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Saturday, May 23, 2015

Tits For Tat

   An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author


Injuries

        It was the elephant that brought her back, the one that if she opened her eyes, must be sitting on her chest, making each breath a monumental struggle. She needed to clear the fog rolling in her head, open her eyes, and push the damn thing off.  In her mind, she could see its gray leathery skin and wrinkled rolls heaped like dead weight atop her lungs, stopping any air she attempted to suck in.  How it had gotten there on top of her she didn't know.  Everything was confused and cloudy, her conscious thoughts lost like a pebble in quick sand.  Every time she grasped at reasoning, it slipped below the surface, out of reach.

        She thought she had been dreaming.  Still a child in school, playing at recess.  Her brothers were there, Gino and Louie.  They were shouting her name, over and over, calling her to join them on the other side of the playground.  That's how she knew she was dreaming.  Part of her was sure Gino was dead, his body broken and battered in a car accident when she was 16.  And Louie?  Louie was gone too.  Disappeared one day, never to return, the product of questionable friends, and shady business dealings.  But here they both were.  Alive in her head, and calling her name.  She tried to make her lips form the words.  Tell them she heard them.  But her mouth worked no better than her eyes, and the effort left her exhausted.

        "Roxanne...can you hear me?  Please, Roxie.  You have to be okay."

       No.  Not Gino.  Not Louie.  This was a woman's voice.  Not one she fully recognized, though something told her she should.  The need to know was great, and so with mental hands she waved away the fog, and forced open an eyelid.  The face above her was a woman with dark hair, both familiar and not, concern and fear etched in her expression.

        "Oh, Roxanne.  Thank God you're conscious!  I was afraid you'd fallen into some kind of coma.  We've stopped the bleeding, but Ted says he can't get the damn thing.  It's lodged in a bad spot."

         She ran a swollen tongue over cracked lips, too large for her mouth and getting in the way.  "What's lodged?  Where?"

        "The musket ball.  It's lodged in your chest somewhere, too close to your lungs for us to do anything about it.  You need a doctor. A modern one.  We have to get home."

         For several seconds, her words made no sense.  Musket ball. Doctor.  Home.  Then, the pieces begin to slowly drop in place like a mental game of Connect Four.  She was in the past.  Had time traveled.  It was Maureen O'Kenney talking to her, she who was currently occupying the body of Paul Revere's wife, Rachel.  It was total craziness, and still was the truth, obvious proof she was no longer dreaming.  "I've been...shot?"

        Maureen laid a cool cloth over her forehead, and reached for her hand, careful to keep her arm in the same position.  "I'm afraid so.  How much do you remember?"

        "Bits and pieces.  Of being in the shed.  That bastard trying to rape me.  Ian.  He was there.  Then...it all gets a little fuzzy.  Who shot me?  Not Ian?"

         "No, of course not.  From what Ian told us, he was worried about Hollings stationing those two thugs at the house, so he stayed put and hid out back in that copse of trees, just in case there should trouble.  He's the nicest guy, Rox.  So gentlemanly.  And very attractive, in a rugged, old fashioned way, don't you think?  Anyways, he saw the one soldier follow you into the shed, and he had a feeling the guy was up to no good.  He said he tried to rescue you, but that you were the one who took the shovel to the asshole's head.  Put him completely down.  But there was the second guy still outside, and he was aiming at Ian.  Apparently, you shouted a warning at Ian just in the knick of time.  He moved out of range...but unfortunately, you didn't.  The musket ball hit you just below the right shoulder."

          "And the other soldier?  Where's he?"

          Maureen looked away for a second before answering.  "Ted took care of him.  Had no choice. The man was reloading for a second shot."

           Both women went silent, each pondering the cause and effect of what had happened in the last hour or so.  They had changed the course of events in the time line, something Ted and Roxanne had been strictly warned against doing, and the consequences of their actions were sure to cause a problem somewhere through history .  In addition, her cover as a deaf mute was blown, and her injury was sure to hamper the success of their mission.  She could only begin to imagine how pissed the Sheriff might be with her.  Not wanting to contemplate his displeasure, she let her mind wander until a third issue reared it's ugly possibility.  She lifted the cotton blanket covering her, and peeked beneath.  Her entire right shoulder and breast were engulfed in strips of linen bandages, wrapped tightly to limit mobility of the right arm as well.  Her other side was bare, revealing a lot of pale skin and one very perky left breast.  The thought slammed to the front of her brain.

              "You cut off my clothes and bindings!"

              "Uhh...yeah.  You were bleeding all over the place.  Ted needed to see how deep the musket ball had pierced, and then, stop the bleeding.  We had to pack it with clean wool.  I'm sorry, Rox.  It's a pretty nasty looking wound.  I'm guessing it's gonna leave a scar of sorts."

             She hadn't even thought of that possibility.  "So...the Sheriff saw my boobs?  Ian too?"

              Maureen looked at her oddly.  "Well, yeah.  I suppose they did.  There really wasn't a choice, Rox.  You had just gotten shot.  We weren't thinking of that.  Only of saving your life.  Nothing else mattered."

               She knew what her friend was probably thinking.  Could imagine the things she wouldn't say out loud in fear of hurting her feelings.  What did it matter if they saw her tits? She had worked the past four years as an exotic dancer.  Lots of men had seen her boobs.  Half of Boston, for sure.  But she had mentally closed the door on that life, taken back her privacy, and it now deeply embarrassed her that Beckett had gotten a first hand look, up close and personal.  And then there was Ian.  Lovely, amazing Ian with the unforgettable green eyes.  In another place, another time, she would have invited all the attention he wanted to give those babies.  But here in this place, with things the way they were, it just seemed another slap in the face by the hands of Fate.  The things she wanted most always out of her reach, and that thought, more than the burning, throbbing hole in her chest, made her went to cry.

             Seeing the tears run down her face, Maureen gripped her good hand.  "Don't cry, Roxie.  Please don't cry.  It's going to be okay.  Ted'll think of a new plan.  He'll figure out how to get us all home.  He had to lie to Ian now that the truth is out about you not being a boy.  Or a deaf mute.  But like I said, Ian's a great guy.  He believes this all has something to do with us being Patriots.  That  this is all fodder for the cause.  Funny thing, he actually seems relieved that you're a girl.  He's promised to help us anyway he can."

             Her heart flipped at the mention of Ian, but it wasn't anything she wanted to share with Maureen.  Feelings for this man in 1775 were hopeless, an idiotic yearning for something she couldn't have.  Her focus needed to be on what Beckett had declared "the mission", and so she pushed any romantic thoughts out of her head.  "I'll be okay, Mo.  I'm sorry to be blubbering like a baby.  Weak moment.  Glad the Sheriff wasn't hear to see it.  He'd be second guessing his decision to make me a deputy."

           "Oh no, Rox.  He's been singing your praises since he's gotten here.  How you follow orders like a pro, and how you always give 100%, despite your lack of training.  He seems quite impressed, which is saying a lot for Ted.  He's...well...pretty demanding, you know."

            "Where are they now?"

            "They needed to do something with the two soldiers.  When they don't report back, someone is sure to come looking for them.  They were talking about burying them somewhere in back of the shed.  The ground is still pretty soft from all the rain."

            "So...they're both dead then?"

            "Yeah...afraid so.  You hit him pretty hard, Rox.  Shattered the whole back of his skull.  He was probably dead before he hit the ground."  She watched her friend's face for any indication of horror, and when none was present, continued.  "Ted mentioned that you had a lot more upper body strength than he'd of guessed.  I presume that's a good thing, as he made it sound like a compliment."

           She probably should have felt some remorse over killing the man.  Strangely, she didn't.  She who nursed stray birds and kittens back to health and cried over sad movies, couldn't muster a shred of pity or regret over taking the life of another human being.  She wondered what that might say about her moral code, but there was no time to weigh her thoughts, as Beckett and Ian chose that moment to return.

          Seeing her awake, he took her wrist to check her pulse, then pulled back her eye lids to check her pupils.  "Your pulse is strong and regular, and your color is decent, all things considered.  How do you feel?"

           "Like a truck hit me, Sir.  My shoulder hurts likes hell."  She kept her eyes on Beckett's face, and avoided Ian, who she could see from the corner of her eye was standing few steps to his left.

            "Understandably so.  You took a musket ball to the right chest region.  I won't lie to you.  There's a lot of tissue and muscle damage, and I don't like the position of the damn thing so close to your right lung.  If it had been a few inches more to the left, you'd be dead.  We cleaned and packed it the best we could, but you need professional medical attention, the sooner the better.  Do you understand me?"  He looked directly into her eyes, forcing her full attention.  "We are going to proceed with our original plans with just a few changes.   Instead of walking to the wharf area, we will be traveling in the back of Mr. Sawyer's wagon.  He's well known in the area for his ale, and so we will be hiding in empty barrels.  In your state, stuffing yourself into that tight position will probably cause you a lot of additional pain, and I have have little to offer in the way of analgesics.  It's the best shot we have, but if you don't think you can do it, I will try to find an alternative way."

        "No, Sir.  I can do it.  We have to proceed as planned.  There is no reasonable alternative."

        Beckett looked at her shrewdly, then nodded.  "Okay.  Then it's a go.  It will take Mr. Sawyer and I an hour or so to get things ready, then we will head towards the bank.  In the meantime, you rest as much as possible.  You'll need every ounce of strength to make this ride.  Mrs. Revere has a beef broth ready.  If you can get down a few mouthfuls, it would be helpful."

        "I'll try, Sir."

       "Good girl."  He gave her hand a little squeeze, a gesture she found strangely comforting, if not a bit odd.  "This will all work out, Roxanne.  You have my word that I will do everything humanly possible to bring this to a successful conclusion."  He lowered his voice, and whispered.  "I think Ian would like to speak with you as well.  Be careful what you say to him.  I've already involved him more than I ever intended.  I don't want to see any harm come to him because of us.  I respect the man's courage."

        She wanted to refuse.  Insist he send Ian away.  But the Sheriff was a man used to having his orders obeyed, and so she just nodded, suddenly feeling queasy and much too warm, her shoulder throbbing in unison with her pulse.  Beckett turned and walked away, focused now on moving his plans along.  For a minute or two, Ian stood in the background, and she wondered if perhaps he was angry at having been duped.  He would have every reason to feel he had been made a fool.  If that were the case, then the conversation would be much easier to handle.  A quick, regretful apology, and she'd be out of his thoughts. But as it went for all things in Roxanne's life, anger was the last thing on Ian Sawyer's mind.



Copyright 2015 Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved

     



         

         



       

2 comments:

  1. Poor Roxanne but at least she is alive I was very worried about her. Now she goes and falls for another unattainable man or can she would she stay ? I am loving this part of the story :)
    Hugs Maria

    ReplyDelete
  2. Oh dear, oh dear, oh Dear! This does not sound easy!
    Poor Roxanne! You certainly know how to scare us!!!
    I don't dare hope the return to present will be quick and trouble free...!

    ReplyDelete