Elizabeth Stewart - Stray Thoughts (Ellora's Cave)

by Nicole

  There was no way to keep the beast at bay except to stand guard against the enemy, sleep. Dwell on the new story. Fill up her brain with scenes and people and words. Tomorrow she would begin putting them all down in the computer. But tonight they must stand, like a palisade battlement, against the monster lurking beyond wakefulness.

  “Sheridan.”

  The whisper was so faint, she wasn’t even sure it hadn’t been the wind. Or perhaps even her imagination.

  Lying on her back, she glanced up to the headboard where the large red numerals of her alarm clock glowed upside down…four minutes after three. She must have dozed off because she was still feeling fuzzy and tired. And the moon, which hadn’t been visible when she climbed into bed, was shimmering through the window, bathing everything in a soft, silvery glow.

  “Sheridan.”

  “Who’s there?” It was her voice but it seemed to be coming, not from her mouth, but her mind.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” the voice told her softly. “I know you haven’t been sleeping very well and I know you need your rest. I just wanted you to know that you weren’t alone. You’ll never be alone again.”

  She felt tender lips brush hers even though she couldn’t see anyone, anything in the darkness.

  “I…I don’t understand,” she mumbled.

  “Don’t try,” the voice shushed. “Just know it. Don’t be afraid. Nothing will ever hurt you again.”

  Fingertips ran gently down her cheek as the lips found hers again. Unexpectedly, Sheridan felt herself shiver…not with fear but with a sudden burst of warm anticipation. It was a sensation she’d thought dead. Murdered by Brian in her apartment that Saturday afternoon.

  Slowly, the lips traveled down under her chin and into the hollow of her throat.

  “You have the most beautiful body. Your skin’s ivory velvet. You don’t need to cover it, hide it from me. Especially not in our bed.”

  Her nightgown disappeared and she could see her naked flesh against her floral sheets, pale and almost luminescent in the moonlight.

  He lay on his side next to her, lean and handsome as he’d been in the other erotic dream. Smiling down at her, caressing her spirit with his love as sweetly as he did her body with his hands and mouth.

  “How did you find me?”

  “I never left you,” he breathed, leaning over to cup her breast in his hand and bringing her nipple to his mouth and suckling gently.

  “Oh!” she yipped as the sensation shuddered through her.

  “It’s all right now,” he assured her as he fondled her, running his hand across her stomach and down her inner thigh. “There’s no fear in our bed. Only pleasure. Don’t be afraid, Sheridan. Let me love you.”

  “Please…no…don’t!” she protested, the all too familiar fear of a man’s touch rushing up to engulf her.

  “It’s all right, my love,” he soothed, continuing to touch her skin and brush light kisses along her lips and cheeks. “I would never hurt you. Much as I love you, want you, it’s not my time yet. You’re still too frightened. The pain’s too fresh. But you need to start again. Need to start back down the road to trust. And you need to rest.”

  “I can’t,” she whimpered into his bare chest.

  “Let me love you, Sheridan,” he coaxed tenderly. “Let me give you pleasure to wipe away the pain. Bring you contentment and peace, in your body as well as your spirit.”

  As his mouth found hers again, his fingertips found her soft, pink clitoris. Delicately as butterfly wings, he ran them over it, feeling her tremble under him.

  “I love you,” he mumbled hoarsely between kisses.

  Almost in spite of herself, Sheridan felt her terror and revulsion being melted by the heat being generated inside her by this mysterious, caring apparition.

  “Who…who are you?” she murmured, her eyes closed, her body rocking slightly.

  “In time,” he growled as his mouth moved in a zigzag down her body, dropping kisses to mark his passing. “When we find each other again, you’ll know me. For these few moments we have together now, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is you.”

  The face disappeared into the thick black curls of her pubic hair and she felt his mouth on her like gasoline suddenly causing a small flame to erupt into blazing fire.

  “Oh God,” she squealed again, barely able to breathe as he worked his magic on her. It was like nothing she’d ever known, even in their dreams before. Then, he’d seemed to know her needs, her desires exactly. And these repeat performances seemed to have honed, have sharpened all his skills.

  His tongue made long, slow sweeps, laying flat and covering her full, tender bud completely. These he combined with short, rapid ice cream cone licks, placing his mouth over her, inhaling like a vacuum. The combination raced through her, uncontrolled lava, spinning her head and vaporizing thought. There was nothing but the exquisite pleasure blotting out everything else.

  Sweeping toward climax, her body shivering and trembling, the phantom kept pace with her, never losing contact with her skin. Sensing she was almost there, he made one last frantic attack that sent her crashing down into a vast ecstasy that rolled and crested and totally engulfed her.

  Lying back on her pillow, her eyes closed as she tried to regain her senses, she felt him against her again, cradling her in his arms like a child, slowly kissing her forehead and hair.

  Reaching up to touch his face, Sheridan half opened her eyes and smiled. “I want you,” she whispered. “I need you.”

  “Not now, darling. We have all the time there is. Besides, I should leave you and let you rest.”

  She grabbed his hand and held it firmly. “Don’t leave me,” she pleaded anxiously. “Stay with me. Be with me.”

  “I don’t want you to be afraid, to hurt you, even accidentally.”

  Silently, she reached down and touched his shaft, straining at attention. “You want me,” she breathed, “as much as I want you. Please.”

  “I…I don’t know,” he hesitated.

  “I need you,” she repeated, sliding her legs apart and pulling him to her.

  Gently, with agonizing slowness, he did as she asked, feeling her wet body slip over him like a perfectly fitted velvet sleeve, bathed in pleasure.

  “Are you all right?” he asked fearfully. “I’m not hurting you am I?”

  “You feel wonderful,” she responded, closing her eyes and losing herself in the sensation of him inside her. Squeezing as tightly as she could, Sheridan pulled him to her, feeling his strong, muscled body cover hers, shutting out the pain and the terror of the rapeand replacing it with warmth and caring.

  Playfully, she stroked his butt, pushing on the firm flesh as she ground him to her as hard as possible. She wanted him to come now; to return to him some measure of the joy he’d given her.

  “Sheridan,” he breathed harshly. “Dear God, darling! Oh…oh!”

  She felt his body shudder and shiver above her as she wrapped her legs around him, trying to take as much of him as she could; wring out every last drop of pleasure from him. She felt the warm gush of his semen as it spurted deep within her body. Feeling him inside of her, knowing at last that Brian hadn’t robbed her of the gift of giving and receiving physical pleasure, she felt an enormous weight being lifted from her body and soul. A new sense of freedom.

  “Sleep now,” he whispered. “All the nightmares have been banished. Tomorrow, you’ll feel better and can start again. Remember how much I love you and that we’ll always be together.”

  Drifting away, Sheridan felt warm and safe.

  *

  It was a little past eight when Sheridan finally opened her eyes, yawned deeply and stretched a long, feline stretch from fingertips to toes. She couldn’t remember when she’d slept so well or so soundly. Certainly not since the attack.

  And she’d had a dream. She couldn’t remember what it had been but the warmth of it hung around her like a fuzzy blanket. For the first time in what seemed like ages, she actual
ly felt rested and refreshed.

  After a shower and a bowl of cereal, she considered her options. Except for a few personal items, kitchen and bath necessities, and her clothes, practically everything she owned remained scattered on her living room floor. Her furniture, including her new sofa and entertainment center had all been placed on moving day. So, realistically, she should spend this first day unpacking and straightening up.

  Instead, she went to her desk in the sunlit turret alcove and sat down. Rummaging through a nearby cardboard box produced her desk set, including mouse pad and wrist rest. A few more moments and she was ready. Switching on the machine, she went to her word processing program and typed a title at the center top of the blank page.

  As she worked, Sheridan began to feel as if someone was dictating the story in her mind; all she was required to do was write it down. Even with her hard-won typing speed, the words gushed out so fast she had trouble keeping up with them. The cherry wine seemed to be spewing out of a fire hose.

  When she looked up from the computer again, Sheridan was shocked to see it was already past noon. Lacing her fingers together, she stretched her arms out in front of her as far as she could, trying to relieve the cramping in her hands and shoulders. Turning her head from side to side, she stretched her tired neck muscles.

  It wasn’t often, she thought as she scrolled over the finished pages, that she got so caught up in something. Even as her body begged to be released from the computer, her mind was anxiously spinning out the details of upcoming scenes, demanding that she remain in her chair and type.

  And it was good.

  She didn’t ordinarily say that about her work. Usually she was her own harshest critic, inspecting every word, every phrase with an eye toward possible improvement. Nothing ever seemed to satisfy her unless it had been tuned and tweaked, as Pat said, “past all reason.”

  But as she read her words, they seemed perfect, saying exactly what she wanted, exactly the way she wanted it to say. It was better than anything she’d ever done before and it brightened her spirits enormously.

  Standing, she glanced around the messy apartment again and a flicker of uncertainty flashed in her brain. Maybe she really should clean up a little. But as she moved to the kitchen for a cup of tea, the thought was gone, pushed out by the ongoing novel unraveling in her brain.

  Chapter Thirteen

  January.

  Per usual, it turned out the office grapevine was right. Duncan’s leg failed to heal properly making it impossible for him to sit or stand for long periods of time or to clamber over excavation and building sites. Instead of a leave of six months, he retired and Jim Eldridge became permanent.

  After sending Sheridan to school (at the company’s expense) Eldridge promoted her to Senior Administrative Assistant for Design and Construction. Granted, her office wasn’t as big or as nice as Diana’s, but then, she wasn’t required to sleep with the boss, either. With the raise she got after her evaluation, she was able to afford a dependable used car and no longer had to ride the bus.

  Her free time was taken up almost completely as the book spilled out. Sometimes she wrote until after midnight, dragging into the office yawning and bleary-eyed. Weekends were spent holed up at the computer, the answering machine picking up her phone messages. When she wasn’t actually at the computer…driving to work, pushing her grocery cart, sorting her laundry…the book whirled relentlessly along, demanding virtually every minute of her time and energy. Only the recurring nightmare of Brian’s vicious attack could push the flowing story from her dreams.

  In fact, the story went so well, that in record time, it was finished. She spent several days going back over it, making mostly technical revisions but not changing the story. Finally, polished to her satisfaction, she put it in a large manila envelope, took it to the post office and sent it on its way. Now there was nothing left to do but wait.

  *

  Winter slowly passed away and spring began creeping in. The first crocus appeared in the garden downstairs. Trees began to sport the beginnings of green buds. Flyers that Sheridan had put up about Nick yellowed and faded. All around her, the world seemed bursting with new life. And she knew it was time.

  “Hello, Karen,” she said timidly into the receiver. “This is Sheridan Phillips. I don’t know if you remember me or not. We met in the hospital a few months ago. You said if I ever needed someone to talk to…”

  “Certainly I remember you,” she replied cheerfully, and Sheridan could almost see her smiling at the other end of the phone. “I’m glad you decided to call.”

  “I…I was wondering if…if…” Sheridan suddenly found that she couldn’t get the words out, a feeling of panic suddenly washing over her.

  “Would you like to make an appointment and come in?”

  “Yes,” Sheridan breathed gratefully. “I’d like that very much.”

  “Good. Let me check my schedule.”

  “Karen?” she blurted out anxiously.

  “Yes?”

  “I…I’m so frightened. I don’t even know what to say.”

  “That’s perfectly all right, Sheridan. And perfectly normal. Don’t worry about it. Just come in and we’ll see where it goes from there. You don’t have to say or do anything that doesn’t feel comfortable. I’m here for you.”

  *

  The warmth of spring gave way to the heat of summer.

  Sheridan saw Karen once a week for an hour. Sometimes she talked. Sometimes she was silent. And sometimes she cried. Karen encouraged her to join a group of women who’d been raped so that she could find support and understanding from women who’d been through it too. Women who were in all stages of recovery, from Monica, more than a year since her assault, to Cheryl, less than two weeks before.

  They spoke of fear and anger and helplessness and rage. Karen shared her story of being assaulted by a college acquaintance in her dorm room after coming over on the pretext of studying. When she’d gone to the police, the young man had cheerfully admitted having sex with her but claimed it was consensual and that she’d invited him up to her room. Amidst a lot of smirking and innuendo, the case had been dropped.

  Unable to cope with the situation, she’d gone home to be confronted by suspicion, snide comments and doubt, even from her family. Six months later, a suicide attempt had brought her to the hospital and the attention of a lady named Grace. She’d been raped and had formed a support group. It had taken almost another year for her to coax Karen to join them.

  She also met Jennifer, a middle-aged housewife with frizzy brown hair, and Carly, a twenty-seven year old cocktail waitress with sad green eyes. They hadn’t known him personally, but both of them had been Brian’s victims too. Listening to them, Sheridan found herself appalled and revolted and furious. This vicious animal, masquerading as a harmless young man, hadn’t just violated their bodies; he’d violated their lives, their homes. Along with their dignity and self-worth, he’d stolen their security, their sense of safety. And she began to understand that she truly wasn’t alone.

  They’d learned to take back their lives from the monsters that invaded them. And if they could survive, she told herself, then so can I.

  Slowly, the nightmare began to subside.

  *

  One Saturday afternoon, Sheridan and Maude were sitting under the shade of a huge old maple tree in the backyard, sipping homemade lemonade when the postman arrived.

  “Afternoon, Maude,” he chirped merrily. “Miz Sheridan.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Kim.”

  He was a short, stocky man with neatly trimmed black hair, bright, shoe-button eyes and a ready grin.

  “I got a registered letter for you, Miz Sheridan,” he told them, taking the white business envelope and a green postcard out of his pouch. “Just sign here.” He handed the postcard to her and pulled a pen from his shirt pocket.

  She scribbled her name and they exchanged mail.

  Maude leaned over and looked at the return address. “Sanderson Pu
blishing,” she read aloud.

  Normally, the envelopes were thick manila mailing ones, her manuscript returned with a short note. This one, however, was thin.

  Carefully, not daring to breathe, Sheridan put her thumb under the flap and ripped it open.

  “Dear Miss Phillips,” it began.

  “I’m pleased to inform you that your manuscript has been accepted for publication…”

  Sheridan didn’t remember much after that sentence. When she’d read the letter four times herself and had Maud read it twice to be sure, she went into shock. And when she got to the part about being paid “an advance,” well, let’s just say there had probably been days she’d been happier but she couldn’t think of one off the top of her head.

  “Oh Sher,” Pat squealed delightedly into the phone, “that’s absolutely wonderful! I’m so happy for you! When will it be published? I can hardly wait.”

  “Well,” Sheridan laughed, “not right away. I mean, there are all kinds of rewrites I’ll have to do. They will send the manuscript back to me by overnight express. I figure it will take me a month to get the revisions finished and back to the publisher and then there’s the cover art and the printing. But they’d like to hurry so they can get it out for the Christmas season.”

  “Christmas season? But that’s months away.”

  “Not when you’re trying to get a book out.”

  “Boy. Now I can tell people that I know an honest-to-God, published writer. I’m going to put my autographed copy on the coffee table.”

  “There’s something else, too. I’m dedicating the book to ‘Pat, for always being my friend’.”

  The line fell silent for several moments.

  “Pat?” Sheridan asked. “Are you still there?”

  “Oh Sher,” she replied, emotion tearing up in her voice. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so honored.”

  “Not as honored as I’ve been to have you for my friend. There’ve been lots of times when I’m sure I wouldn’t have made it without you. I’d just like to tell you thanks.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fall came again, leaves tumbling gently from multi-colored trees, the sun a sort of hazy gold, the air warm but with a hint of the coming winter. With an advance and a two-book deal, Sheridan finally had the money and the confidence to quit her job.