Chain Reaction 3.63: The Cooler One

Michael

     Darrin and I continue dating, and he slowly gets more comfortable with the idea--meaning he stops trying to say he can't do this. Sometimes, I still see the look of worry in his eyes, but it's lessened at least.

     Dad and Drake keep at me about trying to get stuff on Uncle Alex. I don't like it. When I ask Darrin what I should do about it, he tells me 'no comment,' not wanting to talk about my grandfather's death. I ask him if he's on the case, but he tells me no, he's on another one.

     He's investigating Malcolm Landgraab's disappearance.

     I told him I'm shocked they gave him that case considering his "friendship" with me, but he said the chief is so wrapped up in stuff about my grandfather that knowing how Darrin is connected with my family and my family's history with the Landgraabs must've slipped through the cracks. He acts happy that he's on the case. He thinks Malcolm is still out there, hiding, and he wants to find him so that my mother's killer can be brought to justice.

     Only he already has been...

     I wish I could get Darrin off the case, and I've been bouncing ideas around in my head. The best one I can come up with is manipulating the chief's mind by the power of suggestion, but that can't be accomplished until this mess with my grandfather's murder is cleared up.

     The best I can hope for is that Drake disposed of the body in such a way that it can never be found and/or identified. But, that puts me more in debt to Drake, even though nothing has changed. The stakes have, though, now that Darrin is investigating the case himself. And Drake wants me to dig up stuff on his father. Honestly, Drake himself is so good at it, I wonder why he has me putting in the effort anyway.

     We add on to the house again, building a laundry room/indoor porch. Later, a fireplace gets added so that we can do the whole Father Winter stuff. Christmas is coming.

      I'm going to officially introduce Darrin as my boyfriend to my dad on Christmas. Darrin is nervous, but I'm not. Dad will probably be cool with it.

     Darrin gets here and looks very uncomfortable. Dad greets him, having sort of met him on one of his visits to the station. Seeing the look on his face, I walk over to him.

     "Mike, is that the ghost of your mom over there?" He keeps glancing over my shoulder.

     "Huh? Oh. Yeah. She hangs out here a lot. It makes Dad happy."

     I don't think Darrin had counted on putting meeting my mom as well as my dad in his picture of how this would go. Probably guessing at his discomfort, Mom backs off.

     "Dad, this is Darrin Sheie. Darrin, you know my dad." Here goes.

     "Hi, Inspector Taylor. Nice to see you again."

     "Call me Ethan. And Claire is around here somewhere." He calls for her. "She's my wife."

     "Um, I thought it was 'til death do you part.' Does that apply?"

     We hear Mom make a sob sound. She gets real moody when we talk about her being dead. I turn to Dad and say, "I've got this." I see Mom slip quickly into their bedroom.

     "Are you sure?"

     "Yeah. You two get to know each other. I'll go help Mom."

     Can I just say here that it is incredibly weird how Mom hangs around? The twins, especially Charlotte, freak out when they see her, and Mom ends up crying at how they're grown up.

Ethan

     Mikey's friend looks embarrassed. I guess he's not used to dealing with ghosts. I remember how strange I thought it was when I first encountered a ghost during my first investigation at a crime scene. Then, there was that whole thing when Geoffrey Landgraab almost made me pee myself in fright. I'm so glad Claire can be around like she is, even if she's not physically here.

     "Inspector Taylor, I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking. Of course she's your wife. I'm just so..." He doesn't finish.
     "It'll be okay. And I said call me Ethan. We're not at work or anything." I've sort of met this guy before. He makes a good officer. He reminds me of the type that will grab hold of a case like a pug playing tug of war. "Aaaannnnd, just to clear things up, we renewed our vows." And after that, Claire could stick around all the time.

     He still looks mortified. "Um, congratulations, then, I guess. And uh, if it helps, I'm not going to rest until I find her killer."
     Plum! We already found her killer. And Mikey killed him. I only just got my son back, and his own friend is investigating the "disappearance"!
     I'm glad he's not looking at my face just now or he might've seen me betray my own thoughts.
     He continues, "Because she's Mike's mom and all. It's important to me."
     "The chief handed you the case? Even though he knows you're friends with Mikey?"
     He smiles in a guilty way. "Well, I think he didn't think about that. He's a bit distracted lately. I'm sorry to hear about the loss of your dad."
     If only DAD's ghost would come back and tell us who killed him. Not that it would necessarily hold up in court. Ghosts are an altered life state and therefore unreliable as witnesses. But still...
     "Because he definitely wouldn't give me that case. He would even less so if he knew that Michael was my boyfriend."
     "What?"
     Ever have one of those moments when time feels a little too real? Like you're really standing where you're standing and what is happening is really happening? That's happening to me now.

     "I th-thought you knew..."
     "Let's say for the sake of arguing that I don't."
     "I'm sorry. It's really not my place to say something." The more he talks, the more convinced I am that my guess about what he really means is true. All I feel is surprised. Well, perhaps also upset that the first I'm hearing about it is from the boyfriend instead of my own son.
     "You're saying the two of you are more than just friends."
     "Uh, I really should get going. Tell your, uh, wife I'm sorry, and nice, um, seeing you..."
     "Hold it!" I reach out and grab his arms before he can bolt out the door.
     "Inspector Taylor, please! I thought he would've told you!"
     "Nope. I'm guessing he was planning on it, but it hasn't come up." To be fair, we have been busy trying to free my sister from that maniac murderer. I know I've been driving Mikey nuts, but he doesn't get it: when someone hurts my family, I don't stop until they're put away. I'm glad I have Drake on my side, even if he's dangerous. Mikey has some skills, but Drake is every bit the hacker his father is. It's just Mikey lives under my roof, so I have him working for me too.
     "Please! I don't want to be here for this. Tell Mike I'll call him later." He disengages my hand from his arm, and he bolts.
     I turn around and go have a seat on the couch.

Michael

     I get Mom calmed down, but when I walk back into the greatroom, all I find is Dad sitting on the couch with his arms folded. He doesn't look happy. Darrin is gone.
     Uh oh. "Where's Darrin?"
     "He probably left because he thought it'd be best if we discussed this privately."
     "What's there to discuss?" I don't beat around the bush. "Darrin's my boyfriend. I was about to tell you."
    "Sit down."
    What the plum? Will Dad hate me now because he knows I'm bi?

     "What's up, Dad? Because if you're about to throw a bunch of hate my way, you can plum off."
     "You watch your language!"
     "I'm a grown plumbing man!"
     "And no, I'm not about to 'throw a bunch of hate' your way. I'm just upset that the first I hear of it is from your boyfriend!"
     "I was going to tell you."
     "He thought you'd already had. And you know what? I don't blame him. Why didn't you tell me before he came over?"
     Plum. Guilty. I've pulled a Darrin. Not that I was scared per se, but I didn't want Dad to prejudge him. I sigh and sit back.

     "I didn't want you to prejudge him. I know that doesn't really make sense seeing you kinda knew him already, but I just..." I sigh again. "I guess I wanted him here when I told you. Maybe I thought that if you just saw him as him that you might... understand."
     "Understand that you're gay?"
     "No, Dad." I want to shake him. "I still think girls are hot, too. But Darrin is... Well, Darrin." I shrug.
     "So you're bi?"

     "Why do you insist upon labeling me?"
     "I'm just trying to understand."
     "Understand what? I have a boyfriend. I don't need to understand anything except that I want to be with him. Dad, I think..." I take a breath. "I think I'm in love with him." I take another breath. "And if you're going to hate me or judge me for that, I'll go look for my own place."
     "Who's hating? Plum, Mikey. It was just a surprise. You've never acted like you were interested in dudes before."
     "Oh, is that a prerequisite?" I'm getting pissed off.

     "You watch your tone with me!"
     Ugh! Is this happening? My dad was supposed to be the cooler one.
     "I am not judging you!" he continues. "It just came as a surprise. What does piss me off is that he was the one to tell me. Did you really think I would try to tell you who you can and cannot love?"
     "I don't know." I want to scream. Why does this have to be so plumbing complicated?!
     His voice calms down. "I just want you to be happy."
     "I am."
     "Okay then." He gets quiet, and we both sit here awkwardly. I at least sit up again, hoping Dad really meant what he said.
      "Did you know he's on the Landgraab case?"

     "Yes, and it scares me." I've not usually hidden everything from Dad, but neither have I been this open.
     "I wish you'd never done that."
     "I only did what you wanted to do."
     "But I never did it, even when presented with the opportunity, because it would mean going on the run."
     "But Drake is helping us there."
     Dad sighs and looks at his pant leg, pretending to brush something off it. "Do not repeat this, Mikey, what I'm about to say. Yes, we need Drake's help, but I don't trust him. I've known him since he was little, and he's always been a conniving snake. All I can say is do not place all your trust into Drake Goth."
     "What choice do we have?"
     He sighs. "None. And that's what scares me. He's going to ask for payment in some way, some day."
     "What does he want?"
     He looks at the wall in front of him. "Emily." After a beat, he continues, "Listen, Mikey. I like Darrin. I'm thrilled you're so happy, but him working on this case complicates things."
     "Tell me about it. I'll have to think of something to 'fix' that."
     "Fine. Just don't involve Drake. That's what I'm getting to." Dad gets up and says he's going to check on Mom. Before he does, he stands me up and hugs me.

      "I really do want you to be happy, Mikey. And we should invite Darrin over for New Year's."
      "Okay." I can't believe I'd started thinking Dad wouldn't approve. Darrin's paranoia is getting to me, I guess. I should've just listened to my gut. My dad is the cool one.
      Now if only telling Darrin's parents would go smoothly.

Chain Reaction 3.62: A Bit Cold

Mildly NSFW

A/N: These next few chapters will overlap one another, and I use Christmas as an indicator of what happens when for each segment of the bigger picture.
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Drake

     Emily has been institutionalized in her own house. She's so used to Dad's crap that she doesn't see it for what it is now. She won't listen to me. She won't even listen to her own brother either! Both of us want her out of there.

    It's very interesting how she said she just wanted to hear the sound of my voice. No, not interesting. Encouraging. Maybe she's not completely gone like I feared. I can still chip away at the walls of her prison. She needs me, even if it's in a small way, I'll take it. I'll get in.

    After I hang up with her, I call a certain contact of mine. He has connections with the police, and I want to call in a favor.

    That finished, I get up to go get a cup of coffee, and Morgan ambushes me in the kitchen.

     "Happy birthday!"

     "You... You know today's my birthday?" Usually, Mom is the only one to remember. It doesn't bother me. I'd honestly rather not be reminded.

     "Of course, silly!" She giggles. She's caught me completely off guard. Not even Emily remembered my birthday. "Open your present!"

     I take it from her and do as commanded. It's a camera.

     "It's top of the line. The whole kit," Morgan rattles away. "Three lenses, some filter thingy, oh of course the instruction manual, a little cloth doodad to clean the lenses, and a case!"

     This makes one of the few times in my life that I am completely speechless. I'm not really much of a photographer per se, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the gift. Morgan must've spent nearly every penny she had. When I consider that, I can't explain the emotion I get. It's a kind of achy feeling that makes my eyes want to water.

     "Do you like it?" Her voice is eager as she lightly bounces up and down like a child.

     My voice cracks. "Yes." I clear my throat. "Yes."

     "Oh! I knew you would!"

     "I made you a cake," she tells me after kissing my cheek like we've been married for several years.

     "You didn't have to do that."

     "Hush. Yes, I did. I can't believe you don't tell people it's your birthday. If I thought I could get away with it, I'd have thrown you a party."

     "No, no. Don't do that. I don't want a fuss." I don't want to be reminded I'm just getting older.

     "That's what I thought. I can't understand why you don't want a party. I love my birthdays."

     "When is your birthday?" Crap. Did I screw up?

      She giggles at my expression. "Don't worry. It's during the summer." She worked for me over the summer. "Valentino and I went out for ice cream."

      "Oh," I say lamely.

      "I've got candles!" She pulls candles out of a box and starts squashing them into the cake one by one.

     I age up, and I wonder what the plum I'm doing. Morgan isn't right for me, and she's been getting more and more pushy about setting a date (I'd used the excuse of Pops getting arrested to put it off). She's always acting the part of the dutiful fiancée. And although I like the part of that which occurs in my bed, the rest of it makes me uncomfortable.

     Morgan finally finishes singing, and I turn to her happy expression.

     I take her hand. "This is all really wonderful of you. It's more than I deserve."

     "Don't be silly. You deserve more, but I didn't think you'd like it."

     I get an idea. Summer. "It's a bit overwhelming." I have to put this just right or she will throw a tantrum. "My life, this big mess with the media, is overwhelming."

     She takes a step closer. "Well, I hope I'm helping to relieve some of your... stress."

     I smile. "Oh, believe me. You are." To my way of thinking, that's her primary job now.

     "Do you need a little... stress relief... right now?" Her free hand moves to start stroking me through my pants.

     Whoa. Holy plum. She's really started surprising me how risqué she's gotten. I moan and fight to keep my eyes facing front and not rolling to the back of my head. "First we need to talk." Plum, Drake. No. Woohoo then talk. That way you get some and THEN hurt her feelings. I can't help it if I can't think straight. I just know I need to get this out. Maybe I can use woohoo to soften the blow.

     "What is it?" Her voice carries a worried tone.

     "It's about the summer." I clear my throat again. "Next summer."

      "What about it?"

      "Let's combine your birthday and the wedding. It'll be the biggest party Eden's ever seen. But that's going to take some time to plan." Of course, this is all bullplum. I don't intend to marry her at all. This will just give me more time.

     "You're pushing it back again?!" Uh oh. Here it comes. Mt. St. Morgan is about to erupt.

     "What should a few months matter? We'll still be married this time next year."

     "Next YEAR, Drake? Do you want to marry me or not?!"

     "I do! It's just the timing right now is terrible for me."

     "Another delay. Another setback. It's always something with you. First it was the protests, now it's your dad. I'm starting to think... to think that..."

     "Morgan, baby..." I start towards her, intending to take her upstairs now.

     "...to think that you just want me for woohoo!"

      Crap. She's not that clueless after all.

      "You don't love me!"

      I have a slight problem here. Valentino likes her, and I like banging her, and right now, I'm horny thanks to her little ministration earlier. Plum.

      I lie. "Of course I do, Morgan! Why would you say something like that?" Because it's true. Dammit. I should've just taken her upstairs first.

      She feebly tries to back away and keep me from wrapping my arms around her. "No! I'm mad at you!"

     "Aw, don't be mad." I reach around and grab her ass. "How else can I prove I love you? Hm?" I chuckle when she stops and gets quiet. "Can I help it if you're sexy as plum?"

      "Drake, you are a scoundrel!"

      I laugh. "Yeah, but you like it." I pick her up, carry her upstairs, and satisfy my lust.

      My contact comes through for me. Certain members of the police are now mine to command. The concept makes me relax. I will win.

    Christmas arrives. Valentino has a blast with his new toys. I get Morgan some spa stuff and jewelry that looks expensive but isn't. She gets me a watch and several 'coupons' for me to spend as I wish on her body. She knows what I like.

    And I like what I see when I stop into the restroom in the middle of my workout.

     "Enjoying your bath salts?" I'M certainly enjoying my view, and my mind starts going into overdrive.

     "Mhm." She doesn't even flinch when I get on my knees to lean over the tub and taste her skin starting just below her collarbone. She does, however, gasp slightly when my hand dips into the water and between her legs.

     "The water's feeling a bit cold. You should get out. Or your skin will get all froggy."

     She sighs. "Okay. Would you get me a towel?"

     I stand up and act like I'm getting a towel. I'm not. I'm actually pulling out some lube I had stashed in the cabinet.

      She grunts a complaint when I attack. "Drake, I'm all wet."

      "Yeah. That's how I like you."

      She groans at my dirty humor, and I start pulling her to the counter. "I need a towel."

      "No you don't."

      My hands run all over her damp skin. "I thought I'd go ahead and use one of your coupons." I smile. I think the coupons are a joke, but I'm humoring her. Frankly, I'm going to do what I want when I want, and today, my Christmas present to me is getting something I've wanted for a long time.

     "Which one?"

     "The miscellaneous one."

     "I thought that'd be the first one you'd use."

     "It's my favorite." This is juvenile, but I'm playing along.

     "I ran out of ideas."

     "Don't worry. I have plenty." I turn her around.

      "In front of the mirror?" She guesses, but her guess is only halfway there.

      "Oh yeah." I drop my shorts and get the lube.

      "What is that?"

      "Lean up against the counter and bend over." I've been wanting this so long that I'm shaking from restraint even now. I've held off, strangely being nice and gentle since Morgan is so plumbing innocent. That definitely ends today.

     She does as I say. "Drake! Not there!"

     I breathe in quickly and let out a moan. "Oh yes, 'there,' Morgan. Be still."

     "No! It hurts!" She grabs hold of the sink, trying to pull away, but my hands hold her hips in place.

     "Of course it does--because you won't relax." More. Plum, I've needed this. 

     "Drake, stop! Ow!"

     I growl. "Shut up and take it. Your ass has been begging for this." I pin her against the counter and ignore her cries. She's being ridiculous. I used tons of lube. Just to prove my point, I'll even drive her over the edge.

     I do, and she can't help but shudder and respond to her own body. She'd gotten quiet, finally, but she lets out a little noise. I get what I need and collapse against her back.

     After I've caught my breath, I separate us, kiss her back, and say, "Thank you for the coupon." Then I smile and walk over to the shower, leaving her panting on the counter.

Another Day in Paradise 1: Dreams

Jenna Hirsch

     What am I doing here? This is insane.
     "I did not find any evidence of a break-in, Miss Hirsch. Perhaps it was the storm last night."
     "Right. Thanks." I shake the officer's hand. It's true that last night there was a huge deluge of pouring water coupled with lightning straight from the furnaces of Hephaestus himself, bypassing Zeus because the bolts couldn't wait. Add raging hurricane-force winds enough to make you fear for your life, or at least the life of your roof, and you've got a "storm" as he called it. I was convinced, for a few moments, that I would either be drowned in my own bed or swept out to sea. We had thunderstorms back home--but nothing like what happened here.
     He stands there as if he expects me to say more. Or maybe that's not it. Maybe he's just making sure I'm really okay. I probably sounded like a lunatic when I called emergency services. One of the empty rooms had its windows broken in. Yeah. It was the storm.
    "Was it a hurricane?"

     He smiles, and I detect a trace of condescension. "No. These storms happen. These buildings have been here for a few decades now."
     "I know that." Meaning the place is falling apart. That isn't news to me. Doesn't that give me a good enough excuse to be scared? However, having just a window broken, it looked like a break-in.
     Oh, why did I buy this place? Did I need to escape that badly? My parents aren't that bad.
     His voice gets a touch quieter. "But, perhaps, if you still don't feel safe, I could check here again later."
     I pop my head back to face him from where I'd been looking at the ramshackle resort I foolishly purchased. His eyes do a little popping of their own--back up to my face, and he smiles what is probably his most charming smile.
    A man behind him moves his hand like he's just gotten a splinter and is looking at it. Plum. That's all I need. More complaints.
    "No. You're right. It was the storm. I got overexcited."
    "Well, if you should change your mind or need anything in future, give me a call." He reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a business card. Geez, cops have cards too?
    "Thaaaaaaanks," I say slowly while looking at the card.
    He smiles, does an old-fashioned tip of his hat, turns, and leaves. I shrug and put the card inside my bra, not having any pockets otherwise. Who knows? Maybe I'll need it later--although I doubt for reasons he might want.

     This was a mistake.
     "Hey, lady! I need something on this before I get tetanus or god-knows what!"
     I sigh silently. There are first aid supplies at the front desk, and I quickly make my way in that direction. "Yes. So sorry. I thought I sanded those thoroughly enough."
     He snorts and shakes his head.
     My thoughts turn sarcastic: Oh sure. Buy a resort. Those things practically run themselves! You'll be on a beautiful tropical island, a real paradise. You can finally escape your overbearing parents. You'll be master of your own destiny.
     Well, the truth is that it's loads of work, and that doesn't even include trying to keep people happy.
     I wipe away a tear and find the antibiotic sample-size things, whatever they're called. For good measure, I also get a bandage. On my way through the lobby, the guy working the front desk looks at me blankly. No offer of help.
     An image flashes in my mind of the cop guy licking a splinter in my finger, and my face twists in shocked disgust. I don't want that kind of help.
     Still, owning the resort isn't all I thought it'd be. My employees are lazy. They're always late. If a guest asks for something, they get around to it... eventually. At first, I fire them and hire new ones. However, I soon discover most people here have the same attitude.
     My latest guy "working" the front desk tells me I need to get away from the resort and go relax. At first, I laugh, and I actually consider writing him up for insubordination from the tone he used.

     Maybe it's me who has the problem. Maybe he was just worried I was working myself to death.
     It doesn't help. No matter what I do, I can't stand for my guests to be upset. But I can't ever get all of them happy in any consistent manner.

     I'm exhausted, and I'm about ready to give up. There was a reason I could afford the place. It should be condemned. But I cannot go back to my parents empty-handed, a failure.
     The storms continue to take their toll on my resort. It seems just as soon as I get something fixed, something else breaks. I'm about ready to tear the whole thing down myself. I'd love to rebuild. But that takes money, money I don't have anymore. I have to keep the guests coming, and in order for that to happen, they have to leave good reviews.
    I lower my rate. This helps bring more people in, but I don't know how much longer I can save this sinking vessel. I'm taking on water, barely able to float.

    One afternoon, I've had it from working eighteen hours straight. It's the time of day when most of my guests are out touring the area, so I take a quick nap.

     "Miss? ... Miss boss lady? ..." Even in my dreams, they don't let me rest. "Hello? ... Are you up here? ... Oh."

     I slowly open my eyes to see a man in swim trunks smiling down at me like he's enjoying a private joke. I must still be dreaming--a good dream. The kind filled with hot guys who all do my bidding.
     "I'm sorry to wake you up."
     I'm not dreaming. "Ah!" I yell out and stand up way too fast out of the chair, losing my balance for half a second. Caught sleeping on the job! My guests already think, wrongly, that I'm lazy just because this place still looks like crap.

     "I was just closing my eyes for a moment to get the sand out of them. What can I help you with?"
     He's a guest? I don't remember him checking in. I think I would've remembered that. How did I miss it?
     I must look foolish because he keeps smiling like he's laughing at me. "I was swimming, and I found what I think might be part of your resort. The back of a bench maybe?"
     "Oh." I rub my eyes. Then I pat my hair to make sure it's okay. "Probably. That storm we had here a week ago did a number on this place."
     "That is not difficult to imagine."
     "I'm so sorry for the inconvenience. Is there anything you need to make your stay more enjoyable?" The words leave my mouth before I even consider their implication. My jaw drops a tiny bit, and I'm terrified I'm blushing. Plum! I panic. "I, I, I mean that... I know it doesn't quite look like the brochure, but I'm sure I-"
     He holds up his hand. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm not a guest."
     I slump. "Oh." Why am I disappointed?

     His eyes are invisible behind the sunglasses, and I randomly wonder where he keeps the shades while he swims. The corners of his mouth move up a fraction before he says, "I live nearby."
     "Oh," I repeat. A neighbor. Well, this makes things a little better. How is it I haven't seen him before? Then, I figure out why. "Sorry. I don't get out much. This place still needs a lot of work." Should I offer him a job?
     The smile turns sympathetic. "Not what you expected?" He waits to see me shake my head no. "I have to agree you're brave to take on this place."
     Brave or stupid. "Brave?" Is the resort haunted?

     "I mean a woman here working all by herself, being the solo owner." He thinks he's explaining. I could get angry here at his implication, but my mind takes the conversation differently.
     "Oh, I'm not alone. I have plenty of employees around day and night who are really talented at standing around and pretending to do things."
     He finally lets out a laugh. It's a nice laugh. He has a nice voice. It's not too deep but just deep enough. Nice. He has nice lips.

     I take a deep breath and look at his lips.

     I don't even question it when he pulls me to him and kisses me like I didn't know I needed. So. Nice.
     "My name is Mateo."
     Names are nice.
     I close my eyes.
     "Um, Miss?"

     I jump, startled. Huh? What just happened?
     "Are you okay?"
     OH. PLUM. That was all my head. I'm standing here like an airhead having waking fantasies about a man I just met.

     Positive I'm blushing this time, I look down at the faded boards at my feet. "Sorry. I'm really tired." Yeah. So much so that I'm dreaming while standing upright.
    "Then I'll leave the back of the bench with your front desk man and let you sleep. See you around."
    He turns and walks away, and I don't know if I want to ask him to wait or not. Watcher knows I don't need another scene like that again, but I don't know how to find him again.
    He said, 'see you around,' right? He'll come back to visit. Surely.

    Weeks go by, and I install a pool. It's a marvelous refresher for the resort! My guests are happy, even if this means more stick around during the day, making my life harder. Mateo--if that's actually his name and not something my dream made up--never stops back by.

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For those of you who have been following me for a while now, Jenna may look familiar. I used the same sim as Bryce's ex, Ashley. Jenna's a lot less vindictive, though. Probably. Or not.
And yes, that's Mateo Torres, who came with the neighborhood. Dammit. I should've known better. If you know anything about him, well, was it the storm that broke the window?

If you liked this, want to read more, think it's the worst thing ever written (hope not), have tips, or just want to say hi, leave a comment. They're a blog writer's favorite drug. :)

Chain Reaction 3.61: Drained

Emily

     The last time I was in this room was for a happy occasion. Dad was finally being sent back home from the prison system. They'd transferred him here before they finally released him, something I saw as one last kick in the pants to all of us.

    Today, however, is a much, much sadder time. It's a miracle the press hasn't caught on yet that I'm here. I managed to sneak out of my house and catch a cab to get over here. I've called for a driver to come pick us up. Extra security for the house has already been arranged. Ethan helped with the security, but I've been in charge all night. I'm tired.

    I keep hoping I'll wake up and realize none of this actually happened.

    "Emily," Alex's voice carries over to me. He sounds almost broken. "You came." He starts walking towards me, but I back up a step and put my hands up, making him stop.

      I hate the look of pain my gesture caused, and I collapse into my hands.

     I'm so tired! I haven't slept since night-before-last. How could I possibly sleep while wondering if it's true that my husband killed my father?

     "Emily, I didn't do it." It's like he's reading my mind.

     Pull yourself together! I straighten up and face him--only to find that he greatly closed the distance.

      "I promise you. It wasn't me." His hands hold my face, and his thumbs stroke the streaks on my cheeks.

      Ethan thinks it was you, and he has more crime solving experience than I do. I sniff. "That doesn't change the fact that he's dead." I bite my lip hard to keep from crying again. Saying it aloud was almost too much to bear.

     "I know. I'm so sorry." Both of Alex's parents are dead, his sister too. But he wasn't as close with his family as I was with my dad. At least--before I chose to be with Alex. Did I give everything up to choose my dad's murderer over him? How could I have done that to my own father? Be with his hated enemy? Of all the men in the world, why did I have to fall in love with Alexander Goth?!

     He kisses my forehead. "We're going to find out who did this."

     I almost whisper my reply. "Let's just go home."

     He tilts his head and lightly kisses my lips. "Okay."

     Alaric is still asleep when we get home. He'd cried most of the night. Alex wants to go wake him, but I ask him not to.
     I'm glad Alaric's room is on the back side of the house because the front is littered with press, paparazzi and legitimate. In a sad way, I understand them. This is big news. Graham Taylor gets released from prison only to be killed, shot, allegedly by his own son-in-law--a man who'd worked to get him released.

     Alex has told me repeatedly that he didn't do it, but I don't know what to think. All I can think is that Daddy is dead. My dad, a man who hated my husband, and I, his daughter, married the man he hated. I remember being so proud of Dad putting aside his differences for my happiness--or at least acting like he did for my sake. Alex says Dad was going to kill him, that Dad had the gun pointed at Alex.
    Dad hated Alex, and I betrayed him and became a Goth! I burst into tears--again. I've lost count how many times I've done that this morning.
    Alex walks behind me and holds my shoulders. "Emily, please talk to me."
    No. You don't want to hear my thoughts. "I can't."

     The household descends into a depression. I hire a private tutor (including a thorough background check performed by my husband before hiring) for Alaric since he can't go to school and face the ridicule alone.

     Alex, bored, takes up the piano. He says he took lessons as a child.
     He's done all he can to help his lawyer, cursing the fact that our security cameras had been scrambled before the dinner event. Wordlessly, I assume Alex blames Dad for that. There is no footage to back up his claim that Dad was trying to kill him.
     I sleep in what used to be the butler's room. Alex doesn't fight this, but his eyes are red-rimmed, indicating a lack of good sleep.

     I get a text. I assume it's Ethan again. I can't handle my brother's hatred right now.

I haven't heard from you in a while. PLEASE text me back and let me know you're okay.

     It's Drake! The last I'd heard from him was the day after everything blew up. He wanted to make sure I was okay and that I should call him if I needed anything. I told him I was fine.
     Alex is upstairs on his computer. I walk outside.

     "Emily?" he asks into the phone as a way to answer my call. He sounds pleasantly shocked. I guess that's understandable. I've not called anyone. Since I haven't replied yet, Drake speaks again, "Oh Maker, Emily. What is it? Do you need help?"
     I take a deep breath. "I'm... I'm okay." Then why did I call him?
     "What has he done?" He's not buying it.
     "Nothing! ... Nothing." My voice is calmer for the second one. "I'm just trying not to go crazy."
     "You and Alaric need to get out of there, Emily. I have spare rooms here. Or go to Ethan's! Even Charlotte and Chloe have spare rooms. Charlotte and Jarvis have that apartment above the store you could use temporarily. You don't need to stay in that house."
     "This is my home." It starts snowing.
     "It's a tomb. It's a prison. You don't deserve that. Alaric doesn't deserve that."

     "It doesn't matter where we go; the press won't leave us alone. They're standing out there in the street risking frostbite just to get a glimpse into the house. I may as well stay here."
    He sighs loudly, showing his frustration. "But I can't help you as easily if you're there."
    "You needn't get involved." Again... then why did I call him?
    "You're indeed nuts if you think I'm letting you go this alone, Emily. You're trapped in a mausoleum with a murderer."
    "Don't say that. This is just... a difficult time."
    "Calling me to tell me not to worry is a pointless gesture. I'm worrying. He's a man who's gone so far down lunatic avenue that I fear for your safety. I don't like his unnatural way of using you. I never have, but especially now, he's dangerous and unpredictable."
    "I didn't call you to tell you that. Well, that specifically. I just wanted to hear the sound of your voice." Oh plum. That was bad. Very bad idea. Very bad thing to say. I can't let him get the wrong idea. "I, I mean just the sound of a different voice. And I can't call anyone else because they'll say the same thing you've been saying, but it's not a shock hearing it coming from you."
     "If you're reaching out, that means you want to escape. Please let me help you."

     "No, you're wrong. I'm not needing escape. This is my home. I just needed a little dose of variety."
     He gets quiet. Then, he chuckles, and that helps me more than anything. "Then I guess I'll be 'variety.' What do you want to talk about?"
     "It doesn't matter. Anything as long as it has nothing to do with my life." There. THIS is why I called Drake. I needed a link to the outside that wasn't my family, and in reality, he's my oldest friend. I need a friend.
     I sit down at the patio furniture, doing my best to stay warm. Drake makes me laugh as he tells me stories, most of which I assume are made up. I feel almost normal for a little while.
     Then I notice my laughter has caught the attention of my husband. He stands inside and watches me through the back door. A sullen expression shadows his face.
     "I gotta go."
     "Plum. It's him isn't it?"
     "I just gotta go."
     "Just remember everything I said earlier. Call me anytime, day or night."
     "Okay." We hang up, and I go inside.
     I sidestep Alex and visit the restroom, rubbing my hands to warm them up. After I leave and head towards the kitchen, Alex blocks my path.

     "Furston called. He claims I have a strong case. Other than how it looked when Ethan saw me holding the gun, they have nothing on me. He thinks they can't find any forensic evidence linking me to it."
     "Okay." It's all back. Everything Drake had lifted away has just thrown itself back onto my shoulders. I hate it. How am I supposed to deal with this?
     "Emily, talk to me. Look at me. Something!" He holds my face. "What is it going to take for you to believe me?!" He fists his hands on the lapels of my coat. "PLEASE!"
     I react violently, pulling at his hands which just tighten their hold. I don't say anything, but I fight him like a wildcat, scratching and clawing and pulling his hair. He just stands there and takes everything I give him.
    Then, I get two brain cells working at the same time and realize I just have to take off the coat.
    Alex sees my plan. "No!" He lets go of the coat and wraps his arms around my waist. So, I start kicking. I attempt some of the stuff I learned in my few self-defense classes, but I can't get anything to work right.
    "Let go of me!" I'm so pathetic. My husband is strong.
    My dad was strong too. That's why Alex worked out. They used to get into fistfights, and Alex got tired of having the plum beat out of him.
    They hated each other.
    "I'm not letting go. I'm not going to hurt you, but I'm not letting go." His iron cage of arms don't hurt me like he said, but I can't get them to budge. "I love you, Emily."
     I lose it again. And he just takes it, not fighting back, not trying to block me. It's almost like he feels like he deserves it. That or he's relieved I'm showing a reaction of any kind. He cries out when I land a jab at the family jewels, but he maintains his damn grip.
    "Please, Alex, let me go." I'm crying.
    He bursts into tears and buries his face in my neck, in my hair, still not letting go. "I can't lose you, Emily. Please, I'm so sorry your dad died, and I know there are those who try to tell you I did it, but I didn't. I couldn't do something like that. Why would I do something like that? I've spent the better part of the past decade trying to make amends. Because I love you. Because you are my whole world. And I can't let this tear us apart."
    It all makes sense. It all makes perfect sense. Why would Alex murder my father? He wouldn't.
    I relax, and we just cry. I hold him as tightly as he holds me.
    "I believe you."
    Something in him relaxes, and he starts jubilantly kissing my face, my hair, my neck, my lips, everywhere he can reach while still holding me in his arms. He lifts me and carries me down into the living area. I know he's not after woohoo; I'm not emotionally there for that, and he knows. So we kiss on the couch until, drained, I'm worn out.