He kissed her. It wasn’t an ordinary kiss for him. It was a tender sensual kiss that took his mind to another world. He felt her warm tongue against his, and he reached up and pulled on the towel wrapped around her head. The towel dropped and he caressed her wet hair. As their kisses became more intense, he put his hand under her top and felt her smooth skin.
They continued kissing. Time stopped in Marc’s head. When she took off her top, he was mesmerized, completely lost in the magic of the moment.
The warm orange glow of the firelight gave her breasts a magical and surreal look. He kissed them with slow, methodical kisses. Marc felt her touch. He was both enchanted and going crazy with desire. “I want to make love to you.”
Drew’s body stiffened. She removed her hand from between his legs and sat up.
“Is something wrong?”
“I’m sorry, Marc. I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”
Marc felt frustrated and he looked away towards the fire. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I said anything. I really like you a lot. I wasn’t trying to pressure you.”
“I’m not ready for a relationship. I get the feeling, if we fuck, you are going to take it like, well, something all serious. I’m not ready for serious.” Drew put her top back on.
Marc watched her and frowned. “You want that popcorn now?”
“Sure, but how do you make it up here? Without a microwave?”
“Old school.”
Marc picked up a heavy cast iron pot and placed it on the stove. He poured oil and popcorn kernels into the pot. He then put on some oven mitts. The left mitt was shaped like a trout and the right one a bear.
Drew laughed at him as she went to get herself a Diet Coke. “Shouldn’t you be wearing an apron too?”
“I have one in here somewhere. I think it has pink kittens on it.”
“I’ve never had popcorn made in a pot before.”
“My dad taught me this back when I was just a kid. I learned to cook up here.” He moved the pot quickly back and forth so that the popcorn wouldn’t burn as it popped. “It’s best this way.” He poured the popcorn into a large bowl, drizzled the butter he had melted, and then added salt. He joined Drew on the sofa, and they dug into the hot buttery mess.
“Almost as good as sex, I guess.”
“I’ve never seen it made that way. It’s good. I never learned to cook. I wasn’t really allowed in the kitchen much as a kid.”
“Really?”
She nodded with her mouth full of popcorn.
“Tell me about it. Your childhood.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.
~ Oscar Wilde
I’ve forgiven my dad for how he treated me. But for how he treated my mother? No, never.
~ Drew Stirling
Drew Stirling told Marc about her childhood.
“I remember hearing my father knocking on my bedroom door the morning of my tenth birthday.”
“Wake up, birthday girl,” he shouted from the hallway. She jumped out of bed and went to find her parents after brushing her teeth, washing her face, and brushing out her long hair. She found them in the kitchen. Her father sat at the table reading and drinking his coffee. Her mother was in an apron making pancakes.
“Happy Birthday, honey,” her mother said. “I’m making your favorite breakfast.”
“Waffles?”
“No, chocolate chip pancakes with bananas and whipped cream.”
My favorite when I was eight. Two years ago.
“Thank you Mom. You’re the best.”
“Go get washed up.” She stopped and kissed the top of Drew’s head. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
Drew went to her bathroom and brushed her hair again. She came back a few minutes later. The meal had been served. Her father had scrambled eggs and toast and her mother had a grapefruit. She looked at her plate and then at her mother. She started eating.
“Drew, what do you say to your mother? She made this special breakfast. Just for you.”
“I told her thank you, Dad.”
“Don’t talk back to me, young lady. Just because you’re in double digits now… You mind your manners.”
“Next thing you know,” her mother said, “she’ll be a teenager.”
“God help us.” He finished his breakfast and got up from the table. “I’m off to earn a living. Drew, your mother is taking you to the mall to pick out some new clothes for your birthday. Please be on your best behavior young lady. You’re going to have to start acting more mature. Being ten means you’re not a baby anymore.”
Drew said goodbye to her father as he left for work and looked at her mother. Her mom was slowly chewing a piece of grapefruit as if it was the last piece of food she’d get to eat all day.
She and her mother finished the rest of their breakfast in silence.
Drew looked at Marc. He was listening to her and paying attention. She stopped talking and reflected on her past. “Your dad seems like he’s really nice.”
Marc had been listening to her talk about her childhood without comment. He nodded his head once in a while and made eye contact in the right places.
“It seems like your dad wasn’t very warm.”
“Understatement of the year.”
“What about your mom?”
“Mom.”
Drew was quiet for another moment. She looked off into the kitchen, unfocused and thoughtful. She explained that her mother was never mean, never yelled, never spanked, never punished, but she wasn’t warm, loving, and kind either.
“My mom,” Drew continued, “is efficient. If you needed something, she had it. If you got hurt, she had the correct Band-Aid for your wound. If you got sick, she had the right medicine. If you lost a button, she had the correct replacement. She would sew the new button into place, right then and there. I lacked nothing in my childhood. Materially speaking.”
“Did your mom support your modeling?”
“Not at first. She said the same things my father said. ‘You need a good education. You need to go to a good college. You can’t just think that you can make a living by being pretty. You need to work in medicine or law or business. You need to find a good husband.’ She never told me anything original or encouraged me to think about it myself. She never talked about my happiness. Never tried to help me find something I enjoyed.”
“Do you think your parents are happy, I mean, like in love?”
“Oh, God, no. I don’t think my mom even knows what being in love is like. I think, in her own way, she loves me. She probably loves my dad. But ‘in love’? I don’t see it. I guess that’s kind of sad, not being in love. Not experiencing that feeling of bliss. Not feeling like someone is there just for you.”
“And you know that feeling?”
Drew was quiet. She didn’t know how to answer that question.
“Well. You don’t get hurt that way,” Marc said.
“No. No, you don’t.”
“I really had a great time today.” He gave her a hug.
“I think I’ll read for awhile and then try to fall asleep. I’d still like to try fishing in the morning. If you’re up for it?”
“Absolutely. I’ll wind up my old alarm clock and set it for five.”
“Five! You serious?”
Marc went to the linen closet and picked up an armful of blankets. He told her that the best place to sleep in the cabin was on the sofa near the fireplace. He put a couple more logs onto the fire and told her he’d be in the second bedroom. He assured her she could move into the master bedroom if she got too uncomfortable in the living room.
“Good night. I had a great time today, too. I almost forgot why we were up here in the first place.”
After Marc went to bed, Drew was deep into the book she’d chosen to read. The caffeine and the book kept her wide awake for hours. Although she didn�
�t know the time, she knew it was late when her eyes could no longer stay open to read.
“Drew, Drew, it’s five.” Marc was standing over her wrapped in a thick wool blanket and wearing a beanie on his head.
“Go away.”
“It’s freezing in here. I’m going to heat up the potbelly and start another fire.”
Drew heard the front door open, and she felt a cold blast of air. Marc came back in with split logs. “It’s raining and cold. I suppose you’d like to forget fishing for the day?”
“You can read minds.” She heard him open the potbelly stove and then move into the kitchen.
“Drew, you still up?”
“Barely.”
“Go back to sleep. I’m going to read more of these files and come up with different ideas about what to do. We’ll talk when you get up.”
She drifted into a light sleep and dreamt.
The Congressman was standing next to her father. He was talking to her.
Her mother was sitting in a chair crying. The Congressman started talking.
Slut.
Whore.
Liar.
What kind of girl did you raise?
Don’t let her pose nude. Can’t you control your own daughter?
Tell her to shut up.
Tell her that she’ll ruin my marriage.
Tell her that she’ll ruin my career.
Is that what she wants?
What kind of father are you?
Allowing her to be such a public slut.
I thought you were a decent family?
Drew jerked awake.
“Are you alright?” Marc was sitting at the kitchen table looking at his laptop. The computer screen created an eerie glow in the dark room.
“Just a bad dream. I’ll be okay.”
“While you’re still coherent, where’s your car keys? In case I need to run the converter to charge my laptop.”
“My purse.” She rolled over and thought about her bad dream. “Marc?”
“Yes?”
“I want to get that asshole.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
There is no such thing as justice, all the best that we can hope for is revenge.
~ Emilie Autumn
Yes, I love being an investigative journalist. It’s a life’s mission and a good one. But, in the back of my head, I can’t help but think that everything a man does is just to get laid.
~ Brad Novak
Marc Chase poured himself a second cup of coffee and put another log on the fire. He looked at Drew lying on the sofa. She’d been in a deep sleep for a good hour. No more bad dreams. At least none that woke her up. He went back to the file he was reading. It contained notes written by the reporter, Brad Novak.
July: Interview with subject “John Doe.”
John refuses to go on record. The following has been copied from my handwritten notes.
John states:
“I know something is wrong about this research. It’s not just preventative.
I think we are working on making weaponized biologicals.
The research is compartmentalized into departments. I am the leader of a small group that works in Section Seven.
I questioned my supervisor, a woman named Sharon Wong. She made it clear that my questions were above my pay grade, and she reminded me of the non-disclosures I’d signed.
I could be fired if anyone even knew I was talking to you.
I could be charged with a federal crime, treason or something, national security violations. I don’t know.”
John explained that his work involved smallpox.
I asked how that was explained to him and his team, considering that weaponizing smallpox is well-known to be against international law.
John explained that they were told that special exemptions had been made in a committee at a high level of government. They were told they were working on defensive and preventative measures. He said they were often reminded that they’d signed agreements to keep their work secret.
I asked him if it felt like they had been threatened. He stated, “Absolutely.” They were reminded on a regular basis of the consequences of talking about their work.
I asked him if he’d share the names of his team members, and he declined. He said he didn’t want to involve anyone else.
I tried to get a personal email or a home address for follow-up, but he said he’d contact me if there was any new information. He said he was scared, and he hoped he could trust me.
Update in August: John sent me an email and stated he’d been transferred to Europe and that it wasn’t safe for me to try and find him. He wrote “I have nothing else to say.” and “Be careful.” Email to his address bounced back when I tried it.
Marc wrote down his own thoughts. He planned to go over his notes with Drew, and together, he thought, they could come up with a plan.
It was obvious why the Congressman wouldn’t want this information going public if he had any connection to it. But so far, Marc had not found a direct link beyond the obvious. The lab was in Bristol, Boyd’s home district, and not far from his home office. But that could just be a coincidence. There were more files on the thumb drive than he’d originally thought and lots more research on the topic of weaponized biological warfare. Marc went through the photographs, screenshots of articles, emails, and pictures of lab equipment.
There were copies of other newspaper articles on the topic of NBC, which he learned stood for nuclear, biological, and chemical weapons, and articles about WMD, weapons of mass destruction. It was easy to see, of course, how this investigation by Novak had pressed some buttons.
It was becoming clear that Novak’s disappearance had been under nefarious conditions. He had found compelling evidence that the Congressman had been funding research to build illegal weapons. This information going public would cause outrage in both America and the international community. The very idea that this research existed could lead to backlash — international sanctions, scorn, treaties being trashed, even a terrorist attack.
If his findings had been found legitimate, Novak’s journalistic work could have sparked World War Three. Perhaps silencing him had been the lesser of two evils?
Marc realized they needed to be extremely careful. As much as they might want to expose Boyd, neither of them would want to start an international incident.
He wished he had internet service.
Marc wrote a few notes:
1. We need to protect Drew by going public. This will make Boyd afraid to hurt her.
2. We can upload all the notes to the web. Reddit maybe? Probably a bad idea. Might cause a war!
3. Talk to Drew about doing a photo shoot. Nudes. These could sell for a lot of money if her name goes public.
4. Let pros in the press figure out how to deal with the allegations about the lab.
5. Keep looking for clues.
Protecting Drew, priority #1.
Exposing corruption? Okay, priority #2.
Making some money? Priority #3.
Marc read his notes over again. He thought again about asking her to do a photo session with him.
He watched her sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sexual shame is in itself a kind of death.
~ Alison Bechdel
When you are married to a powerful man, especially a handsome one, you expect indiscretion. It comes with the territory. What you don’t expect is to find out about it on the evening news.
~ Linda Boyd
Drew Stirling woke up and saw Marc sitting at the table scribbling notes. “Good morning,” she said. She sat up and stretched.
“She lives.”
She got up and poured herself a cup of coffee. “You’ve been up working long?”
“Yeah, it’s been a few hours.”
“Where’s your computer?”
“Out in the car being charged. I ran the battery down. There is so much more on that thumb driv
e than we thought.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Drew, look, you were right to be paranoid. I think we need to be proactive.”
“What are you thinking?”
Marc explained that the journalist, Brad Novak, had gathered information indicating that a lab called Genaplat was doing illegal research and that Congressman Boyd was connected to it. The problem Novak had faced was getting solid information he could corroborate. People were afraid to go on record.
The lab was owned by a series of corporations and conglomerates. It had been very difficult, according to Novak’s notes, to figure out who was behind it all. Novak hadn’t known who was controlling things, but he’d found evidence linking Congressman Boyd to the project. “I think Boyd had something to do with Novak’s disappearance, which is why I’m worried about you. But I have a plan.”
The best idea that Marc thought up was her posing nude in a photo set and going public.
“What the fuck! That sounds a bit self-serving. I’m not opposed to the idea of posing nude. I mean, we’ve been talking about it anyway. But how is that going to help me out of this bind?”
“Look at our problem. We have all this information, but no way to prove anything. We aren’t exactly investigative journalists, and we don’t have any clout to publish anything. I will try to talk to the editors at the Post. Maybe to someone else that knew Novak, perhaps another reporter. But all we have is an article and a bunch of notes. No real proof. But, think about this — if you stay off the grid for a bit, I mean, stay up here out of contact with the world, someone will ask, ‘Where’s this Drew Stirling?’ and then we’ll be in a less vulnerable position.
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