L.L. Foster - The Acceptance

In a stupor of newfound information and physical repletion, Gaby dropped inside.

When Luther got behind the wheel, he said again, “I’ll pick you up for breakfast tomorrow morning. Is eight good for you?”

Time frames didn’t mean the same to her as they did to ordinary people. Unlike most of society, she didn’t feel the need to keep regular hours. Hell, she wasn’t even sure what regular hours might be.

Sure, she knew that people wanted to be awake with the sun, and to sleep with the moon. But for her, life wasn’t that simple. Immorality erupted with an eternity of determination. For evil, the clock didn’t tick, the sun didn’t set.

For evil, there was no respite.

For one who fought evil, the same rules applied.

Gaby had adjusted by waking when she woke, acting when necessary, and sleeping when her conscience, and God, allowed.

“Gaby?” Luther pressed. “Is eight o’clock good for you?”

Shaking off the morbid substantiality of her existence, Gaby made a face. “I’m not a big eater, as you can tell by my prominent bones.”

“I like your bones.” He winked at her. “But you could stand to gain a little weight.”

“Yeah, well, since leaving Mort’s, breakfast has been way down there on my list of things to do.”

“We can change that—starting tomorrow.”

“We’ll see.” She looked back at the tall brick structure, well lit but still dreary. With the taint of Gaby’s discordant memories, the hospital looked more like a gnarled head-stone than a place of sanctuary. “I hate hospitals.”

“I know, but she’ll be safe here. They’ll take care of her.”

Gaby shook her head. “I don’t know, Luther. It doesn’t seem right to let her out of my sight. I have a very bad feeling about all this.”

When Luther stared at her for an extended time, Gaby turned to him and said, “What?”

“You really think something will happen to her here?”

She shrugged. “I think something can happen to her here. That’s enough for me.”

After another second of contemplation, he nodded. “All right then.” To Gaby’s surprise, Luther pulled out his cell and put in a call, requesting a uniformed cop to stand watch.

He’d taken her concerns seriously?

Another first for her, and just as satisfying as what he’d done to her with his fingers.

“Someone will be here within five minutes.” Luther dug out a card and held it toward her. “I hope that puts you more at ease.”

She eyed the card, but didn’t take it. “It helps.”

Exasperated, Luther lifted her hand, pressed the card to her palm, and folded her fingers around it. “Promise me that if the bad feeling sticks with you, you’ll call me.”

Studying the card, Gaby read Luther’s name, his phone numbers. “If someone’s already watching over her, then why would I call and bother you?”

He didn’t laugh at her. “It’s what friends do, Gaby. They lean on each other in times of worry.”

Friends.

Yeah, she was collecting them like cooties these days.

She could deal with it now, but somehow she figured that she and Luther were more than friends. What, she couldn’t say. But even before her sexual instruction, she’d accepted that being with him was not the same as being with Morty or Bliss.

Headlights cut through the dark night, and a car pulled into the parking lot. Luther went on alert, watching the car but also studying the rest of the lot. Gaby did the same, unwilling to let a distraction with one car cause distraction over a bigger concern.

The car parked, the driver got out, and with a single click that sounded a beep and flashed his lights, locked the BMW. He’d parked in the doctor’s section, and hurried inside.

Dismissing him as a threat, Luther’s keen gaze studied the rest of the surrounding area.

Gaby didn’t tell him that no enmity lurked. If it did, she’d know it. “I hate to break this to you, cop, but I don’t have a phone.”

Settling back in his seat, Luther made a face of long-suffering acceptance. “Course you don’t. Why would I think you did?”

“I don’t know. You’re strange that way.” Another car pulled in, this one a police cruiser. “Who would I call, anyway?”

Luther waited until he saw a uniformed officer get out and enter the building. “Want to go in and make sure he’s set up?”

“No need.” Tiredness pulled at Gaby, and she wanted to drop. While the evil rested, she needed to rest, too—because it wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

Again, Luther believed in her. He started the car and pulled out of the hospital parking lot onto the deserted streets. On the drive back to her room, he said very little.

For her part, Gaby dozed in her seat, rethinking what Luther had done to her, and how easy it had been for him. When he pulled up in front of the building, she unfastened her seat belt, anxious to be alone.

Luther reached over and caught her arm. “You should know, Gaby, the women have been warned of a problem.”

She accepted that—and how futile such a warning would be. “It won’t stop them from doing what they do. It’s how they survive.”

“It could be how they die.”

“I know.” Just because she wanted to, because she needed to, Gaby leaned across the seat and kissed him. “They don’t have any choice, though.”

“I know.” He touched her cheek with a heartbreaking intimacy. “I’m determined to do my best to figure this out, and fast. Until then, please be careful.”

If he didn’t stop fretting over her, she was going to start liking it. And then where would she be? “I keep telling you, cop, you don’t have to worry about me.”

He pulled her in for one more taste, and Gaby’s toes curled inside her boots. “I’m trying.”

“Breakfast,” she reminded him, just to change the subject. “I’ll see you then.”

Gaby left the car and strode up to the building. Dawn would break all too soon, and still a few women stood outside, washed out, tired, and working toward their quota.

By way of a greeting, they made a few lewd comments about Luther. Amused, Gaby looked back, and Luther still waited, wanting to see her inside.

Bizarre.

Unnecessary.

But damn if it didn’t rekindle that odd tingling deep in her belly.

Anticipating breakfast with him in the morning, she went up the stairs—and then it struck her what an idiotic fool she’d become.

For whatever anomaly of circumstances might exist, being with Luther had always desensitized her faculties, depriving her awareness of a necessary superiority. For a single moment of time, Gaby gave in to cowardly panic, wondering if, in fact, Bliss was safe, or if Luther’s presence had blunted her ability to know the truth.

Opening locks with haste, she went into her apartment and to the window to look out.

Luther was gone—and still she felt no discernment of foul play. Her relief, on top of so much expended emotion, left her exhausted.

Following her basic evening ritual, Gaby cleaned her teeth and stripped off her clothes. Left in her plain, colorless panties, she again thought of Luther, of what he’d done, what she’d enjoyed.

Insane.

Wonderful.

After double-checking her locks, she fell into her bed.

Oppressive evening air engulfed her body. No breeze stirred through the open window; only cries and crashes and other emblematic sounds of the neighboring slums filtered through.

Flat on her back, her arms folded over her middle, Gaby stared at the stained and crumbling ceiling—and pondered Luther: his hands, his mouth, his warmth and caring.

She was about to doze off when the verisimilitude of the ravaged corpse, discolored, swelled with river water, skulked past her exhaustion to disrupt her thoughts. The images integrated with those of Bliss’s pale face, her tangible trepidation.