With the face of an alert doll, Lady G took his hand and caressed it. She moved closer. They hugged again. The press of her far-too-womanly breasts intoxicated him. Her heat blinded him.
Their bodies locked together, their lips soon met. He searched out her form, probed with his tongue as he returned her light kisses. Lady G wanted to hear him call her name. Breathy. They threatened to devour one another, their hearts pounded to shatter ribs to find one another. They weren't fully aware of their hands clambering over one another, pulling at pants, and he had plunged himself into her.
He thrust wildly, his legs with quickly fading strength, threatening to give out beneath him. He convulsed violently, years of pent-up lust finding release suddenly. It was over before it began, their clothes were still halfon. Their eyes awash with apology, half resenting one another. With no words left between them.
Neither realized that they had been observed until a nearby thud drew their attention. Something heavy landed nearby. Lott pulled up his pants, holding up an arm to shield her as he investigated.
'Oh no,' he said.
'What?' A reedy thinness entered her voice. Her heart feared what her soul already knew. 'What is it?'
Lott held a mud-covered object in his hands. He wiped the hunk of metal.
King's Caliburn.
King slumped against his condo door, leaned back and, very quietly, allowed himself to let go.
Mulysa waited in his cell, in the old wing of Marion County lock-up. What it lacked in electronic amenities it made up for with cold bricks and solid bars. Not like the transparent cubes that housed the other inmates like valued collectibles in the newer wing of the lockup. His cell hadn't even been washed down from its previous tenant, who experimented with finger-painting with his own feces. Mulysa cupped his head in his hands, a big man not quite weeping. His public defender, not worth the stains along his cell walls, probably wouldn't be able to get him a bail hearing. The first words out of his mouth advised him to be quiet and consider a deal. Distracted, Mulysa did not hear the footfalls of approaching visitors. The unlatching of his door drew his attention.
'Remember me, Rondell?' Lee said merrily. 'We got some unfinished business.'
'Who?'
'Don't remember me? That hurts. Not as much as my jaw. Maybe I should let your fellow inmates know that you're into kids.'
'Hey, slow your roll. I ain't got no short eyes.'
'You broke the big one: never hit a cop. You can run. You can lie. We expect that. That's part of the game. But you hit one of us — or worse, throw shots — well, things change. Messages have to be sent. We can't have you and your boys thinking that it's open season on cops.'
'Guard!'
'Who you calling for? Another cop? You think they gonna help you? I'd say you got more than you can handle right now. A fellow inmate?' Lee raised his voice. 'Hell, I want them to hear what happens to someone who hits a cop.'
The spill of light hid the back-handed slap that caught Mulysa off guard, still sick from his abrupt, stuck-in-jail detox. He tumbled onto the floor and Lee pounced on him. A spray of blood dashed against the walls. Wet sounds and grunts filled the cell, followed by a sickening crunch of teeth on metal and then a tinkle of pebbles. Plumes of silence echoed, interrupted only by Lee's heavy breathing. And the low moans.
'On the gate.' Wide accusative eyes averted their gaze as Lee walked by.
The abandoned Camlann Apartment building on Oriental Avenue, three stories of what was once a showcase place. Many organizations had put in bids to rehab the building, but the owner refused to sell and refused to do anything with it except allow it to wither. So the city declared eminent domain and it was due to be razed. The lawsuits and counter-lawsuits had delayed the process, allowing it to further fall into dangerous dilapidation. Left to politicians, it would stand for years, a testimony to pain and suffering and lost hope. Tristan struck a match. 'Deuces, motherfuckers.'
The only thing Gavain, no longer Rellik, had left was his memories. The road slowly snaked its way through the thick glade of trees. The roads, like growing capillaries, branched in new directions. Gavain found it hard to believe that he was still in the city. That was one of the reasons why Gavain loved Indianapolis: it was a city that knew its place with nature and rarely resisted its intrusions.
His turbulent thoughts were a drunken whirlpool of half-images. Unable to attend his mother's funeral because he'd been locked up, he could only imagine it from the reports of the members of his crew he'd sent to organize and pay for it. The poster-sized photo of his mother's face was his idea, but it seemed so tacky in the light of sobriety. The funeral parlor smelled of mothballs and roses. A broken old woman, not embittered, who'd grown distant due to the ache of loss. She had wanted a large family, so had his father, but after that summer, his father had decided he could have a large family with someone else. Sometimes she'd even managed to peer at Gavain without any trace of blame in her eyes. When she did, he knew it still lurked beneath the surface. The cold place of haunted memories — things long left unsaid — festered in the hollow graves of their lives. His long face had grown tired, overgrown with stubble and unkempt hair, pummeled by time. A prophet wandering into the wilderness. A lost preacher. Gavain stopped at an intersection that branched into six directions. He studied the signs and searched for any familiar name.
Boat launch.
The road crept down a long hill and sneaked around the defensive posture of the trees before ending near a ranger's station. The maudlin yellow building reminiscent more of a pre-fab home than anything rustic. His heart fluttered for a moment until he remembered how disused this part of the park was; the park posted ranger stations every few miles, but most rangers patrolled the picnic areas and beach, not unused boat launches. The new link fence at the end of the path barred further progress. The fence grinned like new braces over yellowed teeth, protecting the dark maw of the walkway. 'No Swimming.' The sign hung from its links.
A grassed-over gravel pathway led through the secluded grove. Trees crowded in, guardians of the one thousand five hundred-acre reservoir. It was a warm day with cool air; warm only in direct sunlight, the cool air chilled his nostrils. He kicked a stone and listened to the crunch of dead leaves when it skittered into the brush of the forest.
'You sure it's all right to be here?' someone said, a long time ago.
''For You had cast me into the deep, Into the heart of the seas, And the Current engulfed me. All Your breakers and billows passed over me.'' The passage sprang to mind as clearly as the day he first memorized it.
The water stank of dead fish. He couldn't see any, but the entire alcove reeked of it. Praying to see those hands, he continued to wade into the waves' slow embrace, pulled along by the gravity of guilt. He longed to be a kid again. To crawl into…
