The Window

by Glenn Rolfe

  Alison walked into the kitchen and headed straight for the coffee pot. She tucked her long, brown hair behind her ear and took a red mug from the rack on the counter. “Morning, fellas, what are we having?”

  James was always pleasantly surprised at how pretty his dad’s girlfriend was, even when she came crawling out of bed. She was sporting some serious bed head and purple pajamas pants, but she looked great. He’d had her visit him in his own dreams periodically over the last half a year. The memories of those dreams brought warmth to his cheeks. She walked past him with her steaming cup of coffee and ruffled his hair.

  He just smiled as he responded, “Bacon, eggs, pancakes, and cinnamon toast.”

  “What a nice surprise.” She grabbed a plate from the table, heaped a steaming pile of eggs, two pancakes, and a couple strips of bacon upon it, and sat between the Curry men. She took a sip of coffee, set the cup down, and looked at James. “Good to see you’ve finally found a few hours to grace us with your presence. How does it feel to be home?”

  James watched her bring the fork up to her lips.

  “It’s been awesome, so far.”

  I got to hold hands with Carrie and hang out with her all day.

  “I had a little surprise for James, as well,” Richie said. He sat across from James with his elbows propped on the table and his hands folded in front of him. He nodded toward his son. “Why don’t you go ahead and spill the beans.”

  “Well?” Alison asked.

  “Dad’s taking me to see Def Leppard in Boston.”

  She smiled and glanced at Richie. “Well, well, well. Your dad’s just full of surprises today, isn’t he?”

  Richie smiled.

  “She turned to James. “So, when’s the big concert?”

  His mouth was stuffed with the deliciously spongy pancakes.

  “We’re actually going to head out Thursday morning,” Richie said.

  “This Thursday?” She looked even more surprised.

  “Yeah, they’re playing at the Verizon Center that night, but I booked us at the Hampton Inn for two nights—just some father and son time.”

  “Wow, somebody’s trying’ to win father of the year.”

  James laughed. “We’re going to see the Red Sox on Friday, too.”

  “Rock n’ roll and baseball? Sounds like the luckiest kid in town does have the best dad in the world after all.”

  “I hope you don’t mind that it’s just me and James going. I know how much you love Def Leppard,” Richie said.

  “I think I’ll be okay. You boys just try and behave yourselves down there. Don’t go running off with a couple of hot blondes.”

  James thought of Carrie.

  His dad reached across the table and placed his hand on Alison’s.

  “Not a chance.”

  Chapter Nine

  That night, despite the strange urge to check the kitchen window and desire clawing at his subconscious, Richie decided to stay in bed. He snuggled up behind Alison and felt her press her rump against him. He felt himself respond, and so did she. After a few more pushbacks from her, he felt her hand free him from the top of his underwear. He smiled as she stroked him.

  “I want you, right now,” he said.

  She didn’t waste a precious second, she disappeared beneath the sheets and took him in her mouth. Richie felt a smile that threatened to crack his face. When she came up for air, he was ready to come. He guided her hips as she climbed on top of him and lowered herself onto his cock. He moaned as she rode him to orgasm.

  Afterwards, they lay tangled up, their sweat cooling from the air blown by the A/C unit he’d managed to get working again.

  Another summer miracle.

  And for the first time in what felt like months, Richie fell into a deep, restful sleep.

  …..

  Down the hall, James juggled texts from Kevin and Carrie, while trying to dig into another horror novel. He couldn’t believe he was here right now in his real bedroom, talking to his two favorite people in the world, and wishing it could be this way forever.

  He was so tempted to tell Carrie that he loved her. It was stupid, as they weren’t even officially dating, but he’d never felt so strongly for anyone…well, ever. He was about ninety-nine percent sure she felt the same. His fingers fluttered over the I… He pressed it and pulled up the heart emoji.

  His phone pinged again.

  Kevin.

  He finished typing his message of love and hit send. He suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. He tossed the phone down next to his book and buried his face in his hands.

  What if she said something like Oh, I don’t feel that way. Or I’m sorry. Or worse yet, she didn’t reply at all. What if she fell asleep and wouldn’t get the text until morning!

  He’d never sleep again.

  Ping.

  He couldn’t move. He didn’t dare to look at the response.

  “Don’t be a wuss,” he told himself.

  Reaching down, he pulled the phone to his chest. His heart was hammering in response.

  Closing his eyes, he brought the phone to his face, and took a deep breath.

  Dude, what? Love U 2 Jamey Boy.

  Weirdo.

  Kevin.

  He’d sent the message to Kevin.

  James groaned and buried his head in his pillow.

  His phone pinged again. He picked it up and placed it on his nightstand without looking at it. He’d tell them he’d fallen asleep. He just didn’t have the mental stamina to deal with anything else tonight.

  After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, James slipped into a dream. He was with his father’s girlfriend, only in his dream, Alison was not the voluptuous version that writhed and slithered through his father’s visions, but rather the real-life version of the woman who had made his father truly happy for the first time since his mom had left. In the dream, James took Alison on a date to see some movie he’d heard of but had never actually seen, Gone with the Wind. On their date, she kept morphing from Alison and then into Carrie. Both eyed him as if he were an ice cream waiting to be licked. There was a wickedness laced within the fabric of the whole vision that scared him and excited him. Either way, he slept like a baby. He ejaculated in his boxers after the interchanging beauties went down on him, pleasuring him senseless and sucking the power of creation from him as if it were the most delicious blue raspberry slushy in the whole world.

  Chapter Ten

  The day had been amazing. James and his dad arrived in Boston just before game time and were seated three rows back from the Red Sox dugout. Mookie Betts smashed a three-run homer over the Green Monster to secure a come-from-behind victory for the Red Sox over the Tampa Bay Rays. Just before leaving their seats, James saw Xander Bogarts signing autographs and managed to work his way over to his favorite player. He signed James’ mini Sox bat that he talked his dad into buying on their way in.

  After sitting in the horribly congested parking garage traffic for what felt like an eternity, they made their way to the end of Lansdowne Street, jumped on I-95, and worked their way over to their hotel in Braintree. What a name. James imagined there being a tree at the center of town which had roots that led to each and every home surrounding it, giving nutrition to every citizen, young and old, in exchange for micro-fractions of their souls. The tree of life, giving and taking something day in and day out, leaving a change in its hosts. Maybe they were half-souls, people that couldn’t feel all the way, coming across almost alien, emotions off-center, like people trying too hard to be normal.

  “What’s on your mind?” his dad said.

  James broke from the fantasy and saw the hotel come into view.

  “Nothing, I was just…thinking about what this town must be like.”

  “Yeah, with a name like Braintree it must have an interesting history.

  Or secret reality, James thought and smirked.

  They pulled up to the front entrance.

  “I’ll go check us in,” his dad
said.

  Once they got settled in, his dad had him order pizza and wings and agreed on watching Drag Me to Hell on HBO. As far as James was concerned, it had been pretty much the best day ever, and they still had the Def Leppard concert tomorrow night.

  James read through his latest issue of Horror Hound, appreciating the lack of “that stuff’s going to give you nightmares” comments that usually came from his mom. His dad sat enthralled by an episode of Ice Road Truckers.

  James fell asleep dreaming of bashing Braintree pod-people with Xander Bogarts and Mookie Betts at his side, the three of them working their way to the center of town and the tree of life.

  …..

  Richie had been just about to give in to the Sandman when a voice called to him from across the room. The curtain covering the window of his fifth-floor room fluttered.

  Is it possible?

  He slid his feet to the thinly carpeted floor and sat staring toward the slight movement. He glanced to the other bed and saw James curled up around his autographed bat, lost in a dream.

  A hand wrapped around the curtain’s edge. A thigh, smooth and pale, ducked out below.

  Richie stood, salivating, his pulse quickening. His libido suddenly activated, he could feel himself stiffen. He looked back to his son.

  The voice whispered again.

  “Richie, he’ll be fine…come to me,” it whispered.

  He knew the voice. It was the sultry version of Alison from those erotic trances he’d been experiencing over the last couple of days.

  “Richie…” This time, the hushed voice licked his ear, and sent a rush through him. He reached up and touched his ear lobe. It was wet. The front of his flannel pajamas tented toward his partially revealed seductress. Compelled, he drifted to the curtains.

  He stood and dropped his gaze to the floor. A pair of red stilettos peeked from beneath the drape.

  She was in the room, right here, right now. He drew back the fold of material. The vixen stood before him, but for the red shoes, naked as the day she was born.

  “Take her,” said another voice, a male voice, a familiar voice.

  His reflection in the window was speaking to him, commanding him. He caved.

  In their previous interactions, he had been forced to watch himself perform with this version of Alison, a voyeur, unable to act. He could watch, but he could not participate, but here and now, tonight, she was in this room, in the flesh with him. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he didn’t care. This was primal and irresistible.

  He placed his hands on the soft, pale flesh of her hips. She was warm, but even more impossible, she was…real. Their opened mouths met, tongues dancing in a savage whirlwind of desire. Her velvet fingers caressed his right wrist, moving his hand to her heaving breasts.

  Richie’s mind drove full speed down a lust-covered highway. All thoughts of dreams, truckers, and James were vanquished and locked away in a deep, dark place that could not be breached by the light of day. He gave in to every sleazy thought and every erotic fantasy he ever held behind the safe confines of his mind. His pajamas were around his ankles as he entered her from behind. Her hands, face, and breasts were pressed up against the windows as his reflection watched - grinning from ear to ear - as Richie thrust into her, again and again.

  She didn’t scream. She didn’t call out his name. This uninhibited version of his girlfriend whimpered and giggled between moans.

  He exploded inside her.

  The moment was broken with one word:

  “Dad?”

  …..

  James had no idea what he was looking at, and he didn’t want to. A world of mixed emotions came in on waves of nausea, washing back and forth through his suddenly wide-awake mind. His father stood, naked hips pumping toward the window, his pajamas around his ankles. James was absolutely mortified, but then his heart froze. Two fiery globes on the other side of his father flashed, then faded to darkness against the glass.

  “Dad,” he said.

  His father turned to him, and for the briefest of seconds, the same orange flames burned in his eyes. James dropped his gaze.

  “I’m sorry,” James said.

  His father yanked his pajamas up and stalked to the bathroom without a word. The door closed, and James heard the lock engage.

  He lay back down and shut his eyes as tight as he could. He wanted to ask God for answers, but the whole thing was just too dirty. Instead, he prayed that he was still sleeping, that this was a just some bizarre dream, a weird, fucked-up dream. He’d had a few strange dreams lately, so it didn’t seem that far out of reach, still, he prayed that his father was okay, and he prayed to forget.

  But he saw the twin fiery eyes. First, in the window, then in his father.

  Not possible. It’s not possible. I’m half-awake; it’s been a long day…I was reading about monsters before I went to sleep. Mom’s right. No more horror books before bed.

  But even now, his father was in the bathroom.

  James opened his eyes and saw something glowing across the room.

  Sitting up, keeping one eye on the bathroom door, James saw not the fiery embers from before, but rather a blue-tinged luminance coming from where his father had been.

  Easing his feet from beneath the covers, he got up and crept toward the spot on the floor and the source of the blue glow. It was already fading, leaving a residue, but of what?

  He thought about a story he once read about blue alien slime that called to people before engulfing them and devouring them whole.

  But this wasn’t a book. It sure as hell wasn’t a dream.

  Some of the substance was on the window, as well. And farther above it, he saw what looked like smudged lipstick. Traces of handprints on either side were fading. He reached up to touch the impressions to see if they were there.

  The toilet flushed.

  James jerked his hand back, his heart pounding his insides to pulp. He hurried back to his bed and dove under the blankets, clenched his eyes tight, and hoped he could pass for sleeping.

  The sound of the shower eased the weight of the moment.

  He considered getting up and checking on the odd glowing globs beneath the window, and the impressions on the window, but at the same time, he didn’t want to gaze upon them again. It would only make them more real.

  Instead, James wept into his pillow, falling asleep long before his father came out from the bathroom.

  When he opened his eyes, a blinding light threatened to burn out his retinas. He could smell coffee and bacon.

  “Morning’,” his dad said. “I got us some breakfast from downstairs. We almost missed it.”

  James sat up, rubbed the eye boogers from his baby blues, and glanced at the alarm clock sitting on the mahogany nightstand: 10:15.

  “I guess we slept like we were on vacation,” his dad said, sounding genuinely relaxed. “Eat up. We gotta have our energy for a night of good old rock-and-roll.”

  Everything seemed so normal. James began to wonder if the lewd act he’d woken up to last night had only been a dream. Had it? His eyes stung like they did after a good long cry. Maybe he had dreamed the whole damn bizarre incident and cried in his sleep. Whether it was because it seemed the more likely scenario or simply for his own mental stability, James chose to believe he had dreamed the whole thing. Looking at his father now he felt stupid for even thinking it had happened. Yet, the dream was one hell of a messed-up ride. Maybe his mother had been right after all. He decided to stop reading his horror magazines before bed.

  “What time’s the concert?” James said through a mouth full of muffin.

  “Doors open at six,” his dad said, taking a sip of his coffee. “I figure we’ll hang out here until two or so, and then we’ll venture out for some lunch before heading over to the show.”

  James finished his breakfast and picked up the remote to the television. “Do we have to stay here another night?”

  “You don’t like the hotel?”

  “It’
s fine. I just want to go back to the house…” He had to think of something that would help get his request to leave granted. No way did he want to chance a repeat of last night, dream or no dream. “…I want to see if Carrie wants to go to the movies with me.”

  “Ahhh, a girl,” his dad said. “Confucius see…” A smile broke over his father’s features like that of a proud papa bear. “Yeah, I guess we could truck home after the show. Maybe you should call her from the hotel and ask her out.”

  “I …I don’t know...”

  “Think about it. You give her a call, she asks where you are, and you tell her ‘Oh, I’m at a hotel in Boston, just caught a Red Sox game with my dad, now we’re getting ready to go to a concert.’ Sounds like a pretty good set up to me. Impress her and then ask her out.”

  James couldn’t argue with his dad’s logic. In fact, it sounded pretty good. He grinned, “I think I could do that.”

  His dad got up, shook his coffee cup, and said, “Listen, I’ve got to get a refill. You feel free to make your call while I’m out. Sound good?”

  James could feel the bacon and eggs churning within his stomach at the thought. Why? He’d talked to Carrie on the phone before, and heck, they were kind of already seeing each other, weren’t they? He wasn’t sure, but he was sure about one thing–-if he made this call and she said yes, it would pretty much be official.

  His dad placed a firm hand on his skinny shoulder, “Keep it simple, you’ll be fine. I’ll be back in fifteen, twenty minutes.” His dad gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and made his way out the door.

  He grabbed his cell phone off the nightstand, his heart thrumming with a nervous energy.