s house a few times a year, she’d always cared for him. In another, parallel life, she was certain that she hadn’t been attacked after that gig in Arabi and that she’d fallen in love with Savion Gerard. He was as kind as his father but shy and reserved. She remembered when she’d asked him for a date. He’d been staring at her all afternoon at the library. She’d walked up to him and said, “Are you going to just sit there and stare, or are you going to come talk to me? Because I’m all out of homework.”

  They’d been inseparable for ten wonderful weeks after that. Until a cruel man took Q’s youth and innocence from her.

  When she finally stopped crying, Ben turned off the water and led her out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around her and grabbed one of his own. Q sat on the edge of the claw foot tub to rub some lotion into her hands.

  “Why couldn’t they get him to stop having seizures?” she asked. “He used to have it under control.”

  Ben rubbed the towel against his long hair to remove some of the water. “I don’t know much about epilepsy. Maybe it’s gotten worse as he’s gotten older. Maybe he’s on a new medication that’s not working like it should.”

  He hung up his towel and brushed his teeth. She stood to join him. As she was rinsing her mouth, he watched her in the mirror.

  “You ever wonder what would have happened if you had stayed with him?” he asked.

  She dried her face and turned around to face him. “In another universe, I am married to Savion Gerard and you are married to Angela Galvez.” She pulled him down to her and kissed him. “But fuck that universe. It’s boring. I like this one better, scars and all.”

  He laughed and they went to the bedroom. As soon as Q’s skin touched the cool comfort of the sheets, she let out a groan of relief. Ben lay on his side, gazing at her. He took her hand in his and brought her wrist to his mouth, kissing her radial artery. She moved her hand to his face, caressing his cheek and staring into his amber eyes.

  “You’re my whole universe, Mrs. Bordelon,” he whispered. “Let’s get lost, together.”

  She smiled and slid his hand down her body. He slipped a long finger inside her, using his thumb to trace a rhythmic pulse between her clitoris and his finger within.

  She moved against his hand, holding onto his face, watching him watch her orgasm build. Q started to shudder and he took her hand from his face, his fingers still slick from her arousal. Wordlessly, he lay on top of her and she spread her legs to take him inside of her. He moved slowly and thrust within her. She cried out, moving against him, demanding for more of him as the release that had been delayed finally arrived.

  He rolled onto his back, taking her with him. She straddled him, sitting upright and arching her back until her breasts turned to the ceiling. Ben moaned. She could feel his orgasm building and her body responded. He sat up and held her hips to him until Q began to tremble, whispering his name. They fell back to the bed together. She rested her torso against him, laying her head to the side to listen to his heart thunder inside his chest. The face of the angel tattoo that covered his torso was next to her lips, smiling with ethereal grace. She kissed its lips and Ben held her tightly to him, threading his fingers through her hair, as he grew flaccid within her.

  Q closed her eyes and let the steady rhythm of her husband’s heart, and the gentle rise and fall of his breath, lull her asleep.

  Chapter 3

  No Rest for the Wicked

  It was early evening when she finally opened her eyes. Ben lay behind her, his body curled protectively around hers. Q sighed in contentment. Waking up next to Ben was the best part of any given day, but after the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours, it was especially welcome this evening. She watched the light from the setting sun glow vividly over the white comforter, holding Ben’s hand in hers, debating whether to get out of bed at all. Her phone vibrated on the nightstand, and she picked it up. Seeing Sanger’s name on the caller ID, she answered it, rolling over onto her back and snuggling closer to her husband’s warmth.

  “Hello, detective. How’s our hero this evening?” she asked.

  Ben stirred. She looked at him and smiled as his eyes opened, still drowsy. He gave her a dopey grin and pulled closer to her. She settled down deeper into the bed.

  “Morning, Aaron,” Ben said, more into Q’s ear than into the phone, nuzzling her neck with his nose before kissing it, lazily working his way down to her shoulder.

  Sanger said as if Ben could actually hear him, “Morning? It’s almost dinner time.”

  Ben slid his hand over her stomach, reaching for her breast.

  “I’m hungry,” his gravelly voice said in her free ear, his kisses moving lower on her body.

  Q quickly realized her husband was intent on continuing the endeavor they’d started before they’d fallen to sleep.

  “Sorry, Sanger, we’re just waking up. Let me call you back in a while, Ben’s starving, apparently,” Q said sarcastically.

  Ben looked up and grinned at her.

  “Stop it!” she mouthed at him, opening her eyes wide for emphasis.

  He slowly shook his head from side to side, grinning like a lunatic, before bending back down to kiss her stomach, his tongue tracing the side of her abdominal muscle as it led downward towards her hip bone.

  Through the phone, Sanger reproached their laziness. “Must be nice to sleep all day. You’ll have to tell me what that’s like sometime.”

  “Seriously, Sanger. I have to call you back,” Q said, knowing she had seconds before this phone call got even more uncomfortable than it already was.

  Ben laughed mischievously, his tongue rounding its way down past her bellybutton, her self-imposed dilemma amusing him. If she’d really wanted him to stop, she could have just stood up. But bed and Ben felt good enough to deal with an awkwa
rd phone call for a few seconds.

  “This won’t take a minute, Clementine,” Sanger persisted. “I need to talk to you about last night. See if you remember Savion talking to anyone. He tested positive for cocaine at the hospital, and I’m trying to figure out who gave it to him. We might be looking at attempted homicide.”

  Q gasped when Ben’s tongue reached its intended destination. She quickly bit her lip and tried to separate her voice from the rest of her body. She twisted her fingers through Ben’s hair, holding him to her and slowly moving her hips against his mouth. She clamped her teeth down hard on her lower lip, slowing her breathing.

  “Clementine, are you ok?” Sanger asked.

  “Sure. I was just surprised is all. That he’d use drugs, I mean.” She exhaled slowly, willing the moan trapped in her throat back down below her larynx.

  This wasn’t the first time she’d been Ben’s initial source of sustenance of the day, but it was the first time he’d eaten his breakfast while she tried to talk on the phone.

  “Sanger, now’s really not a good time, why don’t you just come over for dinner in about an hour.”

  Ben held up two fingers.

  “Two??” she asked him. He nodded against her and a familiar pressure began to build inside her.

  “Make that two hours, Sanger,” she said into the phone.

  She hung up without waiting for an answer and tossed the phone aside, urgently moving her hips, relieved to finally be able to vocalize all the ways Ben was making her body feel good.

  ◆◆◆

  Approximately three hundred cunnilingus-induced prayers to multiple deities later, Q and Ben finally made it downstairs. She curled up into one of the leather chairs in the living room. Ben walked to the bar and poured her a glass of wine.

  “What in the hell has gotten into you?” she asked. “I can barely walk.”

  He kissed the top of her head and handed her the wine glass, sitting across from her on the couch, lounging back and crossing his legs. He sipped his whiskey. “Better recover, darlin’. I want dessert, too. Figure if you’re going back into the studio, I’d better make hay. You feel me?”