Scott Wittenburg - The May Day Murders

Sam lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply as he attempted to collect his thoughts. The sudden arrival of Shelley Hatcher wasn’t only a shocker but and out-and-out mind-blower. Why, he wondered, had she really come here? He seriously doubted that she’d come just to say howdy and show him her photography portfolio-that hardly seemed worth all the bother she’d gone through. Nope, he decided, there had to be more to it than that.

But what?

All he knew for certain was that he felt uncomfortable about Shelley showing up. Seeing her reminded him that had he never fooled around with her in the first place, he’d still be a happily married man now. It wasn’t Shelley’s fault of course, and never once had he blamed her for his own folly. After all, it wasn’t really her fault that she was young, beautiful, and had flirted with him one too many times on the job. He could still remember the subtle way she used to less than innocently brush up against him during an assignment; or the way she’d purposely lean over every now and then in such a way that he couldn’t help but see those lovely tits beneath those perennially loose-fitting tops that she always wore.

Jesus, he thought. Did she even own a fucking bra?

But the bottom line was that Shelley Hatcher was bad news. There simply wasn’t any other way to put it. She brought him bad luck. After all, how many guys in the history of mankind had gone out on their wives just one piddling time and ended up getting caught? Then, ended up being divorced over it? Not too many, he supposed. Only the sorriest of souls, like his own luckless self.

Sam heaved a sigh and drained his glass dry. Stubbing out his cigarette, he went to the kitchen to replenish his drink. He felt the welcome glow of inebriation returning as he went back to the sofa and sat down, staring blankly at the test pattern on the television set.

In spite of all the hell that Shelley Hatcher had created for him in his life, he now realized that deep down, he was actually glad she was here. Seeing her strip down to nothing but her birthday suit had been the biggest thrill he’d had in over six months. The inviting prospect of another round with her in the sack suddenly zipped into his head. What would he do if that opportunity arose? he wondered. More importantly, how would he feel afterwards?

Sam grinned to himself as he considered the absurdity to both of these questions. He’d jump on Shelley Hatcher’s bones at the drop of a hat and wouldn’t hesitate for a second. As for how he’d feel afterwards, what in the fuck difference would it make how he felt? He was after all, now a free man living in a free world, wasn’t he?

This is probably just what the doctor would order, he decided. And he doubtlessly would feel like a million bucks afterwards. After all, he’d had nothing but an empty, lonely existence ever since Ann dumped him. And lately, since Marsha Bradley’s murder, he’d been more than a little stressed-out and on edge. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to get his mind off that for a while…

He heard the water shut off in the bathroom. Deciding to check on Shelley’s clothes in the drier, Sam stood up and went down to the basement. He felt the clothes-they were still soaking wet-then reset the drier and went back upstairs. After topping off his drink he returned to the den, found an old Cars CD and put it on, cranked up the volume. Just What I Needed blared out of the speakers as he plopped back down on the sofa.

Shelley Hatcher suddenly entered the room. She was wearing a towel that was wrapped around her just enough to cover less than two-thirds of her breasts and about one-tenth of her thighs. Her hair was still wet, combed out, and she was carrying the drink he’d left for her on the kitchen counter.

Shelley took a long sip of Jack Daniels as she sauntered over to the sofa.

“I borrowed your comb-I hope you don’t mind.”

“No problem,” Sam said. “I’m afraid your clothes aren’t dry yet. I can find something of mine for you to put on if you’d like.”

She shook her head. “That’s all right-I can wait.”

She sat down beside him, close enough that he could smell her. Her scent was as enticing as her half-naked body was. Shelley took another sip, set her glass down, and gazed at him intently.

“Have you been able to forgive me yet for what happened?” she asked.

Sam held her eyes. “There’s nothing to forgive, Shelley. It wasn’t your fault. I told you that a long time ago.”

“I know, but I still feel guilty about it. I mean, I know how much you love your wife. And it’s my fault that- ”

“It’s all water under the bridge,” Sam interrupted. “Let’s not even talk about it, Shelley, okay?”

She smiled. “Okay, Sam. I guess I was just trying to see where I stand now. I mean, I thought you might hate me or something.”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh. “Hate you? You’ve got to be kidding!”

Shelley smiled again, apparently satisfied that all was okay between them. She retrieved her drink and took a sip. “I really would like for you to take a look at my portfolio. I’ve been freelancing for the Ashland Times the last couple of months. I don’t get a whole hell of a lot of assignments but at least I’ve had plenty of time to work on my book. You want to see it?”

“Sure, lay it on me,” Sam said. “Have you been in Ashland all this time?”

“Yeah. After I got laid-off at the Observer, I was totally directionless. So I moved back home sort of with my tail between my legs, you might say. Moved back in with my parents, got a part-time job at a jewelry store until I could get back on my feet. It’s been a drag, really. But at least I finally have my own apartment now,” she added with a shrug.

“That’s good. And I’m glad you’re sticking with it, Shelly. You have a lot of potential-I’d hate to see you waste it,” Sam declared sincerely.

Shelly beamed. “You really think so?”

“Of course I do. I’ve been telling you that all along.”

“It doesn’t hurt to be reminded once in a while, though. Let me show you my new stuff!” she said excitedly, springing up from the sofa.

Sam’s eyes were on her sweet little ass as Shelley scampered out of the room to get her portfolio. She returned in seconds, holding the briefcase as though it were filled with priceless jewels. She sat down and placed it on the coffee table then opened it up. Sam crouched forward and began examining the contents. The prints were all black and white eight-by-tens. The subject matter ranged from landscapes to portraiture and practically everything in between. The composition, lighting, and creativity were all quite impressive. Shelley had come a long way in the last six months, he concluded.

“Great stuff, kiddo! Excellent,” Sam said after he’d examined the final photograph.

“Really?” Shelley exclaimed. “You don’t think they’re too contrived?”

“Not at all.”

Shelley rested her elbow on Sam’s thigh and leaned forward. ”This is my favorite one,” she said, flipping back to the first page. It was a shot of an old abandoned well taken in the late afternoon sun.

“I love the lighting-the long shadows and the way the background just sort of blurs out behind the well. It’s got a nice mood, don’t you think?”

Sam nodded. Shelley’s face was within inches of his own and her soft blue eyes were wide as she gazed into his. He felt her other hand come down and rest on his knee. Suddenly, she threw her arms around him and kissed him hard. Sam was caught off guard but responded by embracing her and allowing himself to get lost in her soft, moist lips. His head started swimming as she brought her hand to the towel and inched herself away long enough to remove it and expose her flawless body. She then grabbed his hand and placed it on her breast, pressing his hand firmly as an invitation for him to take over.