by S. Burke
“We haven’t had many that didn’t adapt.”
“Enough. We just follow orders, or we may well end up on the other side of that door.”
“Shit. I hate this.”
“Yes. Me as well.”
Day One - Conditioning
Operation Pale Horse
Quentin was getting restless; he didn’t know how long he’d been sitting here waiting, it felt like hours. It was in fact one hour and eighteen minutes. The disembodied voice instructed him to exit the room and remain standing in the corridor. He did so, pleased to move around. The others were all doing the same thing.
They stood for twenty five minutes, then a uniformed male instructed them to form a single file; part two of the morning session was about to begin. Quentin was again handed a number; he and the rest of team Alpha were escorted down one level and again shown to rooms with numbered doors.
He was instructed to disrobe, and enter the next phase of the training through the rear door on the small annex.
Quentin felt self-conscious standing naked. He shuffled his feet … damn, it was cold in here.
In the monitoring booth the technicians readied the equipment.
“Temperature is ten degrees Celsius. Steady it at that.”
“Done.”
“Okay, here we go. Sensors attached.”
“What is your name?” the voice asked.
“Uh, Pete … uh, no, I mean …” Ice cold water sprayed over his body, he gasped as it hit his naked skin. “Jesus!”
“What is your name?” came the voice again.
“Uh, Quentin … er, Hamersley. Quentin Hamersley,” he muttered with a shaky breath.
“Good. Where are you from?”
“Oh, um … shit. Minnesota, I think.”
The water hit him again.
“Where are you from?”
“I can’t … wait, is it Michigan?”
The water hit him again, for longer this time. He stood and shivered, the sensors indicating the beginnings of mild hypothermia.
The senior technician checked the readout. “Hypothermia beginning, we have only around twelve minutes before we halt. How far down do we let him drop?”
“Once he ceases being able to stand, only then do we stop.”
“That’s so damned dangerous, man. He could easily arrest.”
“We have a team ready for that eventuality. Ask him again. Now.”
“Where are you from?”
“Shit, I can’t remember. Please … okay. I’ll learn it, but I can’t remember right now.”
The water hit him again. It continued running on him for forty five seconds. He was barely able to stand and his extremities were turning blue.
“Where are you from?”
“I-I c-c-can’t … I …”
The cold water hit him again, this time for two full minutes.
He stood swaying and then doubled over with pain from the cold. He managed to stand for six minutes. He then swayed and dropped to the concrete floor, curled into the foetal position.
“Call it!”
“Done. Team blue access and remove to infirmary. Resuscitate and report.”
The technicians watched as the man was moved onto a gurney. He was covered with an aluminium blanket with a heat infusion that would slowly bring his body temperature back up. They removed him from the room.
“Next?”
Brad Collingsworth from Team Alpha entered and stood naked awaiting instructions.
Chapter 25
Quentin and Sheila
“Quentin, you love me, don’t you?”
“God, how can you even ask? Haven’t I showed you how much?”
“You trust me?”
“Yes.”
“I-I have always wondered what it would be like to, you know, um, be the dominant partner during love making.”
“Dominant? You mean you on top, like that sort of dominant?”
“Not exactly. I have often fantasized about tying you up, and making you so hot you begged for it?”
“Tying me up sounds kinky, and yeah I have to admit I have had those thoughts myself. I guess every man wonders what it would be like to have his woman in control of the sex.”
“You want to try it?”
“Yeah, yeah, but I think most folks go through like a whole ritual thing. Teasing and all of it, till they can’t stand it anymore and have to beg. Friend of mine used to let his lady do that, and they had a safety code word; if he said it, it meant he’d had enough and wanted her right then.”
“I’d like to tease you so bad that you come, and come again and again, until you were completely sated, and had nothing left.”
“Sweet Jesus, I’m getting hot just thinking about it.”
“Let’s not do it now. I want to wait and have a hot bath together and lead into it really slowly, so we are both hot and ready.”
“I want you right now!”
“No, that’s part of it, you have to wait. I’ll be the one who makes all the moves.”
“You seriously don’t expect me to sleep now?”
Sheila laughed in his face. “That’s your problem, honey, not mine.”
She kept the teasing and light touches up for two days, till Quentin was afraid he’d lose it and just grab her and take her where she stood.
On day three she filled the bath and they bathed together. She still wouldn’t allow him to touch her. He had to sit and watch her cover herself in warm oil and masturbate in front of him, and then she kissed him long and deep till he thought he’d explode. She made him sit in a chair; she bound his wrists together and his ankles. She told him he was bad and being punished, she brought her nipples close to his mouth and allowed him to suckle briefly. Then she withdrew, touching him and stroking him until he was moaning. She straddled him and rode him till he came, then untied him.
Quentin was hooked, finding he needed more and more of the domination as time progressed.
Sheila happily obliged.
They reached the outskirts of Los Angeles early on a Saturday morning. It had been a long drive and they were both tired and in need of sleep. The hotel was first class as always. Sheila would stay in nothing but the best available. Sheila showered alone and kept Quentin at a distance, which had him almost crazy with need. The sex was amazing and she always introduced something new into it; so it didn’t stagnate, she’d said.
Quentin was worried though, if she ever found out about … Jesus, he couldn’t bear the thought. She’d been asking more questions about the scar lately and it was becoming obvious he was lying about how he got it. He dreaded telling her the truth.
He planned on asking her to marry him, soon. He wanted her bound to him, body and soul.
Los Angeles began to pall on both of them after only three days. Sheila was looking to find a nice spot on the coast where they could stay a while. The road had been exciting, she said, but she needed to be still a while. Quentin didn’t begin to understand her moods, but went along with whatever she wanted most times. Sheila liked excitement, and if there was none to be had, she created it herself.
She’d been accused of shoplifting in several small towns across the country, but somehow she’d managed to convince the store owners it was an innocent mistake, she’d pay for whatever it was she’d lifted. They’d leave that town soon after. Half the time the stuff she lifted was rubbish- once she’d even lifted baby clothes. Baby clothes, for fuck’s sake! It was all about getting away with it, and she actually let herself get caught. She confided in him that she could have just walked away every time, but where was the adrenalin rush in that?
She was like a wilful, petulant child most of the time; if he grew angry she’d be like a kitten, or she’d ignore him and go for hours not saying a word, till he didn’t know what was his fault and what was hers.
The sex had evolved into full blown BDSM. He wasn’t comfortable with it initially, but as they progressed it got to where he needed it more and more. She would bite and scratch
him till he bled and he would orgasm like never before. She liked to take pictures with an old Polaroid, that way no one got to see the shots but them.
Lately she’d tie him up longer and longer and tease him until he begged for sweet release. She would never allow herself to be bound and gagged, saying the fear of claustrophobia and not being able to get away would be too much for her. Quentin trusted her absolutely; if he felt pain too greatly he would simply say the word ‘enough’ and she would stop and cut his bindings and they would make hot, sweet love. She never pushed beyond what he could take, and the effect on him was to make him her willing slave. He knew without doubt he couldn’t ever be without her in his life.
She drove off on her own on the Monday morning, saying she would be gone most of the day; she had a surprise for him and wanted whatever it was to be perfect.
He wandered around LA taking in the sites; he even did the tour of movie stars’ homes, not minding being without her a little while, but by late afternoon he was back at their hotel, and by early evening he was worried. He tried her cell and it was switched off. She returned at around 9:00 p.m. and by then he was frantic; relieved to see her, and angry with her at the same time.
“Sheila, where the fuck have you been? You’ve been gone twelve fucking hours! Twelve hours! Where were you? Are you meeting someone else?”
“Don’t you dare scream at me. Don’t you dare, you hear me! I will not stay and be screamed at.”
“Where were you?”
“I was arranging a surprise for you. You ungrateful son-of-a-bitch!”
“What surprise takes twelve hours to arrange?”
She refused to answer him. She headed for the shower and he followed, but she had locked the door.
“Damn you, Sheila! Who is he? Who are you letting fuck you?”
She refused to answer. He pounded on the door and continued screaming obscenities at her.
The phone rang, he answered it. “What?”
“This is the manager, Mr Hamersley. We have had some folks complain about the noise coming from your suite. Is everything okay, sir?”
“Sorry, had a fight with the ol’ lady. You know how it goes. No more noise, I promise.”
“Please see to it, sir. I have no wish to call the police, but if it continues I will do so.”
“Yeah, yeah … sorry. Okay … sorry.” Quentin hung up. Sweet Jesus, the police weren’t what he needed. That could really turn bad.
He went back to the bathroom door and listened. The water had stopped running.
“Sheila? Sheila, honey, I’m sorry. I’m just a jealous fool. I’m going out to cool down. I’ll be back later.”
She didn’t respond. He grabbed some cash and a sweater and left the room.
When he returned four hours later, Sheila was curled up asleep on the couch. He left her there, staggered across to the bed, and fell into oblivion.
Sheila woke him with a hot coffee in the early hours the next morning. “Quentin, wake up, we have to leave soon.”
“Huh? What?”
“Drink your coffee and, for God’s sake, have a shower, you stink of booze.” Sheila put the coffee on the bedside table. She went to his suitcase and pulled out a fresh shirt and jeans, then showered and dressed herself in similar clothing.
Quentin came over to her while she was dressing, reached for her and she flicked his arm away. “No, you don’t. Shower, you smell. Then we have to hit the road.”
“Sheila, honey, I’m sorry about last night. I’m a jealous idiot.”
“Yes, you are. Hurry up. We need to be moving in the next half an hour.”
“Why the rush?”
“Like I tried to tell you, I have a surprise. It’s in San Francisco. That’s where I was yesterday.”
“Shit! You drove all the way to Frisco and back in one day. That’s over eight hundred miles round trip.”
“I flew.”
“You hate to fly.”
“The surprise was worth it.”
“You flew to arrange a surprise for me?”
“Don’t be so concerned. Believe me, I’ll never do it again. If you ever speak to me the way you did last night; I’m gone. No ifs, no buts, no maybes, just gone. Do you hear me, Quentin?”
He heard the coldness in her voice and knew she spoke the truth. It weighed heavily on him. She could walk away, he knew she could. He was the one unable ever to do it. That saddened him.
“I said do you hear me, Quentin?”
“Yes. I hear you.”
The man hurried into the shower. She was already in a dreadful mood, no point making it worse. He had an almighty hangover, but things would look better after a meal and more sleep.
Sheila decided to do all the driving. They normally took it in turns, two hours on, two hours off. Quentin slept until they stopped at a truck stop for breakfast. They ordered big and ate in silence. The meal complete, Sheila topped up the gas, checked the oil and water and they headed out again. Quentin slept, only waking when the car came to a halt.
He opened his eyes as Sheila slammed the driver’s door. She strode off in the direction of a homestead. Even in his present state, Quentin could see it was huge. A man greeted her at the front door. Quentin watched them talk, they shook hands and the man drove off in a station wagon, with a wave towards where he sat in the car.
Sheila went into the house. Quentin climbed out of the Porsche and walked over to the place. He called through the door, “Hello, Sheila? Where are you?”
“Behind you, Quentin.”
He jumped. “What the … what is this place?”
“Go inside, take a look around, and then join me for a beer out through the double French doors. I’ll be near the pool.”
He knew better than to ask questions. He wandered through the ground floor of the home, then up the stairs where the bedrooms were, all large, all beautifully furnished. He looked out the bedroom window and could see Sheila sitting dangling her feet in the water of a full sized pool, so he went downstairs and joined her.
“What did you think?”
“It’s beautiful, whose is it?”
“Mine.”
“What?”
“I leased it yesterday. This is the surprise. We are isolated here, it’s perfect. Wait till you see the view from the edge of the bluff.”
“This is the surprise, wow! How long did you lease it for?”
“Three months only. Let’s see how we feel about staying after that.”
“Sheila, this is so unlike you. To want to stay in one place, I mean. I’m grateful. I have to admit I am getting tired of being on the road constantly.”
“I noticed. Hence the surprise.”
“Where are we exactly?”
“Miles from anywhere, closest town is Sausalito. You have a view out and over the ocean from the bluff.”
A dog yipped nearby. Quentin looked questioningly at Sheila. “A dog?”
“A puppy. I couldn’t resist him. Come and say hello.”
Quentin looked at her, stunned. What was happening here? He didn’t question it further, feeling guilty for his earlier suspicions. His darling had done all this for him and he’d accused her of being unfaithful.
He followed her and was met half way by a wiggling brick of a puppy. A beautiful, very fat, long haired shepherd about ten weeks old. He laughed as it bounded into him.
The whole place had an air of … what? He searched his mind for the right word, but all he could come up with was ‘family’. It felt like a family. He, and Sheila and the dog. It was a pleasant sensation.
Time passed and his contentment grew. Sheila was more loving here, more in tune with him and the peaceful environment.
They swam every day; if not in the pool, then they’d make the long trek down the cliff path to a small private beach, the dog- Sheila had named Roger- joined them in the water. Laughter was a familiar sound these days. Quentin was working up the courage to ask her to marry him.
They sat in the early evening sun
, and enjoyed the last of the delicious barbecue Quentin had prepared. He topped up Sheila’s drink and poured himself another.
“Sheila?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you marry me?”
“I don’t think so, Quentin. You don’t trust me, and that wouldn’t be a good beginning, would it?”
“I already apologized about the jealousy. It won’t happen again,” he said desperately.
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“What, then?”
“You have been lying to me about that scar. I know you didn’t get it in a car accident. It’s a knife wound. Until you trust me enough to tell me where you really got it, you can forget me being a permanent fixture in your life. Understand?”
“Jesus, Sheila, I can’t. I mean it. I want to, but I can’t.”
“See what I mean? If you love me and trust me enough to want me to marry you, then I have to be able to trust you as well. So there you have it. You tell me the truth, and then I’ll consider marrying you. You don’t, then we go our separate ways, and soon. I have a life to live. I won’t live it with someone who lies to me.” She got up and hurried inside.
Quentin hesitated, but he couldn’t follow her. He had to think this through. Could he trust her? And more importantly, would she stay at all once she knew what he did?
He slept badly, finally giving up and heading outside in the early morning mist, hoping to clear his head. He had no option but to tell Sheila about the scar, if he wanted to keep her in his life. He’d have to chance her not talking. He decided to limit what he told her to him seeing action in Afghanistan. No other details should be necessary. He hoped she’d accept the abridged version and let it go at that.
Sheila punched in the cell phone number.
“Yes.”
“I should have him broken by morning.”
“Confirm when it happens. You have your instructions. Well done. He was the one I thought least likely to break.”
She hung up, and smiled in anticipation of what was to come.