Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors (28 page)

He leaned back in the porch rocker and smiled thinly. “This morning a little boy died at the Baptist Hospital. He was four years old—an only child. He had leukemia. Other than try to make him comfortable, there was little the staff could do for him. Sure, some of the patients I work with get well. This one didn't. There were many before him and there will be many after him. Every time one of my people hurt, I hurt. Every time one dies, I die a little. Sure, this sort of thing happens in a congregation from time to time, but at the hospital, it happens many times a day. It gets to you after a while—especially the children."

“I hadn't thought of that,” she said soberly. Why the hell, she thought, am I so horny during my menstrual cycle? She drew her feet up onto her rocker seat and hugged her knees.

“I like the slow pace of the people in Dot and taking this position will give me the opportunity to catch up on my reading and research."

“Research?” she asked. She thought, Why won't men have sex with you when you are menstruating? Is a little blood any messier than their semen?

“Yes. I've written a couple of articles for professional publications. I've been doing research on effective counseling of children who have terminal illnesses. Some day I hope to write a meaningful book on the subject. I have a related book in mind, too. I think we adults have much to learn from the faith of these children. For instance, my faith in a hereafter, heaven if you please, is weak. The last thing that little boy said to me during my visit this morning was, ‘see you later, preacher.’ He knew he was dying, but I think he also knew something I'm not so sure about."

“Wow,” she replied, uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

“He knew something else important too. Just about all the children do, but not the adults."

“And that is?"

“He knew how to die. He loved everybody and showed it. He enjoyed everyone who came to his room. He did his best to have fun every hour of every day. He lived each day as if it were his last and he was determined to derive the most from it. Adults live in the future. That's not totally the wrong thing to do, but we all need to learn from that little boy and live every day to some extent as if it were our last."

Sandra desperately wanted to change the subject. “I did not know you were a writer, Mack.” She daydreamed of receiving relief from the sexual tension growing in her loins. She shook her head violently.

“Is something wrong?” Mack asked in alarm.

“A fly or something lit in my ear,” she said laughing, but that wasn't it. She realized it was Mack, not Tim, that she visualized between her legs.

“Writing is what I came to talk with you about. At least it is one of the things I want to discuss."

“All I can tell you is that I want to be a writer. If you've had articles published, you are way ahead of me.” She remembered that once while menstruating, she used a banana. It was too ripe and squished inside her. She laughed out loud.

“Did I say something funny?"

“Yes,” she lied. “The idea that I could help you, with all your education, is funny to me."

“If you had seen the articles I submitted and the work that was published, you would know that I do need help. Editors did so much rewriting that the only way I knew the published article was mine was that my name was listed as the author."

They both laughed. She studied the man to whom she now realized she was attracted. He was tall, perhaps six and a half feet, angular, had black hair and bright green eyes—a strange combination she thought—and a mouth she longed to kiss.

“The University of North Carolina at Charlotte has several writing courses starting in January. If the church votes to call me as their pastor, I was thinking of auditing one of these. I thought it would be more interesting if I had a partner in crime."

“I'll give it some thought,” she said without having any idea what auditing a course meant. Her mind went back to the banana.

“Good,” he smiled. “I'll give you more details when I have them. The other matter involves purchasing some land from you and Tim. About ten miles west on Highway 13 is a beautiful meadow with a small pond of crystal clear water. I'm told you own it."

“It's a shame Tim isn't here. You'll have to talk with him about that. May I ask what you want it for?"

“For many years I've carried in my wallet plans for my dream house that I clipped from a newspaper. It's exactly what I always wanted. Sunday afternoon, after I met with the Pulpit Committee and saw that they were about to make me an offer, I drove around the area looking for land to build on. That meadow is what I have been seeing in my fantasies."

She couldn't tell him what she was seeing in her current fantasy. “Today's
Courier
said the church would be furnishing you with a house."

“Yes, that's part of the deal. I hope the folks won't be insulted. I'll live in it until I can get my house built, and then the pastorium can be used for other things, for instance Sunday School classrooms."

Sandra nodded as she gazed towards the sun riding low in the west.

“You haven't asked, but I can afford it. I have some money from an inheritance. Not as much as you and Tim of course, but a nice little sum. Dad died after my divorce, so the bitch didn't get her hands on it."

They both laughed. “Mack, it gets dark so early in November. There's a spring just over that hill,” she said, pointing, “that has the sweetest water you ever tasted. I keep some in the refrigerator and I am about out."

“I should be going anyway Sandy,” he said standing. “Keep reading the
Gospel of John
."

“No, no,” she said, jumping to her feet. “I want you to see it. It's beautiful. I have some extra empty plastic milk cartons. We'll get a couple of gallons for you, too. It won't take long. We can ride the golf cart most of the way."

Sandra parked the cart as close to the spring as she could get it. They each picked up two well-washed jugs and cautiously started down the steep fifteen-foot bank, with Sandra leading the way. As usual, she ran the last few feet and Mack imitated her. She stopped more suddenly than he anticipated. He bumped into her, not hard, but hard enough to cause her to lean forward, flailing her arms in an attempt to maintain her balance. Without thinking, he dropped his containers and grabbed her, successfully preventing her from falling into the water. One hand landed firmly on her right buttock cheek and the other grasped her pert left breast. She froze. He did not immediately release her. She slowly stood erect, faced him and looked up into his solemn eyes. Before she knew it her arms were around his neck, her breasts were grinding into his chest, her pubic bone was rubbing his erection and her tongue was dancing inside his sensuous mouth.

Without a word, she enjoyed him slowly undressing her, felt his lips on her nipples and her breasts crushed to his hairy chest. He showed no alarm when he stooped to remove her panties and saw the sanitary pad in place. He removed it deftly. He carefully helped her recline on the moss covered creek bank. She lifted and opened her legs for him. He kissed her navel. He gently sucked each breast in turn. When he brusquely forced his tongue into her mouth he also entered and filled her vagina.

He's so big, she thought, and then the orgasm rocked her from toenail to the ends of each individual hair on her head.

“We can expect to have some bugs in the system at first,” Tim said to a distraught Tracy Frank. He had spent the morning in his study completing notes for the Saturday town meeting, and then driven to Dot to talk up the meeting with as many people as he could find. His first stop was the hardware store where he encountered Tracy in tears.

“I lost everything I put into the system this morning and I don't know what I did."

“It's not a disaster, Tracy. You did the right thing when you called Sean. He'll be here shortly and resolve the problem. Just be thankful that you backed the system up last night."

He talked with his three employees about the town meeting, and also with two customers in the store. He went to the post office, the pharmacy, Dot's Diner and the Discount House. Most of those with whom he spoke had not yet read the day's issue of the
Courier
, but he thought he probably talked at least a few people into attending.

Before going home, he dropped by the law office to see if Susan had made a decision on the law practice, and readily agreed to guarantee her an adequate income during the first year.

Victoria was on her way home when he arrived at Coan's former office, but he wandered into Susan's office for a brief talk anyway. Immediately he noticed that her blouse was unbuttoned. They sat in the opposing lounge chairs next to the window, and as Susan leaned forward to sit, he looked straight down her blouse at the gorgeous milk white upper flesh of her magnificent breasts.

Instantly he was aroused, but as he took his seat, he intentionally did not try to hide it. She talked on and on about the practice. He focused his attention on her chest, taking advantage of every opportunity for additional glimpses of her fabulous mammary glands.

Then she did it. He knew she did it intentionally. She sat back in her seat while at the same time elevating and splitting her knees. In high school, his friends called what he was now doing “squirrel shooting.” She was not wearing panties and he had a clear, sunlit view. He knew she was looking at his erection. He knew she knew he was looking at her crotch.

She got up to retrieve a document from her desk. He followed, grabbed and turned her around, pulling her close and forcing his lips to hers. She did not respond, but she did resist either. He forced his tongue between her lips and probed until at last she parted her lips slightly. He placed his right hand on her knee, then moved it rapidly upward under her skirt until his fingers found their prey. He slipped one, then two fingers inside her.

She broke the kiss, but he held her firmly against him.

“Tim,” she said weakly. “I'm a virgin."

“Good,” he replied fiendishly. “I've never screwed a virgin."

“Tim, don't. Please."

He clutched the hem of her skirt with both hands and yanked it up over her hips. He forced her to the desk with his body and pinned her shoulders to the desktop.

As he was pushing down his pants, she pled with him again.

“You want the money, don't you? Spread your damn legs,” he commanded.

She began to cry, but she obeyed him. He ripped open her blouse, pushed the bra cups up and grasped each breast fiercely. He was inside her, but just barely. He lunged and felt her hymen break. He felt the warmth of her blood mingled with her other ample fluids. She cried out in pain, but then locked her ankles behind him and began to move her hips rhythmically.

Tim slammed both hands against the steering wheel of his Mustang as he removed his foot from the accelerator and gradually applied the breaks. “Damn,” he said aloud. “If I could put that fantasy on paper I could make a fortune.” He laughed guiltily and eased the car into his driveway.

Sandra leaned forward and adjusted the two jets at the far end of the Whirl Pool. She wanted more force in the streams directed at her crotch. Mack, you stupid old holy man, she thought. You don't know what you missed when you turned down my invitation to go to the spring.

Suddenly Tim was standing beside her. “You startled me,” she laughed.

“That's not all I'm going to do to you,” he grinned, stroking his erection.

“Dude, I told you this morning..."

“Dudette, there are three exciting entrances to your body,” he said,climbing into the pulsating water. “Choose one."

She lifted her knees and opened them. She ground herself into him furiously. He pumped with wild abandon. It was over in less than a minute and they clung to each other guiltily.

“What are you doing here?"

Sandra whirled around like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She was standing in the hallway, outside room 312 in the Charlotte Memorial Hospital, hesitating to enter.

“I might ask you the same thing,” she said, smiling at Tim's unexpected appearance.

“I asked you first.” He grinned nervously.

“Okay. I have been calling the hospital every day since the wreck. They had a recorded message and until Thursday, it said Matt was in ICU and was in guarded condition. Thursday and Friday the message said he was now in a private room but visitation is restricted to family members only. Today there was no message. The lady at the desk said he is allowed short visits now."

Tim hugged her and quietly said, “I've been doing the same thing. Since I had to be in Charlotte this morning anyway, I thought I'd drop by. I should have brought him flowers or something."

“I sent flowers yesterday and put both our names on the card."

“Great.” Tim looked around and continued, “Let's go in the waiting room and talk a minute before we see him."

Sandra followed. They sat on a pea green plastic sofa and lit cigarettes, using the ash tray provided for people like them who either did not see or ignored the numerous “no smoking” signs.

“There's something not quite right about this whole thing with Dilson,” Tim began.

“I agree. The media was full of the news of Cathy Long's murder and Matt's wreck the day after it happened, but there's been practically no mention of either of them since."

“Yeah,” Tim said, exhaling a stream of thick gray smoke. “You remember I was at the Super Save when the wreck happened?"

“Sure."

“Well, after Billy came back to the station, I drove out to the scene of the accident. It was no accident, Sandy. There were no skid marks. And you can't tell me the car had mechanical failure."

“Why do you say that?"

“As proud of that car as Matt was, you know he kept it in top mechanical condition."

“You would think so. You think he tried to kill himself?"

“That's what I think, but that raises the question, ‘why?’”

“You don't think he killed Cathy, do you?” she asked.