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M Sellars: Love Is The Bond

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M Sellars Love Is The Bond

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She needed someone to have for dinner, and it couldn’t be just anyone. No, the demand had been too specific. She wanted the sacrifice, and for this occasion, it needed to be someone very special.

Fortunately, she wouldn’t have to go far. She already knew him very well.


Tuesday, November 8

3:07 A.M.

CHAPTER 3:

A completely unexpected pain bit into my side. It was sharp and unpleasant but not what one would call agonizing. In fact, it was really just more along the lines of “insistently uncomfortable.” Still, whether agonizing or not, I rolled over out of reflex, moving in what my muddied brain perceived to be the opposite direction of the vexation.

My head was buzzing as an obnoxious clamor droned in my ears, and I might have focused in on that disquiet were it not for the fact that it suddenly, and thankfully, fell silent. I started to dwell on it anyway, or at least I think that’s what I was doing. I couldn’t be sure because the dwelling didn’t last very long. Apparently, my sleepiness-reduced serotonin levels were more than enough to convince me it wasn’t worth the time. In what was probably a span of no more than a second, I started drifting back into the comfortable darkness of sleep.

Of course, it was at about this point in time that the pain returned, just as sharp and even more unpleasant than before. This time it arrived in conjunction with a repeat of the raucous droning followed by a string of unintelligible speech. Neurons dutifully awakened inside my head, hurried through their electrochemical greetings with one another, then informed me that the elbow of the woman beside me in the bed was the instrument of my torture. Next, I was made privy to the fact that the droning noise had most assuredly been the ringer on the telephone.

However, my brain still couldn’t interpret the muddled string of syllables. A full translation being unlikely, and not being satisfied with simply getting two out of the three, it did the next best thing and gave me a short list of possibilities. The top pick among them was something akin to my wife telling me to answer the phone. Of course, after all of that thinking being foisted upon me, I was actually awake enough to lay money down that said pick was dead on the mark.

I groaned and sent my hand searching for the telephone on the nightstand. As I groped in the dark, using only one barely open eye for guidance, a passing thought rolled through my brain: If the thing had a longer cord, I could move it to Felicity’s side of the bed. It sounded like a good solution at the moment, but I knew she would probably just move it back. I tried to dismiss the idea, but something in the mind-fog kept reminding me that this was the reason she was still sleeping and I wasn’t.

I managed to wrap my hand around the receiver and yank it from the base just as it started its annoying clamor once again. Unfortunately, I was a split second too late to avoid a third purposeful jab and annoyed burst of gibberish from my grumbling wife.

I winced and tried to roll out of her reach without falling off the side of the bed. I wasn’t overjoyed about a phone call in the middle of the night to begin with. Getting physically abused over it definitely wasn’t helping my mood. Right about then, another thought shot rapidly through my grey matter: Was this just going to be a hang-up? We’d had more than our share of those, at all hours, over the past few years. So many, in fact, that we’d had our number changed several times. All had been quiet for a while now, so it actually wouldn’t be a big surprise for the prank calls to be starting up again.

“This had better be good,” I muttered as I pushed the handset up next to my ear. At least, that was what I thought I said. Judging from the response I received, apparently what I was thinking and what was coming out of my mouth were mutually exclusive.

“What?” Detective Benjamin Storm’s somewhat confused sounding voice filtered into my ear. “That you, white man?”

My heretofore-sluggish synapses instantly began arcing at full speed as I pushed myself upright and fought to disentangle my lower half from the bedding. A sickening feeling of deja vu was setting in, and I didn’t like it one bit.

Next to Felicity, Ben Storm was undoubtedly my best friend in the world. He was exactly the kind of friend for whom you would do just about anything without question and knew beyond any doubt he would do the same for you. However, as close as we were, neither of us were in the habit of calling the other in the middle of the night just to socialize.

No, we had been down this road far too many times in the past few years. If he was calling at an odd hour, it was guaranteed not to be pleasant news, and more often than not, I had a pounding headache of ethereal origin to prove it. This time, however, my head felt just fine. Maybe still a bit groggy but completely devoid of pain. Given the circumstances, that just piqued my curiosity even more.

“Ben?” I replied, this time managing to keep my tongue from wrapping around my teeth.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Woke ya’ up, didn’t I?”

I cast an eye at the glowing numbers on the bedside clock. When I replied I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “What do you think?”

“Uh-huh, well ya’ can go back ta’ sleep in a minute, Kemosabe. So listen, can ya’ put Felicity on the phone?”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m a homicide cop, and it’s three in the fuckin’ mornin’, Row. Whaddaya think’s wrong?” he retorted, his own snippet of sarcasm underlining the words. “Lemme talk ta’ your wife.”

“Ben…” I allowed my questioning voice to trail off.

“Row,” he replied succinctly then fell silent.

After an extended verbal staring contest, I spoke. “Tell me what’s up, Ben.”

“You got some Twilight Zone goin’ on?” he asked, using his favorite turn of phrase for my supernatural visions.

“No.”

“Good.”

“Well, should I?”

“No, so put yer wife on the phone.”

“But…”

He cut me off. “Listen, Row, chill out. For once it’s not all about you, okay? Now, lemme talk to Felicity.”

Even though he wasn’t willing to give me the details, his comment about being a homicide cop spoke volumes. The fact that he was calling for Felicity also told me that I had been correct about Murphy and his damnable law. I obviously wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon.

I conceded. “Hold on…”

Out of reflex, I sent my free hand searching through the darkness and switched on my reading lamp then mutely cursed myself for the action as I squinted against the sudden influx of light. With a groan I reached over and gave my slumbering wife a far gentler nudge than she had previously afforded me. She shrugged, grumbled something just as unintelligible as her earlier string of syllables and then tried to roll away as she pulled the comforter up over her face. I hooked my hand into the bedding and tossed it back with a quick yank, unceremoniously exposing her to the cool air in the room. This time I had no trouble understanding the Gaelic curse that flew from her lips.

“Damnu ort! ” she yelped as she flailed an arm about in search of the blanket.

Leaning back, I gently caught her wrist mid-grope then stretched the telephone receiver across the bed. I stuffed the device into her hand and carefully pushed it toward her ear.

“It’s for you” was all I said before laying back against my pillow.

I didn’t know why I was even bothering. I was fully awake now.

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