The Possibilities - Desire - A Collection of Short Stories

by Stormy Adams

  “But…Nathan, you’re bleeding!

  “I’ve been cut worse,” he said, “I have a pretty good first aid case in the rucksack, and I’ve got direct pressure on the wound. Please Bridie, don’t argue with me, just do as I say.” Bridie did as he instructed.

  After thirty minutes or so, he gave her directions to a hotel along the interstate twenty odd miles away in a suburb of the city. Bridie checked them into a double room suite with an adjoining door. They came in the back way, away from prying eyes, Nathan’s rucksack over her shoulders. He left the camera bag stowed in the SUV.

  Nathan lay back on the bed and Bridie began ripping his shirt off. The razor sharp knife had cut through both the shirt and his jeans, and though the blood was sticky and thickening, there was a lot of it.

  She had no time for niceties. The belt was severed cleanly, and the jeans parted wide without having to unfasten them. It was clear that Nathan was in pain, but he made no sound…until she slid his bloody undershorts down his legs. He looked up into her intelligent green eyes.

  “I don’t usually go this far on a first date,” he grimaced. Bridie looked down at the long and ghastly looking cut on Nathan’s hip. It started about four inches above his groin and wrapped around in an upward angle towards his kidney. He was correct in his assessment, it was not very deep, it was just very long and quite bloody. Her eyes reflexively glanced at his ‘package’ and was astounded as it began to rise, even in while he was in such pain. It was impressive.

  “Bridie?” his dry voice broke through the mild fog of lust she was in. “Would you mind getting a towel to cover me and then the first aid kit from the rucksack?” He grinned. “If you’re still curious after we get this thing stitched up I’ll let you look at it all you want to!”

  Bridie reddened and ran to the bathroom, filling the ice bucket with warm water and grabbing a handful of washcloths and towels before returning to his side. She cleaned the wound and doused him liberally with an antiseptic/local anesthetic, pulling aside the edges of the wound and inspecting for muscle damage and foreign objects such as strings and bits of cloth, just as he told her to do. She was nauseous, but she did as he asked. When she was satisfied that the wound was free of debris and that there were no cut muscles, Nathan pulled the edges of the wound together while she used the pre-threaded stitching needles sealed in airtight packages to sew him up. She used more than the instructions on the packing called for; making her stitches tight, tiny, and close together. It was a very neat and solid job, and she admired it as she covered it with a bandage after slathering it with antibiotic ointment.

  She had given him an injection of the morphine from one of the measured doses in the bag. Bridie read the directions carefully as Nathan focused on controlling the pain, and only gave him a minimal dose to ease the pain…she told him it was an antibiotic as she gave it to him so that he would remain still. His eyes glazed over and he stared at her.

  Bridie Halloran’s appearance was more gypsy than Irish. Her dark hair hung below her shoulders to the tops of her full breasts, and her dark eyes were filled with alert intelligence. What came from Nathan’s lips next should have surprised her, but it didn’t. “Estrellita!” he whispered. His hand reached for hers, amazingly gentle.

  Tears filled Bridie’s dark brown eyes at the loneliness and love in his voice, and she ached for him. She could see the tears and the wonder in his eyes as he tentatively raised his hand to her breast, cupping it softly through the fabric of the ‘little black dress’ she had worn to the club. Allowing the strap to fall, she lay down next to him on the bed, her hand caressing his hot brow and his thick hair. When he reached for her bra, she shrugged her shoulder to make it easier for him to uncover what he sought. His lips closed around her nipple and she shuddered with pure pleasure at the wet heat of his mouth. The towel over his middle tented, and then slipped aside. His manhood was more than just impressive. Bridie sat up, curled her hand around its rigid heat…and then she gave him the only comfort she could.

  They awakened in the early morning. He was naked and she was wearing only the panties she’d worn under her dress. Bridie was terribly embarrassed, and Nathan was at first non-plussed, and then mildly aggravated because he knew she had drugged him. “What if he had shown up last night?” he hissed as he reached for his backpack. He didn’t bother to try to conceal himself as he pulled on his jeans and a black tee shirt. He didn’t mention what had passed between them in the night. “He would have slaughtered us in our sleep!” He needed help getting his boots on, but the stitches held and there was no fresh bleeding. He went to the door and peeked outside as Bridie slipped on her dress and started the coffee pot in the small kitchen of the suite. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered, closing the door behind him silently.

  Bridie stood in front of the coffee pot, tears of confusion and frustration pouring down her cheeks. In the adrenaline rush of the assault and the unusually rapid development of her miniscule surgical skills, she had come to care for the silent stranger. Seeing his love for the dead Estrellita had touched her heart in a way she had never felt before. She remembered her response, she blushed, her full body changing color as she remembered every minute of what she had done. What she had done to him, for him and his lost love, and what she had done for herself as she took care of him. They had been together at the finish, her eyes finding and locking with his as they peaked at the same time. The love in his eyes had been heart wrenching, and she hadn’t pulled away from him. This morning, she was sure that the love hadn’t been for her, it had been for the dead Estrellita. Bridie was in pain…for herself, for Nathan, and for poor long dead Estrellita.

  Nathan returned moments later, and she managed to straighten her face before he returned his gaze to her. “The parking lot is clear,” he said, “we got lucky.” He lifted his cell phone to his ear after pushing a speed dial number. He was calling his brother.

  “I’ve set it up with the TV people,” Nick said, “They’ll be announcing all day that I’ll be doing a live interview at six o’clock in front of the Courthouse. He’s pissed, doubly so if that was really Jimenez you took out last night…we’ve got nothing yet for an I.D. on the body.”

  “It was Jimenez all right,” Nathan said, “I knew him in Colombia.” His voice was cold and tight.

  “Are you in any shape to participate in the trap we’re setting for him tonight?” Nick asked him.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Nathan said.

  He sat down and complemented her on the coffee after he had explained the extent of his injuries to his brother, reassuring him that he was capable of functioning. Bridie found herself staring deeply into his like a lovesick teenager. She quickly shook it off, berating herself for her adolescent feelings. What was it about this man that turned her knees to jelly and made her heart race as if she had just sprinted a hundred yards?

  Gathering her feelings into herself, she gazed calmly at him. “You have an awful lot of scars for a photographer,” she said, deliberately fouling his concentration by reminding him she had seen him naked. His face colored and his gaze dropped for a moment, but he quickly recovered and lifted his eyes back to hers.

  “The rewards of a misspent youth,” he said with a grin. “I usually don’t have to explain my scars until the fifth or sixth date.”

  “That long?” she asked, for some reason amused.

  “I’m easy,” he grinned, “but I’m no slut.”

  “And your Estrellita?” she asked. She could have bitten her tongue off when she saw him wince as if she had hit him with something large and heavy. He hadn’t looked as bad as this after Jimenez had knifed him. “I must have talked because of the drugs,” he said heavily.

  Bridie reached out to him, touching his hand. “There’s no shame in loving someone,” she said quietly.

  “I wasn’t in love with Estrellita,” he said, “but I cared for her deeply and I feel responsible for her death…nobody should have to die like that.”

 
“The man who did it should,” Bridie said evenly.

  “The man who actually did the killing died last night in front of your office,” Nathan said, “the man who ordered him to do it is the man we’re going after tonight at six.” She could tell that Jimenez had died much too cleanly and quickly to suit him.

  “Then you need to make sure that you catch him alive,” Bridie said, “I understand the prisons in Columbia are not very nice places.”

  “He would buy himself out of a Columbian prison in no time at all,” Nathan said, “nevertheless, I want him sent back to Colombia alive.” Seeing Bridie’s confused look, he smiled at her…a deep malevolent smile. “Somehow, a package of evidence showing that he was stealing from his old partners ended up in the hands of those old partners.” Nathan smiled again, “It’s a very convincing file.” He knew very well what the reaction of those angry partners would be. Torres would last for a long and agonizing time before they let him die.

  In the end, the capture of Emilio Torres was ridiculously easy. Nathan and Bridie sat in a cupola high above the courthouse, with the sun setting behind them. Nathan had mounted a pair of Nikon binoculars above a Leupold Spotting scope. He swept the courtyard where Nick was speaking before the television reporters and located Torres less than ten minutes into the interview. With a hand held radio, Nathan directed the uniformed officers to Torres. They grabbed him and wrested him to the ground, where they cuffed him and disarmed him.

  Bridie stood by Nathan and Nick at the airport as the Colombian authorities took Torres into custody. Torres smiled and waved at them as the men took him in cuffs towards the jetway. Nathan looked at Nick and Bridie. “I’m really going to enjoy this.” It was plain that his wound still bothered him as he loped to Torres side. They heard him call out to the Columbians, who stopped. Nathan leaned next to Torres and whispered into his ear. Bridie saw the man go pale, and heard his screams of terror as the disgruntled Columbian guards glared at Nathan’s retreating back.

  “He’ll have a fun ride home,” Nathan said cheerfully as he got back to his brother and Bridie. “And now that particular chore is taken care of ma’am,” he said to Bridie, “I would very much appreciate a bit of your time.” He slipped one hand around her waist and held her hand with the other.”

  “There is just one more thing,” Nick said, pulling a small manila envelope from his pocket. He opened it and emptied the contents into his brother’s hand. It was a gold Sergeant’s shield and a Police Department I.D. “The Chief said to tell you that he would really appreciate it if you would take this back.” Nick was still gorgeous, Bridie thought, and he was not such an insufferable prick when his hair was trimmed and he was wearing the dark uniform of a Police Captain.

  Nathan stared at the badge and I.D. in his hand. “I’ll think about it Nick,” he promised, “But there are two things I have to take care of first.” Nick looked at him oddly. “First,” said Nathan, “I’ve got a large number of scars to account for.” He grinned at Bridie.

  “What’s the other thing?” Nick asked with a puzzled look.

  “I’ve got to get a release from my new boss!” The kiss he gave Bridie was long and thorough, and she knew he remembered her selfless act of love in the hotel that night. Bridie knew very well that in spite of what he said, Nathan had loved Estrellita. There was no way to compete with the perfection of a woman long dead…she didn’t think anyone would measure up to Estrellita over time.

  “Go back to your job Nathan,” she said sincerely. “Somehow I get the feeling that police work is not so much what you do as it is who you are.”

  SWAMP DREAMS

  Patricia Ames was in shock. The air shuttle had only contained the four of them plus the pilot, and the flight was only supposed to take a little over two hours. She shook when she remembered the pilot’s calm voice when he told them the plane was going down and the terrifying lightning strike that had finished the small charter plane for good. She remembered bracing for the impact as the small plane plummeted out of the sky like a wounded bird, but it was long after the impact before she came to her senses.

  She was lying on a blanket on a dry hummock of land surrounded by lush green vegetation and standing water. Insects hummed around her head and unseen things slithered ominously in the water around her. She looked around, but the soldier that had been the last person on the plane was the only other person she saw. “Where are the others?” she asked quietly.

  The soldier was tall and broad shouldered, his brown hair cropped close, and he was bent over a pile of sticks and moss with butane lighter. He looked back at her solemnly and shook his head. “All of them?” she asked in horror. There was no answer from the soldier.

  There was a pile of odds and ends on the hummock, blankets, flares, a map, a first aid kit, some bottled water…it was obvious that he had ransacked the plane for useful items. He got the smoky fire lit, and there was a slight lessening of the nuisance insects.

  Patricia Ames was an account executive for an advertising company. She had been on her way home to her husband and two small sons from a sales conference and had missed the flight in Jacksonville. She had not been alone in missing the flight, there were four of them. They were all bemoaning the luck that had caused them to be late when a pilot, a nice looking, well dressed aviator, had heard them talking and stopped to speak with them.

  “I’m headed to Atlanta, deadheading to pick up a charter,” he said, “I can give you a lift, and I won’t even charge full fare since I have to go there anyway.” There was not another flight scheduled for Atlanta until the next day, and the four of them had opted for the air taxi rather than spend the night in a hotel. The charter should have put them into Atlanta around seven p.m. They didn’t make it.

  Brian Helms was a young Sergeant First Class on his way to Fort Bragg. He was due to report in there when his leave was up after returning from a deployment to Afghanistan. He had been all shined up and spiffy, his uniform spotless and covered with an array of ribbons, qualification badges, and patches. He wore a green beret cocked jauntily over one eye and he was both handsome and a little dangerous looking. Patricia had eyed him surreptitiously, allowing herself an airy fantasy about him as the flight started. After all, she was just married, not dead.

  The Crash

  The uniform was torn and tattered now, soaked through and grime covered from the muck of the swamp they had landed in. The uniform tunic and his green beret were lying on the ground near her blanket. He came over to her and knelt beside her.

  “It was daylight, or just about, when I regained consciousness,” he told her. “The pilot and the other passengers were all dead when I came to.” Pat could see a gash on the right side of his forehead. “I found you breathing and a little shocky, so I grabbed a blanket and carried you here to this hummock…it’s the only dry ground I could find within a couple of hundred meters.” He had also salvaged what he could from the wreckage, and it was not very much. He saw her frightened look and he grinned at her. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said, “I’ve got some stuff in my duffle bag that will help us a little, including a couple of MRE’s.”

  “What on earth are ‘MREs’?” she asked as she watched him rummage through the heavy green bag.

  “Meal, Ready to Eat,” he said triumphantly, offering her one of the plastic wrapped packages. It was surprisingly good, and there was an amazing amount of food and condiments in the package, as well as some interesting doodads that she didn’t bother to catalog. She watched him gather up the items she set aside. “We haven’t taken stock of what we have yet,” he said earnestly, “and you never know what you’re going to need in a situation like this.”

  “A situation like what?” she asked him, dreading his answer.

  “Well,” Brian said, “I’m not going to sugar coat it. The pilot didn’t file a flight plan, we were traveling VFR (Visual Flight Rules) and he didn’t report any passengers to the tower on take-off…he was probably going to pocket the fare money. Nobody is going
to be looking for us until the fare in Atlanta tries to find him. The parent company doesn’t know where he was heading, and I don’t know if there is an active transponder on the plane…I do know the radio isn’t working. Unless I’m sadly mistaken, we’ve gone down in the Okefenokee Swamp and no one knows we’re out here.” He picked up the map from the pile of things he had recovered from the plane and spread it out on her blanket. Pat was dismayed as he showed her the extent of the Okefenokee. “They still find wreckage from World War II in here sometimes,” he said. Pat was generally a tough woman, smart, resourceful, and in fantastic shape. She had handled the crises every mother handled with aplomb…but this was something completely alien to her. When the full impact of what Brian had told her struck, she simply cried. He wrapped his strong arms around her and held her until she stopped. In spite of the situation she found herself in, she felt herself responding to this handsome adventurer. She felt warm and safe in his arms and was comforted. Drying her tears with the backs of her hands, she glanced at the calm young soldier. “Thanks, I just wasn’t prepared for all this,” she waved around her.

  “You can relax ma’am,” Brian said gallantly, “this all comes under the purview of my field of expertise. I happen to be an expert when it comes to survival techniques and skills.” He explained to her that they needed to stay near the crash site in the event someone did come looking for them. “If nobody comes after about four days,” he said, “we’ll have to walk out.” He gave her a simple, confident look. “In short, we’re stuck in the middle of one hell of a big swamp and nobody is looking for us…because they don’t know we’re here. We’re going to have to walk out of here, and it’s a long hard walk to get to anywhere.”