The Southern Watch Series, Books 1-3: Called, Depths and Corrupted

by Robert J. Crane

  Except it wasn’t, she realized, and after a moment of staring into his eyes she realized he felt it, too. It was the anchor that was holding him back, keeping him from leaning in and kissing her the way she was so sure he would. She suddenly felt the burn of shame, and she started to pull away but he caught her hand. “Wait,” he said. “Don’t go.”

  “I …” She thought of a thousand excuses, then a million of them. None came out. “I should go.” That was what came out.

  “Stay,” he said, and he said it like he’d said “wait”—like he was taking a breath. With hope and purpose, and there was no rejection in it. “Stay,” he said again, and she realized she wanted to.

  “What …” She realized, as wet as she was, soaked from head to toe, her mouth was bone dry, like the dust. “What would we do?” It was an answer she didn’t have. She had a hint of it, though, and now she wanted to see what he’d say.

  He didn’t say, not at first. He just licked his lips, like he was buying a minute to compose his thoughts. She gave it to him and waited like he’d asked—maybe because he’d asked—and he finally said, “Why don’t we just … talk … for a while?”

  She thought it over for only a second before she answered, with her gut instead of her head. “Okay,” she said, and followed him into the room. And he shut the door behind them.

  ***

  Arch opened the door to his apartment like he always did now, tentatively. He listened and heard movement somewhere in the bedroom. He shut the door behind him and tossed his keys onto the table. Fortunately they hadn’t been in his shirt, or he might have had to beg a ride with Erin, too.

  Alison emerged from the bedroom, wet hair draped over her shoulder, a white terrycloth bathrobe clinging to her figure. She didn’t look surprised to see him, he thought. Then he took a breath. “Hey,” he said, low-key and casual, while he took a minute to gather his thoughts.

  “Hey,” she returned to him. She lingered in the short hallway between the bedroom and the living room, a good twenty feet from him, and made no move to get closer.

  “How are you doing?” he asked, lamely, he knew. He was searching for something to say—anything, really—to postpone what he knew he HAD to say.

  “Just got out of the shower,” she replied quietly. Like she did everything lately. Since—

  Since he’d—

  Arch crossed the distance between them and fell to his knees like he had when the fire had come at him. He’d thought in that moment that his life was over, had been almost certain of it. He’d prayed, sure, had cited scripture, absolutely, but he’d left one thing undone.

  He reached up and took her hands in his. “I’m sorry for the way things have gone lately,” he said. “I’m sorry for how bad things have gotten, how distant I’ve been, how much I’ve … I’ve let you down by not talking.” He saw a flicker of emotion in her eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve let things outside our house take me away in the hours I needed to be here and own me even during the times I was here with you.”

  She didn’t say anything, just watched him with a stricken look, and he went on. “I’m sorry I failed you as a protector and let those animals violate our home. I’m sorry I let them lay hands on you.” He clutched at her hands, held them in his, and looked up at her. He wasn’t welling up, though somewhere down there it felt like he should be. His voice was thick with emotion. “I’m sorry I’ve failed you as a husband, and I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you in any capacity at all. I will change,” he said, with certainty. “God as my witness, I will. I am your husband, and I will start acting like it again.”

  He could see a little waver from her now, a twitch of her lips. He brought her hands to his mouth and kissed them, then rubbed them along his face. He could feel the smooth skin against his cheek, feel the softness of her palms, could smell the—

  Smell the—

  He froze, her hand against his face. “It’s all right,” she said finally, and he looked up at her. She stared down at him and the coolness was gone. She looked a little warmer at him, still a bit reserved, too, but warmer than she’d been since the day she’d been attacked. “It’s all right, Arch. We’ll get through it.” She gave him a hint of reassurance and rubbed his cheek. “It’ll be okay.” Her wet hair hung limp over her shoulder, spotting the white robe where it dragged. “It’ll all be okay.”

  He said nothing.

  “I’m going to go get presentable,” she said, and brushed his cheek again. “And maybe,” she said, “after I’m done, we can spend some time together like a husband and wife should.” She paused, and he looked up in her eyes. “If you’d like?”

  Still he said nothing, but after a few seconds, he found it in himself to nod. She smiled and withdrew her hands. Slowly, gently, and without taking her eyes off of him. She smiled all the while, that same gentle, lightly happy smile. She disappeared into the bedroom again, and he heard the closet door open as she rummaged for something to wear.

  As soon as he heard her clacking the clothes hangers together, he fell onto his haunches. He sat there, eyes unfocused, staring at white walls of the apartment. He felt the hard linoleum floor under his buttocks through the seat of his pants. He could taste something in his mouth, something bitter from where he’d put his lips to her hands and smelled—

  Arch drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. She hadn’t asked about his shirt. He was before her, shirtless, begging her forgiveness and she hadn’t said a word about it. He’d thought when he came in maybe she was too distracted, but she hadn’t said anything even before he launched himself at her in apology.

  And now he knew why.

  He held his hands up to his nose and sniffed again. They smelled of gunpowder from where he’d shot his Glock, over and over at Gideon while trying to stop him. It was distinct, it had a tang that hung in his nose, an aroma that couldn’t be mistaken.

  When he’d held Alison’s hands up to his nose he’d smelled gunpowder of a different kind than was on his. Sharper. Stronger. As if from a gun that had far more power—and powder per cartridge—than his piddly handgun.

  He heard the clack of the coat hangers moving in the closet as she stood there—like she always did—trying to figure out what to wear. The same old Alison.

  But to his ears, every time the plastic hangars clacked together, he heard the roar of a sniper rifle barking down from a hill above him.

  Where his wife had stood, raining hell down on his enemy from on high.

  Corrupted

  Southern Watch, Book 3

  Prologue

  Hobbs Green, Alabama

  August 1984

  Mick had picked the girl up on his way through town. She was tall and pretty, long hair and long legs, shown off by a pair of jean shorts that cut off mid-thigh to reveal smooth, tanned skin all the way to her ankles. She’d told him her name was Mandy. Mick liked that. Liked Mandy.

  He’d met her a few days earlier when he first got to town, walking around through the square. He’d seen her while he was killing time away from the carnival after setup was done. She still had that baby-faced look, that little bit of childish chub in her cheeks coupled with innocence in her eyes, even though she said she’d just turned eighteen. That was what had done it for Mick, drawn him in like a fly to one of those new zappers. That innocent look.

  It was awful hot, like it got in Alabama in summertime. Mick felt the sweat creeping down everywhere but mostly along his back and forehead. He gave Mandy a half-assed smile, but he could see she was sweating a little, too. They walked along toward the field outside of town where the carnival had set up. It was getting toward late as they approached, field full of cars all the way to gates, where the lights were already all on.

  The Ferris wheel was a big one; took a truck to move it even when it was disassembled. Mick had helped put it up, unpacking and getting the pieces and shit together. It was a good day’s work, but now it was done, and it lit up the night as it made its slow spin. The sound of laughter carried on the h
ot wind. Last week, the carnival had been in Mobile, and the wind had come off Mobile Bay with a little cool air. Here it was dead and stifling, like someone had opened the oven and fanned the heat out at him.

  He started to say something to Mandy but stopped. Turned and half-opened his mouth before he caught himself. Didn’t have nothing but dumb things rolling through his head, and it was driving him nuts. Here was this pretty young thing next to him, and Mick’s brain couldn’t come up with nothing but stupid to spit out.

  “How much do you travel?” Mandy asked, breaking the silence between them.

  He glanced over and saw those sweet cheeks—man, what was it about cheeks? Her eyes were nice too, kind of a green that still had a little dancing to it, like she hadn’t been out in the world and seen how shitty and mean it got. They kind of bounced, like she was excited about things still. And her Southern accent was pretty good, too. Slipped off her tongue and made everything double sweet, like it was rolled in sugar and fried.

  “We get around a lot,” Mick answered, and his voice sounded deeper and huskier than usual, like he was trying to sound all grown up instead of half-scared out of his goddamned mind. “Every week, it’s somewhere new.”

  She looked past him. “That sounds amazing.”

  Mick could feel his chest puff up inside, as if he’d taken in a real deep breath and was holding it, pride threatening to burst him open. It was amazing, wasn’t it? Living on the road. If it looked cool to her, it must be pretty good. “It’s not bad. Seen some nice places along the way.”

  “Where are you going next?” Her singsongy words captivated him. That and the dancing green eyes now.

  “I don’t remember,” he lied. “But we’re packing up tonight. Gotta get on down the road, you know.”

  She looked away from him now. “I know.”

  They walked across the fresh field, cutting between the cars. There were ruts here and there from where people had been parking the last few days, the smell of fresh upturned earth in the air all around them. Mick took her hand to help her over one rut that looked real muddy, still wet from a rain a couple days ago. She smiled at him, and he felt the tingle in his hand as he held hers. Once she was over the rut, he didn’t feel inclined to let it go, so he held on.

  They passed out of the field and cut between two bright, red-striped tents where the freak show and the bearded lady were set up, and Mandy let out a little giggle as she saw the sign. Mick grinned, showing her some teeth. He liked the sound of her laugh, too, liked that she still thought the bearded lady was some kind of novelty. He’d been dealing with her for years, and she was a real bitch. He supposed he might have been, too, if he’d grown tits or something unnatural he couldn’t shake.

  The lights were bright as they walked past the roller coaster. Mandy’s eyes got all big as she looked at it. “You never been to the fair before?” he asked.

  “Not like this,” she said as the car came round a turn and a half-dozen screams filled the air—excitement and fear, all mixed up in that nice way that they got when they didn’t have something shittin’-your-pants-bad to deal with. There really were two different kinds of screams; he’d heard both kinds and damned sure preferred these.

  Mick took her up, nodding at Wyatt who was taking the tickets. Mandy’s eyes flashed once when they passed Wyatt without so much as handing him a stub, and she smiled at him like they’d done something they shouldn’t have and gotten away with it. Mick just smiled back, trying to be cool.

  They rode the roller coaster twice, and he listened to her scream. She clutched his hand hard when it started to move and didn’t let go the whole time. Mick just smiled; he’d been on the coaster more times than he could count, and it was old news by now. He could see the fear the first time, knew she’d never done anything like this before. The second time it wasn’t quite old hat but close, and she laughed between the occasional shout. Giggles between the screams.

  When they got out, she took his hand again and smiled at him. He could feel the natural sway of their hands as they walked, and he caught the sly looks she gave him, the smiles, the abrupt “look away and push her hair out of her eyes” thing she did. He liked her hair, too, that honey color. They walked past the booth with the funnel cakes, heard Reg hawking them to everyone that passed. The smell was rich, and somehow it fed the moment, him smiling at her, her smiling at him. He stopped short and went for a kiss, and she returned it, pressure on his lips and the hint of her tongue somewhere in there.

  When they broke, he smiled at her again. “That was pretty good,” she said.

  “A-yup,” he agreed. “Wanna ride the tilt-a-whirl?”

  They rode the tilt-a-whirl and went through the haunted house and held hands all the while. There wasn’t much conversation, but there was breathless excitement after each experience, and more kisses, here and there, breathless as the first but more satisfying. He started to slip her the tongue, that so-called French kissing, and found it was real good. He’d never tried that before. She got a little too enthusiastic about that, but it was okay. She couldn’t stop smiling, and that was okay, too.

  “Ferris wheel?” he asked her as they almost passed it, still walking hand in hand. He was getting dirty looks here and there from the people who knew her, but he didn’t care. He liked the faint smell of her sweet shampoo that was now a little eclipsed by the fresh smell of sweat. He took a sip of the Coke they were sharing and felt the sweet, syrupy taste linger on his tongue. It was so goddamned hot, but who gave a shit? He had a pretty girl hanging on his hand, it was a glorious damned summer night, and life was good.

  “Let’s go,” she said, her eyes alight. They were always alight now, had been all night, and he loved it. Maybe he loved her, who knew? It was like the night was running away with them, and his head was swimming from it.

  They passed Richie, who was manning the Ferris wheel, but by now doing that didn’t even get her to turn and look at him, it was just how it was. No ticket, no worries. The carnival was their damned oyster, whatever that meant. He helped her up into the box, and she smiled at him. The lights were bright outside and shining kind of dim in here. Mick caught Richie’s eye and gave him a nod, full of meaning. He got the look back from Richie and knew he was good to go. If their positions were reversed, he’d have done the same for Richie.

  Mick held Mandy’s hand on the first few clicks up the wheel. He could feel the sweat now, slick on her palm, and he wondered if it was his or hers. They came up about forty-five degrees on the rotation—what Mick called first position—and stopped as Richie went to unload the people in the next car down below.

  He had some time. Lots of time, thanks to Richie.

  “Wow,” Mandy said, looking out the window. “It’s real pretty up here.”

  “Wait ’til we get to the top,” Mick said, throwing it out there with the aura of assurance. “You ain’t never seen nothing like it, I promise.”

  She turned her head from the window, and he caught her as she turned around, kissing her full on the lips. She returned the pressure and opened her mouth. She’d gotten used to this by now, he thought, and she seemed to like it. If he’d tried it on their first kiss she might not have gone for it, but now she pushed her tongue into his mouth like she was poking a finger in his eye. He ignored the abruptness and the force of it and tried to smoothly, slowly show her how to do it right.

  They sat that way for a couple minutes until the car started moving again, and Mick broke it off, taking a deep breath as he did so. He had about ten minutes left as the car stopped in second position—three o’clock on the wheel. Richie was taking his time. “You know, I’m leaving tomorrow.” He said it quietly and a little sadly.

  “Yeah.” Mandy nodded her head, and she was clearly a little sad too, no faking. He kissed her—gentle and brief this time, not giving her enough time to cram her tongue in his mouth like she was shoving a cat in a sack. “I know,” she said as their lips parted.

  “You make me feel something, Mandy,�
� he said, trying to keep his eyes on hers. The trick was to not say it cheesy, like one of those big-city Lotharios that would lie to get what they wanted. The trick was to mean it, behind his eyes. He really did feel something for her. Something.

  “You make me feel too, Mick,” she said. He knew she meant it. She had a hand on his chest, running over his light shirt. Felt good.

  He kissed her again, tonguing her first this time, before she could beat him to the punch. He moved off her mouth and to her cheek, and she froze as he gently put a hand on her breast. It wasn’t bad, that’s for sure, and he could feel the bra just under the cotton shirt. He could feel her tense up, but she didn’t scream, didn’t swat his hand away, and that was a damned good sign.

  He put a kiss on the side of her neck, sucking gently on the salty skin there. Ran his tongue over her flesh and felt her get goose bumps. He left the hand on her breast and squeezed gently against her bra. She was maybe a B cup on a good day, and the padding on the thing interfered with the sensation, but she moaned a little as he did what he did. Very good signs.

  “Wait,” she said and brushed his hand off her. He withheld the cringe he felt inside as she did it and managed to smile through it. She took a second, caught her breath, and it rattled a little between gasps. “I … I can’t.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, and ran a hand through her hair. “I just … want to show you how I feel.” He leaned in to kiss the side of her neck and she pulled away.

  “I can’t … I just … I’ve never—” she said finally, and her eyes looked frightened now, like a scared animal about to bolt for the woods at the sight of a hunter.

  But she couldn’t bolt, because he still had almost ten minutes left. And like he hadn’t already known she’d never done it before? It was as obvious as the innocent look in her eyes. “It’s okay,” he said again, and ran a caress over her cheek. “I understand.” Which he did. He leaned in and put an arm around her. “I just thought maybe we could …”