Sterling's Reasons (18 page)
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Sterling’s Reasons
He got up and followed her to the deck and waited while she tried to undo the knot. Giving up, she went inside and came back out with a knife.
She looked up at him. “Ready?”
He nodded and watched the expression on her face instead of the kite as she cut through the string. Her smile turned into a sigh as she watched the kite rise quickly and flutter to a point where it was only a spot in the sky.
“I don’t understand you,” he confessed as he pushed curls from her neck.
“What?” She turned and gave him a kiss.
“You enjoyed the hell out of that kite and now you just let it go. Why?”
“I don’t know. I wanted to see what it looked like. I wanted to see it go from total freedom to imminent destruction.”
“Even if that meant you could never have it again?”
She shrugged. “I guess so. It was great while it lasted. Anyway,” she smiled up at him, “we still have yours.”
He banded her with his arms and held her close. Her chin rested on his chest, head tilted so she could study him. It scared her when she really thought about all this. He was so beyond anything, any man she had ever known. He was more than real life. He was everything life should be.
He looked down at her and ran his finger along her cheekbone. “Yes, we still have mine. Sterling…?”
She saw the laughter go out of his eyes. She felt the way his body tensed and steered him off course immediately. “If you’re going to get serious, don’t, please.
Not now. Later. Later we’ll talk, but now, just for now, just hold me.”
He lowered his mouth to hers slowly, inch by inch, and then with a fury that caught him off guard, he kissed her, drawing her very soul to meet his.
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How could this be? she asked herself as she let her tongue roam to meet with his. How could all this be so different from anything she had ever known? How had she lived the last five years without him?
Later, they carried wood to the shoreline and built a fire. The sun went down, slowly, sketching beautiful pictures as it went. Clearly defined streaks of red, orange, gray, and pink melted into rainbow sherbert. He held her hand and smiled at her reactions to the changing colors. He would never be able to watch another sunset without remembering this moment. The air chilled as the sky darkened and the last ray of sunlight faded below the horizon.
“What are you thinking about, Sterling?” He wondered if her thoughts followed the same path as his. Was she capturing this moment with her heart?
Sterling was wrapped in a blanket and sitting Indian-style next to Joe and watched as he held a stick with a marshmallow on it over the flames.
“When I was a little girl, my sister and I used to stay up after lights-out and compare our dreams of Prince Charming. We’d giggle and talk until Mom or Dad would come in and tell us to quiet down.”
“That stopped you?”
“For a few minutes, then most of the time we would start again.”
“What did your Prince Charming look like?”
“Smooth. Tall, blond, blue eyes.” Sterling stared into the crackling flames as she recalled.
“I see.” He pretended to be wounded and tested the consistency of the marshmallow with a finger.
She leaned on his shoulder. “Children often have no grasp of reality.
Sometimes I used to wonder if I would be cursed with that forever.” The water rolled close to her bare toes.
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He heard a tone in her voice he hadn’t caught before. Wistfulness? He really didn’t know much about her. “You sound as if you had a good childhood. You mentioned a brother. How many kids were in your family?
“Just the three of us. I was lonesome most of the time. Of course that was self-imposed. My brother included me in what he could, but he had boy things to do. My sister was the cute, obedient one. I preferred to do things on my own.
Every time I would climb too high in the tree or run off to play in the woods, my sister would run in to tell. After a while I got pretty good at not getting caught. I occupied myself very well.”
“Me, too. I was always doing something. I don’t remember thinking or dreaming, just doing. I guess it’s better that way. Then you don’t have to disappoint yourself.”
He’d held the marshmallow over the fire too long and it fell off into the cinders. He simply put another one on.
“I’d like to have known you when you were a little boy.” And a teenager…a soldier in Vietnam…a rookie cop…and now the narc. She tried to picture him in eight-pocket baggy pants, a brightly colored shirt with cut-off sleeves, and a Willie Nelson headband. “Do you think about those days much?”
“No. Here, this one is just right.” He took the gooey white blob and offered it. She opened her mouth and he dropped it on her tongue. She had some of it on her lips and he moved to get it off with his mouth. “Umm. Tastes good.”
She fastened her gaze on him. She could never get enough of looking at him.
“I wish we could stay here and simply live like this for the rest of our lives.
Friends. Comrades. Lovers.”
Touched, he put the stick down and cradled her in his arms. “We can stay for as long as you like.”
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She opened her blanket to envelop him in with her. “I have a job to go back to, and so do you.”
She felt him stiffen at once and cursed herself for bringing it up. Was there a future for them together, always, as she was hoping?
“We don’t have to talk about it just now,” he whispered.
“Okay, Joe.” She wanted to say, Do you love me, Joe?, because if he did, all the answers were simple. But it was her pride—and her fear that the answer would be no—that kept her silent. She was afraid that even if he did love her, he wouldn’t see it for that. She wondered how he
did
see things.
But he was right. For now, just for now, the whole world could go on spinning without them. She found his mouth and kissed him. Soon they lay back on the sand and held each other, listening to the sounds of the fire crackling and the ocean advancing and retreating. Reality was only for those who chose to recognize it as such, and for now, she refused.
That night, lying next to him in her bed, curled up and molded against him from head to toe, Sterling listened to his breathing. He was her knight in shining armor. He was the only thing that mattered to her.
How quickly life could change, she marveled, and shifted a little as he did.
She could feel the beat of his heart where her hand lay. A while ago it was wild, and now it was restful. An hour ago his body was sheened with perspiration and pulsing with life. His hands and his mouth had brought her feelings and emotions to full stand. It was nearly morning and she couldn’t sleep even though she was exhausted. She was afraid that if she closed her eyes, it would all be gone when she awoke.
Browning. 9mm Automatic. Cold, heavy steel. The hand wrapped around the gun squeezes the trigger, feels the jar as the bullet fires. Flash of fire. Stench 144
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of sulfur. Slow speed, the spiraling lead makes its way toward its target. Shock.
Realization. Terror. Blood stops pumping through his veins. His heart is still. The target is Red. And he is the shooter.
Get the bullet. Stop it! But his feet are too heavy and his legs won’t respond to the message his brain is sending his muscles. His arms are outstretched, fingers clawing the air flying to reach it. His mouth is open but no sound comes out.
No air. His lungs are locked. He gulps for air. Stubbornly, the bullet makes its way, inch by inch, toward the other man. This can’t be! He tries to move, but something stops him. Something slows him down, pulls him backward. He strains to shout his friend’s name, opens his mouth, forces air toward his lips, but nothing.
Red’s surprised expression becomes clear in the darkness. He is looking right at Joe. Joe can hear his own voice echo in his head as he demands his legs to move, demands the bullet to stop, but it stays right off the end of his fingers. Too late.
Sweat mixes with the smell of fear and becomes sickening. His gut twists with pain as he tries to lift one foot and then the other.
Get to him. Don’t let this
happen. Red! Red! Move, Red! Don’t
catch the bullet. I’ll get it!
But he couldn’t go any faster no matter how hard he strained. Everything remained in an agonizing slow advance.
Thump! Red is slammed back against the wall. Blood oozes from the hole in his chest. Joe feels his own chest being ripped apart. Red looks at Joe, eyes wide.
Surprise. Pain. He grabs at his chest.
Here, Joe,
here. It hurts here. Help me, Joe.
He slides down the wall, inch by inch. Slurred speech. More heat. More darkness.
The sound of sirens in the distance.
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No air to breathe. An anguished cry moves slowly from his lips to arch across the air above him. Not Red! Not Red! Despair. Futility.
Joe finally reaches Red. Red claws for his jacket and holds on. Weight.
Falling. Pain-filled eyes close to his, pleading. Joe holds Red and together they slide to the pavement. Blood covers Joe’s hands.
Oh, God, not him. Me! Me!
Red’s eyes close. He stops breathing. His eyes open, unseeing. Dead. Death. Nothing.
Joe struggles for air, struggles to lift Red. Cold air rushes into his lungs. He greedily sucks it in and a cry of agony splits the peaceful darkness.
Sterling was jolted awake, her blood pounding in her head. Joe had gone mad! He was screaming. He’d jumped from the bed and pressed himself against the wall. In the dark, she could see his face, all shadows, was glistening with sweat and tears; he breathed like a man held under water too long. She’d survived enough nightmares to recognize one. She started to get out of bed and go to him when she was stopped by the look on his face and the hand he shot out to stop her.
His chest heaved. He kept his back pressed against the wall. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and then opened them again. “I’m all right. I’m all right.”
With absolute determination, Sterling moved slowly to stand a few feet from the man she loved. “It’ll be okay, Joe. It was just a nightmare. It isn’t happening again. It’s over.” She held out her hand to him. “Let me help you.”
He shook his head, and staggering away, he disappeared into the bathroom.
She felt the coldness of the empty room and hugged her arms around her.
Joe braced himself against the sink and slowly brought his head up to look at his reflection in the mirror. Sweat streamed down his face. His eyes were dark and haunted. His mouth was open and his breathing was ragged. Turning on the faucet, he cupped both hands under the stream of cold water and brought a 146
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splash of it across his face and upper body. He hated this. Weakness. What else could it be?
Jerking a towel off the rack, he buried his face in it. He had seen the look of terror in Sterling’s eyes. He recognized it buried deep in his own. These were worse nightmares than the ones that stayed with him since Vietnam. He, alone, was responsible in these. There was no rationale. He wasn’t surrounded by men who had experienced the same thing. He wasn’t one of many men who had a nasty job to do. It was only him and his friend. He threw the towel on the floor and breathed deeply, swearing.
She was still standing there when Joe came out of the bathroom. She watched as he went into the living room and lit a cigarette. Without saying a word, Sterling followed him in, then walked to the refrigerator to pour him a glass of vodka.
Returning, she went up behind him as he slumped before the glass door looking out into the nothingness. She came up to stand beside him and offered him the drink. Steadier now, he put an arm around her shoulder and accepted the glass, sipping the bracing liquid and remaining silent.
“Let’s go back to bed,” she coaxed him gently.
He shook his head, so she simply stayed there beside him, her arm around his waist.
When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. “We’d been on this case for months. Our man dealt drugs and killed cops.”
She stood stock-still beside him, her heart tearing at the pull of his strained words.
“The last two weeks, we had staked out and watched and gotten his movements down to the last step. When it went down we called for backup before we went in. Red was supposed to stay with me. He didn’t.” He drew hard
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on his cigarette and blew the smoke toward the ceiling with vengeance.
Dragging a hand through his hair, he slid the door open and sagged against the frame.
“Somehow, our target got wise to us. He made a break for it. Bullets were flying. We were ducking and then we were chasing him. Red and I were determined this slime wasn’t going to get away clean.”
She tightened the arm she had around his waist when she felt him sway the slightest bit. A tear rolled silently down her cheek.
“We chased him for blocks, dodging fire from his semi. It was dark except for the occasional lights from inside buildings, and there was this flashing orange neon light.” He rolled away from the arm she kept around him and paced the room. “It kept going on and off, steady and rhythmically. I remember that.” His breath shuddered and he sipped his drink before continuing. “It was about three in the morning, so no one was out. It was a bad neighborhood, industrial and housing units. If people heard gunfire there once, damn it, they heard it three times a week. They stayed inside, out of danger.”
She caught him as he paced by her and put her arms around him. “Don’t do this to yourself, Joe.”
He shook her off,
pivoted, and stalked out onto the deck. Determined, she followed him, eased up behind where he stood at the edge of the deck, and pressed her cheek against his shoulder. Feeling him stiffen at her touch, Sterling told him, “I’m not going anywhere. There’s nothing you can do to make me leave you alone.” He relaxed a little, the feel of her soft body against his reassuring him. Somehow, knowing that she wouldn’t just go away strengthened him.