by Vandemonium1
I have been criticized for inventing evil female characters, then glossing over their pain when their antics are discovered. Below is my response. It is all pain.
No pickaxe handles were damaged in the writing of this story. And on the seventh day, the lord invented Hickory.
After I wrote it, it was pulled apart and destruct tested by CreativityTakesCourage, for which I am grateful. My life began when she entered it.
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DAY 1
Lyn awoke, uncomfortable and confused. She battled to open her eyelids for what seemed like an age, but in reality, was probably only a few seconds. Her addled mind found the familiar sight of her bedroom ceiling comforting. An image of the nightmare that had roused her was still in the forefront of her mind. She’d felt she was suffocating, which had always been a particular fear of hers. Once she managed to not only open both eyes but keep them open for more than a second, she noticed the trigger for her nightmare. John was lying asleep on top of her. His left breast to hers, meant she wasn’t bearing the full brunt of his weight. His hips between her still wide stretched legs, meant it was enough to restrict her breathing. Automatically, she shoved him sideways. He rolled onto his back and immediately began snoring. She tried to recall what had roused her from deep slumber. The nightmare alone wasn’t it. Still not fully conscious, her mind wandered back.
On the pretence of putting the final touches to the contract they’d worked on together for months, John and Lyn had left the office before lunch and come to her place for a nooner. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to share a bottle of wine before the important signing this evening, but she’d bought it specially, and it complemented the food she’d bought perfectly. Why not celebrate in style? This contract was the biggest in the history of their company. The fact she’d been chosen to complete it, meant she was on a fast track career as a company favourite. She also wanted to celebrate a change in her personal dynamics. A change she looked forward to immensely.
That dragged her mind back to the man slumbering beside her. She’d fallen into bed with John about six weeks before. Sharing the stress and long hours with her fellow lawyer and colleague, formed a bond that had almost inevitably resulted in the physical affair they were currently engaged in. Having crossed the line once, crossing it the dozen or so times since hadn’t been a biggie for her. The unusual hours she was keeping, plus the travel, made it so easy.
Still a little confused, Lyn tried to recall details of how she’d ended up like this. Her lips curled into a smile as details returned to her.
With six hours to kill and much to celebrate, John and herself parked in her carport and made out like teenagers. With the heat rising, they dragged each other through the internal door to Lyn’s lounge, ripping each other’s clothes off as they went. Once they were both naked, Lyn forced John onto his back on the huge sheepskin in front of the fireplace. Going to the fridge, she returned with food, wine and glasses. She straddled him but didn’t allow entry; just rubbed her flowing vagina languidly up and down the cock pressed between herself and his belly. Every time he made to sit up and push her onto her back, she pressed him down. Lovingly, she fed him titbits from her organised picnic. She cracked the bottle of red and poured two glasses. Not being able to lift the glass to his lips from his helpless position, Lyn took a long draft from John’s glass, held it in her mouth then transferred it to John’s via a deep kiss. Ah, this is the life, Lyn recalled thinking. Nice food, nice wine and the anticipation of great sex to come. How could it be better?
In the here and now, Lyn wondered how much wine she’d drunk. With effort, she thought back. Alternating mouthfuls for her, then ones for John, they’d damned near finished the bottle. That probably accounted for the metallic taste, coating the inside of her dry mouth. With hunger for food satisfied, Lyn recalled retaining the last swallow of her second glass in her mouth. Never once breaking eye contact with John, she slid off him, knelt at his side and luxuriously slid his rampant monster in her mouth. She made a mental note to check the white sheepskin for red stains when she went downstairs. A little had dribbled out during her manoeuvres.
She recalled John closing his eyes, groaning loudly, as she began slowly moving her lips up and down. She wrapped her good hand around his base and followed her mouth up and down with it, pressing her thumb on the pipe underneath, in just the way experience told her John loved. Her plan, to get John half-way there, then mount him, was kiboshed when her lover grabbed the back of her head and held it firmly in place. She decided to give him the ultimate gift, his groans and gasps letting her know exactly what he wanted. His thrusts quickened and he didn’t last long after that. With a mighty bellow, John unloaded into her wine filled mouth. She picked the exact moment her continued languid movement turned from sensuous to uncomfortable for him, knelt up straight and when his eyes re-opened, tilted her head back and swallowed. John looked at her adoringly.
Knowing she had only a few moments of his helplessness left, Lyn reached over and took a mouthful of John’s glass. Leaning over, she kissed it into his mouth, whispering for him not to swallow it. Maybe John knew what she had in mind; maybe he didn’t. Her heat made her selfishly not give a damn. Throwing one knee over each of his shoulders, Lyn lowered her sex onto his face and began furiously rubbing herself on his lips and nose. She heard him noisily breathing through the latter as he couldn’t breathe through his wine filled mouth. Lyn arched her back and began massaging her own ample breasts. Talk about heaven. She didn’t last much longer than John, before grinding into his face especially hard as a tremendous climax ripped through her. She screamed her pleasure at the ceiling. She figured John must have swallowed the wine when his tongue appeared and she luxuriated in the come down.
Things became a little blurry after that. Memories of John pushing her off him, reaching down to sling her over his shoulder and the heavenly trip up the stairs. She distinctly remembered him throwing her on the bed, before impaling her with his resurgent cock. Then… what?
Lyn, still groggy, was confused. Not only by the lack of memory, but by the failure of the just recalled memories to excite her more than they were. A few seconds’ concentration solved that last mystery. Her bladder was giving out urgent signals. Very urgent. With a supreme effort of will, she cast her grogginess aside, rolled off the bed and staggered to the bathroom. She sat and relieved herself. The sheer length of time it took gave her time to notice external inputs more. Weak light was spilling through the frosted glass of the bathroom window. The dawn chorus of twittering birds automatically triggering happy memories from a comfortable and contented life.
SHIT! Dawn chorus? Not even pausing to wipe herself, Lyn launched into the bedroom and looked desperately at the bedside clock. 7:46 shone malevolently back at her. Her subconsciousness desperately tried to lie to her and make her believe it was still light at 7.46p.m. at that time of year. It failed. The last shreds of lethargy and delusion were swept away by a terrible realisation. It was almost seventeen hours after she and John were supposed to sign the most monumental deal in their company’s history and, somehow, they’d both slept right through it. A chill paralysed Lyn for seconds as she felt the bottom fall out of her perfect world. Her reflex was to get to work ASAP and salvage what she could. Taking the last three steps to the bed, Lyn shook John’s shoulders violently until his eyes drifted open groggily.
“Get up, you stupid prick. We slept through the night. It’s almost eight and our jobs are toast.”
Lyn impatiently watched as what had taken her minutes was accomplished by John in seconds. He went from looking dazed to horrified. He jumped out of bed, staggered, then headed off downstairs to get his clothes. Lyn followed; almost pushing him down the steps in her haste. She instinctively knew that any further berating of him would slow him down, so she settled for giving him dirty looks. Even forgoing the time needed to put on her bra and just throwing on her discarded blouse and panties, John was fully dressed ahead of her. She had just picked up her pants and he was sitting on the couch putting his shoes on when something made her look towards the front door. Confused, she noticed it was partially open with only the safety chain holding it back. Vague recollections of the sound of it being opened and rattling against said chain itched against her consciousness as being the cause of her arousal from slumber some few minutes earlier.
She was still looking at the cracked door when a shadow moved against it. Something long whistled through the crack and hit the chain. The screws flew from the mounting bracket, the latch swung through an arc and smashed the glass pane above, before the door crashed fully open.
The sight that met Lyn and John could only be described as anger incarnate. Only a little over five feet tall, but almost as wide, the woman of obviously Mediterranean origin stood there with heaving breast. The axe dangled from one meaty arm. Her eyes blazed as she glared around the darkened room, before settling on the seated man and half naked woman. Lyn heard, “Oh shit, Maria,” gasped behind herself.
“You fucking little shit! They were right. You’ve being doing the dirty on me while I’ve been out of town nursing mum.”
If the irate , beweaponed she-devil uttered anything coherent after that, it was lost on Lyn. Seeing the axe raised and the first step towards them, she made for the stairs, only slightly hampered by the fact she had one leg in and one out of her pants. Half-way up, she was pushed the rest of the way by John taking the steps three at a time. They raced together to the only refuge available; the master bedroom.
Through the locked door and their own panicked gasping, they heard solid footsteps clumping up the stairs. A moment’s silence was followed by the crash of an axe thudding into the door. The flimsy barrier moved enough that it was obviously not going to be a permanent defence. Lyn retreated to the door of the balcony and threw it open. Internal debate on whether she was desperate enough to make the three-metre drop was cut short as the tip of the axe finally made it through the wooden door. The sight of John accelerating towards her pushed the decision. She instinctively knew she didn’t want to be the only one left alone in a room with… that. Turning around, she grabbed the rail, forced her body over it and lowered herself to her full stretch. Letting go, she dropped the rest of the way, landing heavily on her feet before falling on her arse, winded. John, following the same logic as Lyn, vaulted straight over the balcony rail. Landing awkwardly, his ankle rolled under him and he gave an involuntary yelp of pain. Lyn, her heart set on escape, took off straight away. Instinctively, she made for the carport. Entering, she had her car door open before she noticed the strange car in the driveway blocking hers in. She grabbed her handbag from the front seat and had just made it to the entrance when John painfully hobbled over.
“Where’s my fucking car?”
“We don’t have time for shit like that.”
Lyn sped to the strange car, glancing around to check for signs of pursuit. Her eyes were drawn to the four flat tyres on her car. Confused, she looked into the strange car. She saw one thing that was good and one not so good. The former was the keys dangling from the ignition. The latter was the manual gear shift. She’d never bothered learning that. Her options flashed through her mind until the noise of an angry behemoth coming towards her told her she had none.
“You drive, John.”
“I can’t, Lyn. My ankle is busted. You’ll have to.”
Internal debate was useless. Lyn jumped in the driver’s seat and John hobbled around to the passenger side. She started the engine just fine then asked what to do next. John looked at her, terrified and confused, until realisation dawned. He told her to press the pedal on the left, then rammed it into reverse himself. Somehow the car avoided stalling as Lyn released the clutch and hit the accelerator. As they shot backwards out of the drive, a swinging axe put a large divot in the windscreen, right in front of John. Lyn backed up the street until the armed woman chasing them gave up. With the luxury of time, John coached Lyn through turning around, this included Lyn stalling twice.
Lyn thought their first priority was to get to their work as quickly as possible to salvage the contract that had been put in jeopardy by their sleep-in. She was annoyed that, after the adrenalin of the past five minutes had started to fade, all John could do was complain about his sore ankle, then slump into semi-consciousness, rousing only when Lyn forced him to answer questions.
“I take it that was your wife?”
“Uh huh.”
“How did she get the front door of my house open. It was dead locked and everything. Thank fuck the safety chain was on or she would have caught us fully in flagrante delicto.”
That didn’t require a response, so didn’t get one. Just before they got to their destination, the engine alternately whining with over-revs, or shuddering due to being in too high a gear, John roused.
“Lyn, where was my car? I did drive it to your place yesterday didn’t I?” Lyn didn’t respond. She was still a little disoriented by the loss of a big whack of time. Then being awoken this morning at a time she didn’t expect and in a very stressful manner, well, that threw her. She was only half listening to John’s next words.
“Can we stop for a coffee or something. My mouth feels like it’s had a hamster sleeping in it. How much did we drink yesterday?”
That brought to mind the taste Lyn still had in her mouth. She ran her tongue over her palate. There it was, a sharp, metallic taste. It tugged at her memory banks. She was distracted from those thoughts, firstly by John’s snore and then their arrival at their place of business. She elbowed him awake and they headed for the office. Outside the door, Lyn looked at John’s dishevelled state, then became aware of her own unfettered breasts. She could only imagine how she looked.
“Let’s go into the bathrooms and clean up a bit. Meet me in my office then we’ll go and see Mr. Biggs.”
Neither took any notice of the receptionist picking up the phone as they headed for the stairs. They were each heading for the bathroom on their floor when they heard their names called. Mr. Biggs, the managing partner, was standing outside his office door. They couldn’t ignore his crooked finger gesturing them both to enter his office. Preceding them in, he closed the door firmly, then walked behind his desk, glaring at them the whole time. Lyn saw herself reflected in John’s unkempt hair, rumpled clothes, and haggard looks. Finally, Mr. Biggs broke the silence.
“Care to give me some explanation on why I spent all last night and this morning trying to salvage a contract after you stood up our client? Why I couldn’t get either of you bozos on the phone when they rang me at six last night?”
Lyn ran various responses quickly through her mind. This was not good. It could put her career back a couple of years. This allowed a still groggy John to answer the uncomfortable questions.
“Sorry, boss, we slept in.”
This response, coupled with their appearance, including Lyn’s smeared makeup and improperly buttoned blouse revealing her swaying breasts, told Mr. Biggs all he needed to know. In all his career, he’d never seen two such talented rising stars commit professional suicide quite so effectively. He paused as a plan formed in his mind. Maybe he could salvage the contract, but only if he offered the clients a couple of heads on a platter.
“You two are suspended pending an investigation into your behaviour. I suggest if you clean out your desks now, it may save you time later and save me the need to lay eyes on your stupid faces ever again.”
Lyn and John both bowed their heads in shame. John turned for the door first, followed by Lyn. Mr. Biggs next words were so soft, she almost missed them.
“This will devastate your husband, Lyn. Whenever we play golf together, it’s always, ‘Lyn did this’, or ‘Lyn said that’. I don’t know how I’ll be able to face him after this.”
That almost made Lyn stumble as she began the walk of shame to her office. Just outside the door, they were intercepted by the assets manager.
“John, where were you last night? Where is your company car?”
John shook his head.
“This is serious. Did you drive your car last night?”
“I er… I don’t think so. I went to sleep yesterday afternoon and didn’t wake up until this morning. My car was missing.”
“Did you report it stolen to the police?”
John just shook his head again.
“Well, if I was you, I’d call the police straight away. They rang this morning to see who was assigned that car. Apparently, whoever stole it from your place used it to ram raid the local biker hangout. Two of their guys were injured when it came through the wall of their clubhouse. You might want to think of a more convincing alibi before you call them.”
John turned to look at Lyn in utter confusion. She had no answers to give him.
Lyn strode and John hobbled to their respective offices. As they left with their personal effects in file boxes, they had to endure the indignity of the admin manager looking through the boxes to ensure no company equipment or data was being removed. Their colleagues stood silent witness as they were escorted to the door. They put the boxes in the back of John’s wife’s car. Lyn pushed John away when he came in for a comforting hug. All that had happened in the last hour was because he didn’t wake them up yesterday afternoon. Still stunned, they both sat in the front seat collecting their thoughts; John in the driver’s seat. Lyn looked at herself for the first time that day, then at John and saw them as their boss had. How bloody stupid had they been? John proved he was finally back to reality when he spoke next.
“Job and marriage toasted in one day, wow.”
Lyn was about to rip into him for his inane and unhelpful comment, when a screech of tyres drew their attention to the carpark entrance. John gasped at what he saw.
“Fuck! Carlos!”
He quickly started the car and gasped as his injured ankle depressed the clutch pedal. They took off, heading out the entrance. They passed John’s wife in the passenger seat of the strange car. The driver was big and angry. He glared at them as they passed.
“Who the hell is Carlos?”
“My wife’s brother. He’s bad news. I’m talking mob bad. He’s spent more time in jail than out and he has never liked me. His first spell in the joint was because he beat up some guy at school for saying Maria was ‘easy’ behind her back. Oh shit.”
“Now you tell me, you clown!”
As John sped away, Lyn was relieved to see the other car boxed in as it tried to do a quick u-turn. Lyn directed John to make a couple of quick turns as soon as they were out of sight. Five minutes later, there was no sign of pursuit and they were on one of the freeways through the city. They discussed where to go but could come to no agreement. Obviously, John’s house was out of the question and now they knew that Maria was aware of where Lyn lived, so was her place. They were no closer to deciding a destination when John reached to the dashboard and turned on a device. He explained that it was his wife’s habit of listening on the police radio channel. It’s legal unless a person uses the information so gained, in any way. The airwaves were busy giving the licence plate number and description of the car they were in. It had been reported stolen and was linked to the ram raid of the previous night.
Lyn and John had no time to digest this before they saw flashing lights off to the side and heard the sirens wailing. Lyn turned to see a motorcycle policeman alongside them, with the rider gesturing for them to pull over. She told John to obey. The police motorcycle pulled in right in front of them. The cyclist got off and unhurriedly removed his helmet, before walking towards them, looking at the broken windscreen. The pair sat silently as the policeman leaned in John’s window. To their amazement, he asked if they knew it was illegal to drive with the screen in that condition. With relief, they realised he hadn’t heard the recent bulletins. John gave his name and address because he couldn’t produce a licence. They held their breath as the copper returned to his bike, retrieved an iPad type device and began tapping away. He’d just looked back at them with alarm, when their attention was drawn to the sound of loud, decelerating Harleys. They were going the opposite way, about ten of them. The last few of them had their heads turned towards Lyn and John, the rest were slowing down, looking for a gap in the railing to cross the median strip. John reacted automatically. He started the car, shoved it into gear and took off. His plan, if he even had one, was to pass the motorcycle policeman, on the inside and accelerate along the shoulder until he had the speed to pull into the traffic. He was so intent on looking in the wing mirror that he missed the policeman’s reflex action. Hearing the car start behind him, the policeman stepped away from the bike and the road. Lyn’s yell came too late to stop him hitting the guy with the offside wing. Stopping wasn’t an option, so John continued to accelerate. In her mirror, Lyn watched in horror as the policeman tried to roll onto his feet. An impossible task with his leg sticking out at such an unnatural angle. Lyn vented her spleen at her chauffeur. John, trying to ignore her, just pulled into the flow of cars, then wove in and out of the traffic at well above the posted speed.
With no sign of pursuit, John took the second next exit and headed away from the freeway on increasingly minor roads. They both cringed whenever they saw a motorcycle.
Five minutes later, they spotted a shopping centre car park and pulled in to let the aftermath of the adrenalin rush wash over them. Lyn kept up a steady stream of abuse at both John’s judgement and driving skills. He closed his eyes and tried to blot her out. He vaguely wondered which of his pursuers he should worry about the most. The police would lock him up and destroy what was left of his career. If he was lucky, the bikers would just beat him up. Maybe even cripple him. No, they were pussies. The real threat was Carlos. If he almost killed the kid in school because he badmouthed his sister, how much trouble was John in?
To distract himself, he rooted through his wife’s glovebox until he found an old Leatherman tool. After explaining his plan to Lyn, she stood guard while he removed the licence plates from the car next to theirs. He put them on their car, then as an afterthought, put their old ones on the other car. It was less conspicuous than leaving it bare. They had to buy time until they decided what to do. They then took off on the road leading further out of town, pulling into a secluded spot along a river. Exhausted and tired, they laid the seats back and rested. As an afterthought, John suggested Lyn turned her phone off to prevent it being tracked.
“What the hell do we do now, John?”
“Buggered if I know, Lyn. I’ve got no phone, no wallet, and no money. If I turn up back at my place before she’s had a chance to settle down, I’m toast. The same goes if I turn up at any of my family’s places, I suspect. What about your place? They’re probably watching it but we could sneak in. Surely, your husband will look after us, won’t he?”
“Um… I don’t know if we’ll get much of a welcome there.”
“Why not? You said he knew about us and was cool with it.”
“Erm.. I may have bullshitted a little about that. Yes, he did know about us, but I may have exaggerated about how well he took it, so you could relax.”
“So, you mean I have to watch out for an angry husband as well as everyone else. Jeeesus.”
“No, he’s not like that. He hasn’t a malicious bone in his body and wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s a pharmacist and I think they take the same oath as doctors, you know, not to hurt anyone. ”
“So, he didn’t take the news well then?”
“No. He confronted me last week. Knew your name and everything. Gave me an ultimatum. Me! Like an arrogant bitch, though, I told him to get lost. I wanted everything. A career that was going places, nice house and car, comfortable husband and family. I told him I demanded to have a lover that filled me up as well. If he couldn’t live with it, I would get one of the partners as my divorce lawyer. He’d end up living in a shoe box, begging me to see the kids every month or so. I was bluffing, but he didn’t know that. He lives for those kids. I half expected him to call my bluff, but he just stormed out. I haven’t seen him since. The next day, I dropped the kids off at my parents and met you at that motel. Last Monday, you remember?”
Despite everything they’d been through that day, John was horrified to be sharing a car and a nightmare with the creature Lyn revealed herself to be. It took minutes for the speechlessness to wear off.
“So, you gave him a choice; put up with you screwing around on him, or lose everything?”
“Why not? The law says I can get away with it, so why wouldn’t I? Why look so shocked? Weren’t you screwing around on your wife as well?”
“Yes, I was, but I didn’t insist on ripping her balls off to do it. Pardon the pun.”
Lyn shrugged. John saw Lyn in a whole new light. With his blinkers off, he realised that the smile he’d found so sensuous until now, had a hard edge to it. He couldn’t imagine such a cruelty as the one she’d just blithely described, with all the signs of a clear conscience. For her part, Lyn wondered where she could get a drink. She still had that damned metallic taste in her mouth. She joined John in dozing until hunger woke her in the late afternoon. She roused before him and turned her phone on to send a quick text to her mother to look after the kids indefinitely. God knows what her parents were being told.
When John woke, they pondered the known mysteries of the last few days, to avoid the difficult questions like, ‘what the hell are we going to do next?’ Not turning up for a contract signing after having obviously slept together, had lost them their jobs, obviously; but what made them sleep for a solid seventeen hours? Then, how had John’s wife not only known where to find him, but had a way of opening the front door? They knew if it wasn’t for the safety chain, they would both have had their skulls crushed in. They’d seen the look in Maria’s eyes.
They were stuck on this point when Lyn glimpsed Carlos’s car cruising slowly down the road, through the trees. It kept going, however, and as soon as it disappeared around a corner, they took off the other way. John was pissed when he learned that Lyn had turned her phone on earlier. He reached over to grab it and throw it out the window, but she protected it.
Again, they turned off as quickly as possible and headed in a completely different direction. That didn’t matter; they didn’t have a destination in mind anyway. It was two hours before dusk when they passed a remote fuel stop about two-hundred kilometres from home. With a glance at the fuel gauge, John took the risk and pulled in. While he fuelled up, at the automatic bowser, Lyn went in, used the facilities, then grabbing some food before going to the counter to pay. Two attempts at paying with her debit card were declined. She looked to see how much cash she had while the attendant tried her credit card. That was declined as well. Just then, the attendant looked over her shoulder and asked what her husband was waving at. Lyn turned and saw John gesticulating to her furiously. She sprinted from the office, deaf to the shouts of the shop assistant yelling about the food she still held clasped in her hands. She walked briskly to him; he was babbling about two bikers that had just showed up. One of them had immediately gotten his phone out. Lyn ordered him to get in and go. John obeyed, with haste and they sped off. Lyn again watched in the mirror as the bikers gave chase. She didn’t think it was a good time to burden him with the fact that the police had arranged for her cards to be cancelled to stop them running.
They’d only made it a couple of kilometres when the sound of revving motorcycles could be heard over their own screaming engine. One bike was on each of their back quarters. John steered into the middle of the road as they went around a corner. As soon as they hit the next straight, the bike behind their left side surged forward to overtake. Reflexively, John edged left. That allowed the guy on the right to seize the opportunity. He was level with the rear door before John saw him in the mirror. Purely on instinct, he swung the wheel to the right. He didn’t hit the bike, but the cyclist’s own reflex was to bear off. Right off the side of the road. Lyn looked on in fascination as the bike went into the spoon drain, before catapulting the rider off. She watched as his mate slowed and turned to assist him.
John, with adrenalin running high, asked Lyn if she’d seen what was on the cyclist’s jackets. When she said that it showed a guy in a Mexican style sombrero, John groaned and explained that was the Bandidos, a club with a violent reputation. Both driver and passenger anxiously watched the fuel gauge. John had only just started fuelling up when the bikes arrived.
Right on dusk, with the fuel gauge wrapped around the peg, John pulled off into a quiet country lane and killed the engine. In the last light of day, they could see a farm house and outbuildings several hundred metres away. Sitting separate from everything else, on a stand, was what looked like a 10,000-litre tank, complete with hose and nozzle. John reconnoitred in the gloom of early evening. Lights were on in the farm building, but otherwise no one was in sight. He checked that the fuel nozzle wasn’t locked, and liquid came out when the trigger was pressed. He looked around in the gloom for some sort of container but found none. He debated whether or not to turn his phone on and use the torch function. Concern about being traced through it won over the urge to keep moving. John returned to the car and, with Lyn, hunkered down to wait. The plan; to wait until midnight, push the car to the bowser, fuel it up and continue running.
To while away some of the time until the lights went out in the farm, John and Lyn started talking about the strange events of the last day and listing who was after them.
First, they’d fallen asleep while making love on Lyn’s bed. That in itself wasn’t strange but sleeping for seventeen plus hours was. Unconsciously, Lyn grabbed the remains of the packet of potato chips she’d shoplifted from the roadhouse. Maybe, they would remove the lingering taste from her mouth.
Much of what happened since they woke that morning—or was it a week ago?—was caused by John’s car apparently being used to ram-raid the local biker hangout. Obviously, it had been stolen, and given time, John could have convinced the bikers of that. That was all a little academic now, after they’d injured one or worse, escaping from the roadhouse.
Through the slightly optimistic eyes of those in these types of situations, they reviewed the motivations and intentions of those arrayed against them. John thought that his wife and brother-in-law would be satisfied by a light beating followed by a rapid, wife-centric divorce agreement. The police? What did they know? Only that he’d knocked over and injured an officer and failed to stop. The failing to stop was justifiable, given the bikers. Would the injury result in jail time? They both considered it a small possibility. It was a justifiable accident, after all.
That left only the bikers. John suggested that their reputation had been exaggerated by the media and they weren’t actually as bad as everyone made out. Lyn kiboshed that optimistic line of reasoning. Her husband used to be in a biker club. He’d described a culture of crime that was an accepted way of life, and violence was endemic. Her husband’s office in the club was in charge of stealing cars. Either for sale, or for use in their various nefarious activities. It became obvious to John that due to Lyn’s memories of those stories, she was very, very afraid of the bikers. She went on to describe how her husband had escaped from the criminal life, got a straight job and worked his way through university. It was obvious that Lyn was quite proud of her Pharmacist. The car went quiet and silence reigned until the lights went out in the farmhouse.
Between John and Lyn, they pushed the car, with difficulty, over to the bowser. Nervous and panting, John opened the fuel cap on the car and started filling. It gurgled nicely into the tank until it overflowed. Hobbling back to the driver’s side, he got in, started the engine, then floored it so the farmer wouldn’t glimpse them and pass on a description. They’d just made it to the farm gate, about fifty metres, when the car hesitated. Twenty metres later, all the lights on the dash went on as the engine stopped. Looking out the back window, Lyn urged John to get it restarted. Despite continuous cranking, it refused. A horrible thought occurred to Lyn.
“Is this car petrol or diesel?”
“Er, petrol. Needs 98 octane, I think.”
“And what was in that bowser. Most farm equipment runs on diesel, doesn’t it?”
“How the fuck should I know? I’m a city boy.”
They both began yelling at each other and still were when John’s door was wrenched open and the farmer dragged him out. Pressing him to the side of the car, he demanded, loudly to be told what the fuck was going on. Lyn used the opportunity to jump out. The car was in a gateway and there was no room to get between them, so she was forced to go around the back, then along the driver’s side. As she passed the struggling pair, she saw a short length of tree limb, about seventy-five millimetres thick and nine hundred long. It was bad enough being on the run. The thought of being on the run alone was terrifying. With only a second’s hesitation, Lyn pick up the log and with no style, wacked the farmer over the back of the head. He went down like a sack of spuds. Wide eyed, they stared at each other, then John hobbled after Lyn as she fled toward the highway, using her impromptu club as a walking stick.
They didn’t hesitate when they reached it. Just started walking in the direction they’d been going all day. Towards nothing. Away from everything they knew. They threw themselves off the road every time a car came along. Two hours later, they passed a sign saying the next town was still ten kilometres ahead. They were both mentally and physically exhausted. John’s ankle hurt like hell and Lyn was starting to get blisters.
Spotting a lone barn, they forced a way through the fence and made for it. There was enough hay in it to provide an adequate bed. They both fell into a troubled sleep.
DAY 2
Lyn woke way before dawn. Still tired, hungry, and thirsty, she was a little confused, not realising where she was. The metallic taste, still in her mouth, brought the unpleasant memories of the previous day crashing back. Strangely, her first coherent thought was of her children. Her recent, entitled, selfish mantle aside, Lyn loved her children. If she could avoid being killed or thrown in gaol, she would go home; hug her children like never before and wait for her husband to come grovelling back to her. With time, things could go back to normal. Delusions, all of them, but believed by a famished, thirsty, exhausted, and desperate mind.
How much trouble was she in, Lyn asked herself? John’s wife and her mob brother were after John. If she could get to the police, they would protect her. It was John’s car that had been used in the ram raid, and John who’d knocked that biker over. They were after him, not her. Again, the police could protect her from them. That left only the police to worry about. What had she really done wrong? Pilfered some stuff from a roadhouse without paying. Hardly a custodial offence. Shit! Now, she’d assaulted a farmer. That was time for sure. But how did the world know it was her that did it?
The solution to all her problems suddenly became obvious. If she left John sleeping and got to the nearest police station first, she could lay just about all the blame on him, even claiming the assault on the farmer was him. With turning him in, all she could expect was a slap on the wrist. Once the world knew where he was, they’d forget about her and she could sneak quietly back home. Lyn examined her conscience with this plan in mind. Could she do that to her lover? Like most relationships that come out of cheating, Lyn realised theirs was doomed from the start. He was just a new cock when she needed one. Besides, he was a cheater. She’d never trust him enough to have a long-term relationship.
Lyn smiled to herself and prepared to sneak away from the barn. A faint rustling noise caught her attention. In the moonlight, she saw John quietly picking up his shoes and heading out the barn. Instinctively, Lyn knew what was happening. After his own internal debate, John, the rat, had decided to shop her. The little cunt. Enraged, Lyn sprang to her feet, picked up her walking stick and brought it down on John’s head. He went down and stayed there. Removing his shoes, she threw them in separate directions into the darkness. Lyn’s plan was modified. She’d claim self defence when it came time to explain this episode to the police. Jaw set, Lyn strode toward town.
An unknown time later, Lyn risked turning on her phone briefly to check the time and distance to town. She was almost done, when it began operating and changing screens by itself. In a panic, she realised that it was being controlled remotely. Only one person could do that, the person whose phone it was paired with. Why would her husband be trying to find her? No, she thought; the police must have insisted he give them his phone. Lyn quickly removed the battery and restarted toward town; ears ever vigilant for the sound of approaching traffic in the pre-dawn darkness.
As she walked, she plotted. She would accept her rap on the knuckles, then demand her husband come back home. If he played up, she’d use her secret fund, siphoned off her salary into a separate bank account, to divorce his ass. Not working and not in a hurry to get another job, she’d demand maximum child support while making it impossible at every turn for him to see the kids. After the appropriate amount of grovelling, she might take him back and this time, if he objected to her taking a new lover, he’d know exactly what was in store for him.
Before she was a third of the way to town, even her seething rage couldn’t mask the pain of her feet from the inappropriate footwear. Even her blisters had blisters. But stagger into town she did. The police station was half-way along the main street, but a sign on the door said it wasn’t manned until 9:00 a.m. She guessed it was around seven, so sat on the step to wait.
She’d no idea how much time passed, but gradually became aware of a mounting roar. It penetrated her over-loaded, tired brain that it was the sound of motorcycles. Many, many motorcycles. Leaping to her feet she ran around the side of the police station and hid in some bushes. As she peeped out, she saw pairs of bikers stop every fifty metres or so down the main street, get off and look around. The door of the station opened, and a uniformed man with sergeant’s stripes walked to the kerb and looked up and down the street. Lyn jumped up and ran into the open door. Curiously, the policeman followed her in.
The sergeant was very interested to hear who she was. When she told them where John had been when she last saw him, he jumped on the radio and briskly gave orders to his unit on patrol. He then made some other calls before interviewing Lyn properly. She was very cooperative and soon he had a witness statement attesting to two assaults by motor vehicle and an assault on the farmer. Part way through, a groggy John was brought in. The sergeant took one look at him and called an ambulance. When it arrived, and John was stretchered up and loaded, the bikers closed in, but were kept at bay by the police escort. As the ambulance and escort drove off, Lyn, peering around the doorframe, saw John’s brother-in-law sprinting for his car, and a ton of bikers racing for their rides.
Things quietened down again, and Lyn finished her statement. She denied knowing anything about how John was injured. With only shoplifting to her name, Lyn was formally charged and told she could go. With her part in the serious injury of an officer, the police weren’t at all cooperative about letting her use a phone, and her mobile having gone flat, she decided to walk to the nearest pay phone to make a call. To who, she hadn’t yet decided. Suddenly, all hell broke loose in the station. Gradually, Lyn pieced the story together. The ambulance and escort had been hijacked by unidentified bikers and others. Luckily, no one resisted, and everyone was unharmed. John was missing. Lyn sighed. Now there was no one to refute her side of the story.
She stepped out into the street and saw half a dozen bikers in either direction, looking at her. She ran back inside and asked for protective custody. Still in an unforgiving mood, the sergeant laughed and asked for what? Shoplifting? She was told that as it was public property, they couldn’t force her to leave until 5:00 p.m., when they closed.
Lyn begged and pleaded, but the sergeant was vindictively adamant. Just before five, she checked to see if the bikers were still there. They were. Lyn; sore, hungry, tired, and weary beyond belief, felt she had no choice. Dropping her chin to her chest, she turned and walked back into the station. Fifteen minutes later, the sergeant had a confession to two serious assaults and Lyn took residency of a nice safe cell.
EPILOGUE
Lyn’s husband put down the phone. The call from his lawyer had told him not to expect his wife home in the next five years or so. It also predicted one of the quickest and most one-sided divorces in history.
He glanced toward the tempting bottle of Laphroaig. He’d been nudging the bottle a little much in the last month or so. Ever since his and Lyn’s wedding anniversary. He’d been at work and needed the date for a form. Glancing at the calendar, his heart sank as he realised it was their anniversary. Like the last time he forgot it, he predicted he was going to cop a flogging when he got home. He was just in the middle of arranging to leave early, to buy a gift, when Lyn rang. She had to work late that night. She’d obviously forgotten their anniversary as well, which was very, very out of character for her. Something must really be distracting her.
He did leave early, and did buy her a nice necklace, then was home in time to meet the kids from school and make them a healthy dinner. Lyn came home after nine and he looked at her unemotionally for once. She avoided coming over for the customary kiss or even making eye contact. With blinkers off, he could see she was freshly showered. The hair on the nape of her neck was still damp. There was no mention of the missed anniversary.
He was lucky that she was so busy hiding her own demeanour that she totally failed to spot his unusual one.
The rest was easy. He waited for her to ‘work late’ again, followed her from her office to a restaurant, then motel, noted her lover’s number plate, then did his research.
He had no plan when he confronted her. For the sake of the children, he may have forgiven her if she’d been suitably remorseful and convinced him it would never happen again. Her actual reaction shocked, appalled, but, most importantly, offended him. He left to calm down, to avoid physically hurting her. Cheap, commercially available, telephone and email bugs provided the data necessary to fulfil the rest of his plan.
The whisky bottle beckoned to him still. Why not? The kids were in bed, it would be harmless. That made him sad. Tomorrow he’d have to have that conversation with his kids. They wouldn’t be seeing their mum for a while. Well, not unless she found another source of bail money. That was a conversation he really wasn’t looking forward to.
He thought back to the paperwork shuffle he’d accomplished at work today. With luck, and only a cursory audit, the missing sleeping pills would never be missed. If one of six customers actually counted the pills in the bottle and reported them one short, then he’d get a slight rap on the knuckles.
He idly picked up his phone and deleted the tracking program. Then he deleted a few contacts he would never need again; Lyn, Maria. Checking his bank balance online showed him that all their old joint account balances had all been transferred to his new account. The balance was consistent with the contents of Lyn’s secret account being added as well. As soon as he’d come to terms with the fact his wife could be deceptive, he’d gone looking. The arrogance of the woman. Putting the statements in a folder next to the regular accounts. Relying on the fact that he took little interest in the family finances, them being her domain throughout their marriage. Her password had been predictable.
He shook his head. How long had she known him? Did she really believe he’d contemplate, for even a second, leading the life of a cuckold? To give up the pride he knew was the cornerstone of his belief system? She knew he would die for his kids. How much easier it would be to kill for them?
He rubbed his sore knee. Bloody cheap shit Japanese cars. The dashboard shouldn’t collapse after the car hit one itty-bitty little brick wall. He poured himself a generous tot. For medicinal purposes only, you understand.
Pulling out his checklist, he double checked everything was completed, then lit it with the fire lighter and threw it into the fireplace. As he watched it burn, he scoured his brain for anything he’d missed, but once again could not find a base uncovered.
He took another sip, and for the first time in weeks, fully relaxed.
“That’ll do, Dave. That’ll do.
THE END
Now lighten the fuck up.
A Baptist preacher was seated next to a cowboy on a flight to Texas.
After the plane took off, the cowboy asked for a whiskey and soda, which was brought and placed before him.
The flight attendant then asked the preacher if he would like a similar drink.
Appalled, the preacher replied, “I’d rather be tied up and taken advantage of by women of ill-repute, than let liquor touch my lips.”
The cowboy then handed his drink back to the attendant and said, “Me too, I didn’t know we had that choice.”
And you can blame XTCHR for this one.
What did our parents do when they were bored and had no internet?
I asked all 18 of my brothers and sisters that and none of them knew either. is.h