"I'm sorry that you couldn't be there," Kat said. "We felt, at the time, that it was better..."
"I understand, dear. It seems that staying with Richard meant that I had to miss a lot of important developments in my son's life, but I understand why you did it. I hope I can see the pictures at least?"
"We video taped it for you, and we were planning to have a big wedding here for you and dad, but it would have been just for show. We'll still do it, for you, if you want." I picked at my eggs. I wasn't really hungry anymore.
"We have plenty of time to figure that out later."
I nodded. "Not to change the subject too abruptly, but we should probably be discussing funeral plans."
Kat called all of our friends and acquaintances and told them the publicly accepted story of my father's death. I went to the funeral home to go over the arrangements with the funeral director. I asked my mom if she wanted to come along, but she said she'd rather stay home with Kat. I guess she wasn't too concerned that he would get the wrong color of casket.
We were expecting quiet a few people. Everyone in the community knew him. It was going to be an exhausting couple of days.
I made the arrangements, and then drove back to my mother's house. I noticed as I pulled up the drive that the Mercedes was gone. The wrecking company must have come to get it already. My mother was just full of surprises.
We had the first viewing that night. As I stood in line shaking hand after hand of my father's colleagues and neighbors, I began to wonder how a man could live such a two-sided life. They told me wonderful stories of selfless, generous, and compassionate things that he had done. If I wrote them down, it would be like the biography of a saint.
I was so conflicted. I wanted to be proud of the man that these people knew as my father, and I wanted to hate the man who sexually abused my mother for years. How could they even be the same person?
The next two days followed in the same way, more strangers telling me what a wonderful man he was, more patients whose lives he'd saved, more causes he'd donated to, more emotions that I didn't know how to process.
The detective who had worked my father's case came to the viewing the second day. He did not speak to me, but simply stood in the corner and observed for a while. He looked at Kat repeatedly. I wondered what he was looking for. I hoped that he would not find it. If he'd suspected anything, I would have expected him to speak by now.
I was relieved when my father's body was finally laid to rest. I buried a lot with that coffin, and most of it, I never wanted to dig up again.
I offered to bring my mom home with us for a while, but she insisted that she wanted some time alone. We were only a week away from Christmas break as it was, so Kat and I went home, promising to call every day and come back as soon as school let out.
It felt like the closing of one chapter and the opening of the next.
Chapter 40
The nightmares didn't stop. I woke up nearly every night covered in sweat and choking on my own screams. I wished that I could control it. I knew that it was upsetting David, but there didn't seem to be anything that I could do about it.
David and I had been home for a few days, and I was back to work. I hoped that the return to normalcy would eventually work its way into my subconscious, removing the night terrors, but so far, it hadn't been very effective.
David scheduled meetings with Richard's lawyers and accountants. There was still a lot of business to take care of with regards to his father's estate. Everything was transferred into his name, but he chose to leave most of the investments alone.
We discussed at length what to do about Ellen. We both agreed that everything Richard had left behind should rightfully go to her. She had paid her dues with that man, and now she deserved whatever part of his legacy she wanted to keep. However, she didn't want to have anything to do with his estate, despite David's efforts to involve her.
It wasn't wise to just leave a couple million dollars in a checking account earning little or no interest, but if Ellen would not be involved in the investments than she would need a simple cash account. David didn't want to monitor her accounts. She had been watched and controlled enough for one lifetime, and David refused to give her a budget or a supervised spending account.
Finally, he settled on setting up an account for her, in her name only, that was essentially bottomless. The money was fed into the account from a range of Richard's investments. If the liquid amount of cash in the account ever dropped below $250,000 money would be taken from another investment to replenish it. It was the most bizarre money management system that I'd ever seen, but it made sense in a way.
He also set up an account for me, although it was not so complicated and used less funds. We'd both become a bit paranoid over the last few days about a worst-case scenario. David wanted to make sure that our wills were up to date, and that we had backup plans for everything. He had inherited some of his late father's obsessive-compulsive nature along with his fortune.
Ellen wanted to sell the house, so David made arrangements for her with a Realtor. She planned to sell as much as she could and donate the rest. It became clear quickly that she loathed everything in the house. It was as if she needed to rid herself of every physical reminder of her old life.
David and I were considering moving as well. Our living arrangements had always been controlled by what we could and couldn't tell his father, and now we had the freedom of both parental permission and finances. David wanted to hire an architect and build a house. I wasn't sure what to think.
David and I spent very little time together that week. He was extremely busy between his schoolwork and managing his father's affairs. I was looking forward to the Christmas break, which would allow us a little more time to reconnect.
The bruises had faded from my hips, and I had tried to let my memories fade as well, but I knew deep down that I was not recovering. I kept telling myself that it had only been a few days. I couldn't be expected to heal within the week. I wasn't very convincing.
David had not touched me physically since that night in the car. We slept in the same bed, of course, but even then he seemed reluctant to hold me. I told myself that he was just tired. He probably was tired, but that didn't keep my hurt feelings at bay. Didn't he know how much I needed him?
I went to a cafe that was two blocks from work for dinner that Thursday. I didn't feel up to cooking for myself, and David was at school. It was a little over a week since the incident. I was grading papers and sipping a cup of tea, when a familiar shape slid into my booth, across from me. I looked up into the eyes of detective Reed, the detective assigned to Richard's case. My stomach turned to ice.
He considered me across the table for a moment. He was probably in his mid fifties, dark hair and eyes, excellent physical shape. He was the picture of calm. In so many ways, he reminded me of my own father.
"Hello, Kat," he said.
"Detective," I replied, as calmly as I could. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything. I wanted to speak to you, off the record, so to speak."
I felt like I couldn't breathe. Why was he here? This was out of his jurisdiction. He knew something. He had to.
I nodded my head. I couldn't speak.
His voice was low and soft. He was speaking so that only I could hear him. "My mother," he started, "was thirty-six years old when my father kicked her down the stairs for the last time. I was nine. I watched her bleed to death."
He paused as if expecting me to respond. What was he trying to tell me? Was he lying to me in the hopes that I would confess to something?
"I'm sorry," I said, "for your loss."
He laughed bitterly. "I bet you heard that phrase a lot this week."
"Yeah, I did."
"Was it a loss?"
I looked up, startled. "He was my fiancé’s father..."
"Did he hit you too, or just Ellen?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
/> "Yes you do. It takes one to know one, Kat. I spotted Ellen's bruises from more than ten feet away. Either your husband hit her, or his father did. You weren't exactly stable on your feet that night either. Do you want to tell me what really happened?"
Oh God.
"David and I aren't..."
"I have your marriage license. The lack of a wedding ring doesn't make you any less married."
I toyed nervously with my pen. This was it. He knew. There was nothing that I could do about it.
"Who hides their marriage from their parents? Was it your idea or David's?"
"I was pregnant," I lied. "We didn't want to tell them, but then I miscarried."
"Bullshit."
"What are you accusing me of?"
He considered me for a moment. He saw everything.
When he spoke again, his voice was less harsh. "Ellen looks good. I think she's going to move on with her life. I saw a for sale sign in the yard already. She must really hate that house, huh?"
I didn't respond, so he continued. "David gave her back a lot of Richard's money. I guess I'm not the only one who thought that his will was fucked up..."
I was angry and scared. Why was he toying with me this way? I tried to be strong.
"I was not aware that providing for David's mother was a crime," I said coldly. "If you are charging me with something, I would like to call my husband..."
"I knew your father," he interrupted. I stopped stunned. I knew that he looked familiar to me. Had he been at my own father’s funeral?
"We went through the academy together before you were born. I came to his funeral, but I doubt that you remember. You didn't seem to recognize me. There were a lot of people there. He was a wonderful man, your dad."
"Yes, he was."
"What would he think of David?"
"I think he would have loved David," I answered honestly.
"Kat, I'm only going to say this one time. I want you to listen to me. A mean temper is usually hereditary. I don't know what happened last Tuesday night, and I'm not sure that I want to know. Everyone else is content to let this case close, but I'm here for one reason and one reason only. I want to know if David is abusing you."
I started to interrupt him, but he silenced me and continued. "If he hits you, you need to tell me now, or you will wind up just like Ellen. Do you understand that? These men do not stop."
"David would never hit me," I said softly.
"Look me in the eyes and tell me that."
I looked up. His dark eyes searched mine for an answer.
"Detective," I swallowed thickly. "I love my husband. He would never hurt me." I took a shallow breath; it was the best I could manage. "He is not his father. He is more like mine."
He stared into my eyes a moment longer and then stood to leave. "Thank you, Kat. That is all I needed to know." He dropped his business card on the table. "If you ever need anything, you call me."
"I will, sir."
And with that he left.
David was waiting for me when I came home.
"Kat, you're really late getting home, are you okay?"
"Yeah, um, I want to talk to you about something," I answered.
We sat down on the couch together, and I relayed the strange meeting. David masked his emotions well. I don't know what he thought. In the end he just kind of nodded his head. We both realized that there was nothing to be done about any of it.
"David?"
"Yeah?"
"You know that I love you. Right?"
He gave me a sad smile. "Come here, baby," he said, holding his arms out for me.
I crawled into his lap and enjoyed the warm, safe feel of him around me. I was scared and confused, but for the first time in a week, I felt like we just might make it through this.
Chapter 41
She crawled into my lap, and I held her. It sounded like the detective was going to leave us the hell alone. Maybe he was doing it as a favor to her father, even if he had been gone for almost five years. I was still terrified, but it looked like we might get away with this after all. Dare I hope that someday this might be behind us?
I admired my mother. She seemed to be moving on quite well. I wished many times during that week that I had her strength.
I hadn't really touched Kat since the night of my father's death. I knew that she was anxious to get back to our physical relationship. She wanted to get back into the playroom in particular, but after so much violence, I wasn't sure that I could do it. Every time I even thought about getting rough with her, or even having normal sex with her, my head filled with visions of him thrusting up into her as she screamed. When I closed my eyes I still saw that knife pressed to her throat. I knew that she needed for me to be strong. I knew that she needed her Dom, but how could I even think of giving her pain after what she had experienced?
I couldn't cope, so I made excuses. I was working extra hours at school and spending a lot of time trying to get my father's affairs in order. These things needed to be dealt with, but the truth was, it was comforting to throw myself into a project that didn't require emotions. I needed time to recover, and I wasn't sure that I would get it.
Kat shifted in my arms and yawned. She’d been doing that a lot this week. The nightmares were disrupting her sleep schedule. I would give her a few more days to recover naturally, and if the nightmares didn't stop I would start drugging her nighttime tea with a mild sedative. She didn't function well without sleep, and I would do what was necessary to see that she remained healthy. I may not be ready to go back to the playroom, but I would still see that her needs were met. One way or another, I would be sure that she recovered and remained healthy.
"Time for bed, love," I said.
"David?"
"What, Kat?"
"Could we um... I mean..."
I sighed. She was being mature about it this time. She wasn't using shoes, but it was the same question. She wanted a session. I couldn't give her what she wanted. Not tonight.
"Not now, Kat," I answered. "You're tired. I'm tired. Later."
She didn't answer, but she nodded weakly against my shoulder. I lifted her off of the couch and carried her back to the bedroom. I undressed her and tucked her under the covers. I went back through the house turning off the lights and then crawled in beside her.
I stayed awake until her breathing evened out, and I knew that she was asleep. I woke less than forty-five minutes later when she started screaming. I held her to my chest and tried to ease her fear. She was shaking and sweating but there were no tears.
She twisted her body around mine and clung to me like a life preserver. My heart broke. I couldn't save her. I couldn't even save myself.
"Please, Sir," she said softly. I almost didn't hear it. Almost.
I tugged at my own hair. Could I really handle this? Could I give her what she needed?
I remembered the first time that she had pleaded with me in the same way. I remembered how she looked that night, topless on my parents’ patio, her skin pale in the moonlight. God, she was so beautiful. With those two little words she had so much power over me. She knew that I could not deny her then, and I could not deny her now. I loved her. I loved her enough to sacrifice my own sanity for her.
"Go to the playroom, Katlyn," I said softly. "Pull the whipping bench out of the closet and drape yourself over it."
She didn't move.
"Now," I commanded.
She got up immediately and left the room. I closed my eyes and tried to force myself to follow her. My legs felt like stone. Surely I could manage a simple spanking. I needed to get her to cry so that she could find some relief, and then we would go back to bed. I could do this.
I forced myself up and walked across the hall. I looked though the doorframe at the scene in front of me and almost vomited on the floor.
I turned back into the hallway and sunk to the carpet with my head in my hands. Oh God. She was bent over the bench, her ass facing me, and all I could see was the ghost o
f my father behind my beautiful wife. I had made a mistake, telling her to bend over the bench like that. That position was far too familiar.
I saw his hands on her hips. I saw her head thrown back as she fought. I saw the snarl on his face, the knife in his hand, and the pain in her eyes.
The silent tears fell down my cheeks.
I couldn't do this. I would never be able to do this.
I don't know how long I sat there in the hallway, with her still leaning on that bench waiting for me, before I found my voice. I wiped the tears from my cheeks and made sure that my voice was strong.
"Change of plans," I called, "put the bench away. I want you in your pose on the floor. Face the door."
I heard movement in the room as she followed my commands.
I took a couple of deep breaths and forced myself to stand.
I looked into the playroom for the second time. This was better. This held memories of better times.
I walked to her and knelt down. I put my hands in her hair and gently lifted her chin.
"I'm so sorry, Kat," I admitted. "I can't. I'm not ready." I pulled her into my arms. Her naked body felt incredible against me. I breathed her in and kissed her hair. "I can't hit you, not after what he did to you. What if I hurt you?"
She didn't answer me, but I knew that she was disappointed. I could feel the tension in her body. She kissed me, which I didn't expect. She would never, under ordinary circumstances, make such an aggressive move in the playroom. It became clear that regardless of the location, she was not my sub at the moment and I was not her Dom. She straddled me and pushed me back onto my heels, never breaking our kiss.
Her kiss was desperate, begging. I concentrated on the feel of her warm skin against my own. I blocked out everything but the way that she felt in my arms. I pushed every thought from my mind and let her lead me.
I could feel my erection growing hard against her soft belly. I shifted to be more comfortable, pulling her on top of me. She wrapped her tiny hand around my shaft and began to stroke me. I let her have her way with me as I kissed her and moaned helplessly into her mouth.
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