Oh, Brother!

Fr. Kevin gives up his room...again!

 
      His brother pushed his way past the door, stamping the snow off his shoes on the mat in the foyer.  "The ride down here was miserable.  Train was late leaving the city, and it was packed with kids from Boston U leaving on break."  He slipped off his coat, and handed it to the priest, wandering into the parlor as he spoke.  "So, this is your rectory.  Kinda small, isn't it?"

     Already tired of the nasty comments, Kevin hung the coat in the hall closet, and followed behind Patrick as he explored his surroundings, eventually answering the insult.  "It suits me just fine.  I'm the only priest serving this parish, so I get the whole place to myself."  He watched his eldest sibling travel around the room, picking things up, and putting them down, and was reminded of Brian, whom, come to think of it, he hadn't seen or heard from in several weeks. While Patrick's attention was on a rather handsome sculpture of the Last Supper, Kevin sent a quick text to his sister, warning her about their brother's arrival.  Then, feeling bad about the subterfuge, and trying to be polite, he asked, "Are you hungry?  Can I get you a cup of coffee, or maybe some breakfast."

     "As I recall, Kev, you weren't much of a cook, but beggars can't be choosers.  I was running late, so I wasn't able to pick up anything before I left, and I surely wasn't going to eat any of that over-priced swill on the train.  Actually, I'm famished."  They walked to the kitchen, and Patrick plopped himself down in the seat Kevin had been warming only moments before.  Picking up the coffee cup, he took a sip, made a face, and handed it back to his younger brother.  "This is ice cold.  How 'bout you get me a hot cup?"  He then began to fill the plate with the meal Kevin had been looking forward to for the past three hours.

     In good pastoral tradition, Fr. Kevin would have sworn under his breath, and prayed for patience.  But on this particular morning, he was far too busy worrying about the nature of his brother's visit, and how he would explain his sister's current state of affairs.  He poured a fresh cup of coffee, and placed it in front of Patrick, watching him shovel in eggs and bacon.  "So Pat, what...um...brings you to Dollyville?"

      Instead of answering the question, he posed one of his own, slurping his coffee as he did so.  "Where's Red the Wrecker?"

     "Come on, Patrick.  You know she hates it when you call her that.  Always has.  Can't we all try to get along while you're here."  He sat himself down across the table.  "By the way, just how long will you be staying?"

       Holding the sugar bowl out for a refill, his mouth crammed with the last of the bacon, Patrick shrugged.  "Depends."

       "Depends on what?"

       "How long it takes Red to come to her senses."

       "Her senses?  I don't understand.  Come to her senses about what?"

        "About returning to her family responsibilities in Boston.  She's played around here on vacation long enough.  She needs to come back home, and see to Ma.  She was the one visiting everyday, handling the nursing home, and other stuff.  Since Maureen's been gone, it's been a nightmare for the rest of us.   I tried making a schedule.  Had the different families taking turns, but it didn't work out at all.  Sometimes there were six of us there on the same day, and other times, no one came for an entire week. That just won't do, Kevin."

         Guilt stabbed at Kevin's heart over the lack of involvement he himself had with his mother.   He had wanted to get back to Boston during the holidays, just to check in on her.  But with all that was going on in Dollyville, he had never gotten the chance.  Here it was March, and he still had not made the trip.  Plus, as far as Maureen was concerned, he would bet every last penny he owned that there was no way Maureen was heading back to Boston.  Zero chance she was leaving Ted Beckett behind, and moving back home to live under Patrick's thumb.

         "Where is that girl, anyway?  She can't possibly still be in bed?  It's nearly 11.  It's just like you to spoil her rotten."

        There was no escaping.  He would have to tell Patrick everything, and take all the abuse that would surely follow. He got up from the table, took a deep breath, and jumped in.  "Well, Pat...she doesn't actually live here anymore."  He busied himself at the sink in hopes of avoiding his brother's glare, grimacing at the sound of the cup banging down on the table.

        "Doesn't live here with you?  Where the hell is she?  Couldn't you keep track of your own sister for a few weeks?  Damn it, Kevin!  You better hope she didn't run off and get herself into trouble.  She's a pro at that."

          It was almost impossible for him to bite his tongue.  A few weeks?  More like five months!  He felt he had done a damn good job of keeping her reined in.  She was, in fact, a grown woman, and it wasn't like he could keep her chained up in the rectory.  In his defense, she had only moved a block away.  Walking distance.  What more did his pain in the ass brother want?  He straightened his shoulders, and attempting to grow a backbone, placed himself directly across from Patrick.  "Look...she wanted a place of her own.  Some privacy is all.  There was a small flat down the street from the church, and she had her heart set on it.  You know how she is when she gets something in her head.  I figured it was close enough for me to keep an eye on her."

       Patrick grunted, and began an attack on the pancakes, having already finished the eggs, bacon and sausages.  Still chewing, and now waving a knife at Kevin, he continued his tirade.   "I hope the hell she didn't sign a lease.  It would take a lot of fussing to break it without it costing a shit load of money.  What I can't understand is, where is she getting the cash to pay the rent?  She's got to be out of savings by now.  Never was any good at managing money, that one."  A thought came to him, and narrowing his eyes, he asked, "You wouldn't be stupid enough to be funding this nonsense, would you?"

        "No, I'm not paying her rent.  She actually has...um...a job.  Here in town."

        "A job?  That fast?  In his economy?  I'm surprised a piss pot town like this has a whole lot of social services?  Is she working for the county, or a private organization?"

        Telling him about the job was going to be the hardest part of all this.  Patrick had been the one to steer her toward social work, and the one one who had paid the bill for four years of under graduate study at Boston College.  He had covered all her expenses, allowing her to focus exclusively on her studies, and she had graduated Magna Cum Laude at the top of her class.  He would surely consider her job at the deli a personal insult, and a huge slap in the face.  Things were about to get ugly.  "It's like this Pat...Maureen was really upset and depressed when she came here.  About all that stuff that went on back in Boston.  She kinda felt she needed to get away from social work.  At least for awhile.  You know...clear her head a bit. "

       "So what the hell is she doing 'while she clears her head'?  You better not tell me she's some kind of frickn' waitress, Kevin.  Too much of my damn money went into funding her education, and I'll be damned if I'm going sit around and let her pour coffee for a living."  He shoved the plate away with enough force that it slid clear across the table.

       There had to be some way to spin this.  Allow some time for he and Maureen to figure things out.  Mentally crossing his fingers, he stuttered out the only white lie he could think of.  "Oh no, Patrick.  She's not a waitress.  She's working in...marketing.  In the grocery industry."

       "Marketing?"  He thought a moment, and made a face.  "I suppose it's acceptable.  But I made some inquiries back home.  Called in a few favors, and lined up an interview for her with a private Methodist organization that handles foreign adoptions.  It's a perfect job for Red."  He finished the last of the coffee in the cup, and handed to Kevin to refill.  "What time does she get home after work?  I really need to have a talk with her."

          Kevin could feel the sweat build around his collar.  He was a terrible liar, and this whole conversation was heading out of control.  "I'm not sure of the exact time, but I'll give her call, let her know you're in town, and maybe plan for us to meet for dinner somewhere."

        "No.  I want to surprise her.  Just find out when she'll be home, and we'll meet at her apartment before we go out.  I'm curious see to see Red's new place."

       He could only nod.  The element of surprise was definitely gone.  His iPhone had been buzzing in his pocket non-stop since he had texted her earlier, and although he hadn't read any of the incoming messages, he was pretty sure Maureen was going ballistic on her end.  "Sure, Pat.  Sounds like a plan."

       Having finished almost all of Kevin's breakfast, Patrick pushed away from the table.  "So...why don't you show me where to put my bags, and a place to wash up a little.  Then you can give me the fifty cent tour of your church and parish."

       Leading the way up to the rectory's only bedroom, Fr. Kevin thought about the lumpy mattress in the attic space he had only vacated a few weeks before, and wondered why these kinds of things kept happening to him.

         __________________________________________________

Some Beckett in the morning

 
         Thursday mornings were always the best.  Maureen didn't go into work until noon, and it was the day she always cooked him a big breakfast.  Even after their separation of a few weeks, she went right back to the routine, moving about the flat wearing nothing but his dress shirt, the ipod ear buds stuck in her ears to avoid waking him with her music.

      He was seldom ever asleep.  Sometimes he would lay there, eyes closed, listening to her sing along with the tunes.  Often he watched her flit around the kitchen through the opaque glass of the screen, hoping she'd need to reach for something higher up, and allowing her bare ass to appear below the hiked up hem of his shirt.  He wasn't sure why that drove him absolutely crazy.  But it did.  Big time.

    Yesterday had been a gamble.  He hadn't been sure how she'd react to the whole handcuff thing.  There had always been the distinct possibility she might have thrown him out on his ear, slamming the door on any further contact.  And as much as it would have killed him to do so, similar to ripping his heart directly from his chest, he would have conceded defeat, and permanently bowed out of her life.  But as fate would have it, she had surrendered.  Wonderfully and deliciously so, and the thought of it had him considering the delay of breakfast.  Maybe skipping it entirely.

    Before he could put that plan into action, she screeched so loudly he jumped to a sitting position, banging his head on the brass headboard.  "Hell, Maureen!  Are you okay?"  He was next to her in a second, brandishing the Glock, and wearing not a stitch of clothing.  "What's wrong, babe?"

      She shoved her iphone toward his face.  "It's awful news!  Just terrible!  Look!"

      He brought the phone to eye level, and read the message.  "It just says your brother Patrick is here in town.  Why are you so freaked out?"

       She took the phone back from his hand, and noticing his nudity, blushed.  "I'll explain.  But first... maybe you could put some pants on.  You're very...distracting that way."

      He grinned, and pulled her closer.  "Well, baby, then go ahead and let me distract you."

      Maureen lingered there a moment or two, then pushed away from him.  "No, Ted.  This serious.  Patrick is here for only one reason.  To make me go back to Boston with him."

      He sighed, walking to the bathroom, where he grabbed a bath towel and wrapped it around his middle.  "Maureen, you are 24 years old.  An adult.  He can't 'make' you do anything you don't want do."

      She pulled out a chair and motioned for him to sit, setting a cup of coffee, and his breakfast, in front of him.  "You don't know Patrick.  He gets what he wants, and he has been bossing me around forever."

      Ted dug into his omelet, already familiar with Maureen's everyday drama.  "Sweetheart, I'm sure you're exaggerating.  He's probably just here for a visit.  Neither you or Kevin went home for Christmas, so it's not surprising he'd want to see how you both are doing."

     Frustrated, she plopped in the chair across from him, not interested in eating.  "Patrick doesn't care about any body's feelings.  He just wants to be every one's lord and master.  He hasn't figured out that I can't be ordered around."

     Beckett looked up, and raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment.  He most certainly didn't agree with her self-assessment about not being submissive, but now wasn't time to have that discussion.  There was no way he wanted her to lump him into the same category as her older brother.

    She fiddled with her silverware, lamenting on the past.  "My dad passed away the Spring after my freshman year.  I was almost 15, and my Mom had early on set Alzheimer's.  I was the only one still at home.  Kevin had left for the seminary, and the rest of my brothers were either married, or living on their own."  Her face scrunched up, and he hoped she wouldn't cry.  He had a hard time handling her tears.  To her benefit, she sucked up the grief, and continued. " I tried to tell Patrick that I could do it.  Take care of both Mom and me.  But he wouldn't listen.  He hired a full time care taker for her, and made me move in with him."

     This was information he wasn't aware of.  He had always figured she had lived at home until leaving for college.  Now knowing, that as a teenager, she had lived with her eldest brother, explained some of the animosity between them.  Having spent the last few months with her, he guessed she must have been a real handful during those years between the ages of 15 and 20.  Hell, she was still a handful.  Not wanting to appear as if he were taking sides, he tried to stay neutral.  "That must have been difficult for you both."

       Apparently, that was the wrong answer.  Her dander was up immediately, and the lip came out  in a full pout.  "Not for us both!  Only for me!  Patrick made me his household slave girl!  I had this whole list of chores, and I was expected to babysit for my two nephews all the time.  He never let me have any fun."

     He worked hard at staying focused on her story, but the image of Maureen as a slave girl took instant control of his mind  He was glad to be wearing the towel, as his lack of attention to the story at hand would have been graphically obvious.  Pulling his chair closer to the table, he nodded for her to go on.

      "I lived with Patrick and Eileen all through high school.  The whole time.  Eileen was wonderful to me.  More like the big sister I didn't have.  But Patrick...he was mean.  Constantly expecting me to produce top grades...be the best on the soccer team...president of the Student Council!  Nothing I ever did was good enough. This one time... Eileen and I went shopping for my prom dress, and I picked out the most gorgeous outfit.  Eileen let me have it, shoes and all.  But Patrick took one look, said it was too revealing, and made me take it back.  Then he made me try on every dress in the store for him before he finally consented to buy one.  He's a total jerk."

     "Is it possible he just wanted what was best for you, Mo?  Maybe after your dad was gone, your brother felt like he needed to be responsible for you.  I can understand that."

     "What?  You're taking Patrick's side over mine?  You don't even know him!"

     "I'm not taking any one's side, hon.  I'm just playing devil's advocate.  Besides, I'd rather set my own opinion of the man once I meet him."

      "Fine.  Whatever, Ted.  You'll see for yourself."  She trounced across the room, and began pulling clothes from her closet and bureau drawer.  "Look, I gotta get ready for work.  I'm gonna use the shower first, okay?"

      Beckett forced a repentive smile across his face.  "Don't be mad at me, Maureen.  I just want to keep an open mind when I meet your family members.  Did you hear anymore from Kevin?  Are they coming over here?"

      "God, no!  Are you crazy?  Patrick can't know that you and I... um...that you spend nights here.  He'd go crazy on me!  We'll have to figure something different out while he's here."

      "You could always come stay with me at my house?"

      Her face went ashen, and she didn't say anything.  It was obvious she wasn't ready yet to cross that bridge, so Beckett let the comment go unanswered.  "Honestly, I don't get what the big deal is.  Kevin knows I stay here.  He got over it.  Patrick, will too."

      "It's not the same!  Kevin is my favorite brother.  We're like best friends, and he wants me to be happy.  Patrick...well...he acts as if he's my father, or something.  And he's not.  I had a father, and now he's dead.  End of story."

       She had said it herself.  Patrick was the father figure in her life, whether she wanted to admit it or not, and Beckett made a mental note to treat him as such when he met him.  "It's fine, Maureen.  Whatever you want me to do.  If you don't want me here while your brother is in town I understand.  We'll work it out."

      She nodded, seemingly appeased, and soon he heard the water running in the shower.  On any other occasion, he might have joined her there, and stretched their time together a bit longer.  But it was clear that her mind, and her mood, were set on the problems of her family, and so he poured himself another cup of coffee, and finished his breakfast alone.

        ____________________________________________________

    Plans for the evening were set among at least 75 text messages.  It was decided that Kevin and Patrick would walk over to Maureen's apartment sometime around 7:00 PM, and from there they would take a cab over to Chez La Rose, Dollyville's one and only up scale restaurant.  Beckett would join them there, after he was released from court, where he was scheduled to testify on an arrest he had made several months before.

    The early part of the evening had not gone smoothly.  Kevin and Patrick arrived on time, only to find Maureen not quite finished dressing, which immediately set her oldest brother off about her lack of punctuality.  Although he seemed to like the dog, and thought the apartment adequate for the low rent she was paying, he wandered around pointing out each and every flaw as he found it, and made her dig out a copy of her lease so he could examine "the fine print".  Then, somehow, it had come out that Maureen's "marketing" job was actually in the deli downstairs, and both the stubborn red head, and her saintly brother, got an earful about trying to "pull the wool" over Patrick's eyes.

Happy family reunion...not!

             

     The cab was late picking them up, and they arrived well after their reservation time, which caused a hassle at the restaurant.  It was only because of Kevin's calm conversation, and his obvious Roman collar, that they were finally seated at a table in the furthest corner of the room.

      Maureen was secretly grateful that Ted had yet to arrive, being held up in court by a stubborn judge.  She would have been mortified to have him observe how her brother talked to her as if she were still a silly child.  It hadn't helped the situation when Patrick commented on the fact that she looked as if she had put on weight, making her self conscious about the very tight emerald silk sheath she was wearing, that until that very moment, had been her favorite dress.

     And when he finished chewing up both Kevin and Maureen, Patrick began to work over the still absent Beckett.  "So, Red, where the hell is your Sheriff Andy Taylor?  Maybe he 'moseyed' over to the diner instead?"  He chuckled at his own joke, and sipped at his second shot of Jameson.

      "His name is Beckett, Patrick.  Ted Beckett. And you better be polite to him when he gets here." Despite the bravado of the words, Maureen was busy tying the napkin on her lap into dozens of tiny knots, while Kevin buried his face behind the menu, worrying how he would ever be able to pay for this extravagant fiasco of a dinner.

        The two younger O'Kenneys were saved from further duress by the appearance of Sheriff Beckett, who was being led to the table by a hovering Maitre D.  Patrick had his back to the door, and was oblivious to his arrival, but the other two sat staring in mutual shock.  So much so, that Fr. Kevin nudged his sister in the ribs, and whispered that she should close her mouth

         In the entire time the younger O'Kenneys had known Ted Beckett, they had found him to be as practical and down to earth as anyone they had known growing up among Boston's working class.  They both knew he had money.  Apparently lots of it.  But he was never ostentatious, and seldom threw his wealth around town.  In the five months since Maureen had met him, she had seen him in ...and out...of most of his wardrobe, consisting of his duty uniform, several pairs of dress slacks and jeans, sweaters, and unending supply of tailored, button down dress shirts. But she had never seen Ted...her Ted...look like this.

         He moved toward the table like a man who knew he owned the world, dressed in a very dark, custom fitted designer suit, which from her guess was probably Armani.  He wore a tailored, cream  dress shirt with French cuffs, which were held together with some type of monogrammed cuff links, and finished with a blue silk tie that matched the exact shade of his eyes.  The attention of every woman in that room, and several men as well, were on Beckett has he stopped at their table

        Walking around, he stopped at Maureen first, kissed her on the cheek, and told her she looked stunning.  Then he made his way to her two brothers, who both had stood upon his arrival.  Kevin introduced Beckett to his older brother, who himself seemed surprised at the impressive figure in front of him.

        "Nice to meet you, Sheriff Beckett.  Must say, you're not what I was expecting."

        Beckett smiled, stuck out his hand, and replied,  "No, I imagine I'm not, Mr. O'Kenney.
And turning toward Maureen, he gave her a wink.



Copyright 2013 Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved
     


  

     
   

   

        
  

Don't Stand So Close

Beckett comes back

 

   As he walked to his car, Beckett took notice of the time.  He obviously didn't want to leave her too long.  Just long enough to make her sweat a bit, and wonder what might happen next.  An hour or so was just about right.  Gave him enough time to stop at home, and take care of a few things, before he needed to return.

   He made his way to the patrol car, hastily parked crooked at the curb, and saw her brother racing down the street toward the deli.  It made sense that someone must have seen him arrive, sirens blaring, and notified the priest that something important was happening at the location.  The last thing he needed, was for Kevin to interfere.  It had been obvious to him from day one, that as her big brother, he was prone to spoil her rotten, and regularly overlook her manipulative behavior.  He wondered if the rest of the brothers were the same way.  He had only heard her mention the oldest, Patrick, in less than endearing terms.  He assumed that the elder brother must be the one to hold her to some kind of accountability, but he wasn't sure of the others.  Crazy as he was about her, and there was no denying she was constantly in his thoughts, he simply wasn't going to allow her free reign to walk all over him.  It just wasn't part of his dom personality.  If this relationship was to continue, he needed to deal with his lovely, little brat

     "Sheriff, is everything alright?  Is Maureen okay?"  Out of breath, Kevin's words came out in huffing little pauses.

      "She's perfectly fine, Father.   It was a false alarm...of sorts."

      The priest made a face.  "Of sorts?  I'm not sure what you mean."

      Beckett leaned on the car, and crossed his arms.  Given a choice, he'd rather not have people know what she had done.  It would be harder to let it go unpunished if large numbers of people were aware of her conscious law breaking.  But he reasoned that her brother would be unwilling to leave it at that, so he explained.  "It seems Maureen devised a novel way to have me come see her, so she called 911, and claimed that someone had broken in, and had robbed and assaulted her. I raced straight over, fearing the worse.  Now, don't get me wrong.  I was extremely relieved to find her safe and sound.  Greatly so.  But the fact that she knowingly called in a false report is a problem legal wise that  I'm going to have to deal with."

      Fr. Kevin turned several shades of pink, bearing an uncanny resemblance to his sister when she was embarrassed.  "I am most heartily sorry, Sheriff.  If there are any fines that need to be paid, let me know, and I'll take care of it.  Do you think she'll have to go to court over this."

      "I'm trying to avoid that, Father.  The less people that know of this indiscretion, the better.  I can't make any promises, but I'll see what I can do."

     Kevin stuck out his hand for Beckett to shake.  "Thank you, Sheriff.  You have no idea how much I appreciate your help with this...unfortunate situation.  Maureen means well...she really does.  It's just that she...doesn't think things out before jumping into them."  He paused, not sure he wanted to continue.  "And she was pretty darn broken up over the two of you parting ways.  I know that doesn't excuse her behavior, but I felt you should know."  He wrung his hands, obviously uncomfortable about talking behind her back.

     "I appreciate your honesty, Father.  I have to admit to some misery myself.  I'm not clear as to how this will all work out, but I do care for Maureen."

      "That's good to know, Ted.  If you'll excuse me, I'm going to have a little chat with her right now."

       Beckett grabbed the priest's arm, stopping him from continuing upstairs.  "If you don't mind, Fr. Kevin, I'd prefer to handle this myself.  The less people involved... the better for Maureen."  He looked the man in the eye, and let the threat of prosecution hang there.   He was pretty sure her big brother would not approve of his methods to reign in his little sister, and for a second, he thought that the priest might ignore him.  But slowly, he nodded his agreement.

       "If it means that Maureen can avoid being arrested, than I'm behind you, Sheriff.  Sometimes I'd just like to shake that girl.  I don't know how I'd begin to explain her going to jail to the rest of the family."  He turned back toward the direction of the rectory, but added before leaving.  "I'm trusting you with my sister's welfare, Beckett, something I don't take lightly.  Please don't make me regret it."

        "You have my word, Father."  He watched the priest walk all the way to the church before climbing into the patrol car, and heading home.

                 _________________________________________


       She wasn't sure what hurt more.  Her arms were achy from being pulled around back, but mostly from her banging them against the slats of the chair, trying to get loose.  Her ass was numb from slouching in the wooden seat, and twice, she had almost tipped over sideways in an attempt to free herself.  And the damn metal cuffs were beginning to rub the sore skin around her wrists raw.  But it was the humiliation that made her blush.  Caused the heat to gather at her forehead, and work itself down to her toes.

        Maybe she had set her expectations too high.  In her head, the whole scene was a romantic fantasy, and although in some instances, handcuffs could seem erotic, in her case, it only reminded her that she had screwed up.  Big time.   She fretted over the idea that he might actually arrest her.  Really haul her ass down to the station and book her.  Fingerprint her.  Take that awful profile photo with one of those little name things.  How would she ever explain all this to Kevin?  Or the rest of the family?  She'd be mortified to have them know that she was goofy enough over some man that she did something illegal. They were sure to make all kinds of nasty comments, especially after the incident in Boston that had cost her a job she loved.  And all that didn't even begin to cover her feelings for Beckett.  She'd just want to curl up and die while he locked her in a cell, anger and disappointment painted across his face.

         Tears of self pity burned in the corners of her eyes, and she worked at not letting them build up, and run down her cheeks.  That would be the ultimate embarrassment.  He'd return to find her face covered with runny mascara and snot.  What the hell was the matter with her anyway?  Why couldn't she just fall for regular guys who actually cared for her back?  She had set her sights on Ted Beckett from the first moment she had met him in the kitchen of the rectory, and discovering that he was engaged to someone else hadn't slowed her down a bit.  She had flirted outrageously, using any excuse to spend time with him.  So when that horrible McCreedy woman suddenly disappeared, it was as if God were answering her private, pleading prayers.  

        Now the whole thing had turned into a disaster, and her tears refused to stay put.  She guessed he'd probably return soon, and want answers.  What in the hell could she say to him that wouldn't make her sound like a stupid, blathering idiot?  She doubted at this point that her lame excuses about it being all his fault would get her anywhere.  He was certainly to blame for not being upfront.  That was a fact.   But she was the one who had run off in the middle of the night.  She was the one who had broken into a locked room.  She was the one who called 911 instead of just phoning him, and apologizing like a normal person.  The best she could hope for now was to avoid arrest, and not embarrass her family any further.

      There was a noise at the door down the stairs, and she heard a key in the lock.  She prayed that it was Beckett, and not her brother, both of whom she had given keys.  She'd die a thousand deaths if Kevin found her in this position.  No way would she be able to make him understand, and the embarrassing confrontation with Ted that was sure to happen, would make everything a million times worse.  The less people that knew of her stupidity and humiliation, the better.

         She thought about calling out for help, but decided that silence was her best option, and when Ted's dark head appeared at the top of the stairs, she was hugely relieved.  He didn't utter a word, but instead bent down to greet the dog, whose traitorous tail wagging and hand slobbering greatly annoyed her.  She noticed he had changed clothes, and that his hair was still damp.  Realizing that he had gone home, to leisurely shower and change, while she sat there in absolute misery, sparked an ember of anger.  She quickly worked at wiping her runny nose and tear stained face in the sleeve of her sweater, hoping to hide any sign of surrender.
         ____________________________________________________

      He wasn't sure what to expect when he returned to her apartment.  They hadn't been together long enough for him to anticipate her moods or reactions.  If he had to take a guess, he figured she'd still be spitting mad, so the appearance of her teary face and red nose almost shook his resolve.  He focused his attention on the dog, giving her the opportunity to think about his arrival, and speak first.

      It took a few moments, but she gave in.  Through gritted teeth, she mumbled, "You either arrest me, or let me go right this minute.  This is police brutality, Beckett.  I know my rights."

      He pulled up the other kitchen chair in front of her, and sat on it backwards, facing her.  "I have no intention of arresting you.  Would hate to see your poor brother stuck with the unfortunate job of having to come bail you out.  How embarrassing for him."  He propped his arms on the chair back, and continued, "I'll let you go...shortly.  After we've had a little chat."
 
       "Then... you can just go to hell, Mr. Asshole.  Because there is no way I'm speaking to you...ever
again."  Her voice came out raspy and strained, caused by a combination of her earlier yelling and the recent sobbing.

        Sighing, Beckett rose, and wandered over to the fridge.  Digging around, he pulled out a bottle of water, an apple, and a drinking straw from the drawer under the counter.  He unscrewed the top, stuck the straw in the opening, and put it near her lips.  "Drink some."

        "Fuck you, Beckett.  I don't want anything from you.  Just let me go, and then get out the hell of my apartment."

         He narrowed his eyes, and lowered the tone of his voice.  "I said drink some.  You're obviously thirsty."

         She blinked, and her cheeks flushed, but she put her lips to the straw, and took a sip.

          Well, well...you're just full of surprises aren't you, darlin'.  The corner of his mouth turned up, and he pulled the bottle away from her mouth and placed it on the table.  Taking a bite of the apple, he swallowed, and resumed the conversation.  "Now, I'd like to uncuff you.  But I need you to promise that you're going to behave like a sane, mature adult.  No cheap shots, verbal... or otherwise.  Are we clear, sugar?"  He took another bite, and watched her face.

        She said nothing, but nodded her head.  Beckett left his chair, went behind hers, and slipping the key into the lock, slid the handcuffs off her wrist, rubbing them as he did so.  Maureen pulled her arms away from him, and wrapped them around her middle.  Her body language was undoubtedly frosty, but she was staying put, so he took that as a good sign.  He sat back down, and offered her a bite of the apple, which she vigorously refused with a shake of her head.  He shrugged, and went on.  "Now that we're nice and calm, maybe you can explain what possessed you to call 911 with a horrible lie."

        She turned her head, and refused to look at him.  "It seemed like a good idea at the time.  You hadn't called me in over two weeks.  I guess...I...um... just wanted to get your attention."

         "Well, that you did.  So now that you have it, Maureen, what is you want from me?"  He used his hand to turn her chin toward him, so that she was forced to look at him directly .

        She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out, and when she finally spoke, her words surprised him.  "I ...I need to use the bathroom.  Can I get up?"

         He tried not smile, but her deference to his command of the situation pleased him.  Now, that was damn sweet, sugar.  He nodded his approval, and she escaped behind the beaded curtain to the tiny bathroom.  He kept his back turned to allow her privacy, but could hear the water in the sink running for several minutes.  When she returned, her face was scrubbed clean and pink, and her composure was set in place.  She took her spot across from him, and folded her hands in her lap.

          Not wanting to loose the momentum of the situation, he leaned forward and took her hands in his.  "I'm very sorry, Maureen, that I didn't tell you about the Red Room before that day.  We hadn't been together very long, and it's not...well...something you just drop on someone without an explanation.  I truly regret that you were frightened by the things...the equipment... you saw."

       She took her hands away, but he pulled them right back, this time holding them with a firmer grip.  She blushed, but left them there. "For your information, I wasn't "frightened" by the junk in there.
I'm not a child, you know.  I've...seen things."

        He worked at not smiling, as to do so would put her on the defensive.  But he was pretty sure the floggers and chains in the Red Room must have scared the shit out of her. "Okay, you weren't afraid.  I believe you.  Then why did you run off with no explanation?  No note.  No text.  Not even a 'Drop dead, Beckett.'  Nothing.  Just left me to worry about your well being."  At this point, it made no sense to bring up the fact that she had evaded his privacy, and picked a locked door in his home. That whole discussion could wait for another time.

         As he remained calm, her confidence returned.  "It was those awful pictures.  They freaked me out."

          He wasn't expecting that.  "You mean the paintings?"

         "Of course, the paintings!  I assume you're artist?"  There was no ignoring the emotion in her tone.  The artwork had bothered her.

          "I am.  And this bothers you why?  Honestly, I think it's some of my best stuff."

          "That's my point!"  She suddenly jumped up from the chair, and began pacing the floor. "They're very...intimate.  Like you were able to see inside those women's soul.  All of them.  It freaks me out."

        He wasn't prepared for that particular reaction, and it threw him off his game.  He hadn't expected her to feel the emotion of his work, and he wasn't sure how to react.  Most people never saw beyond the basic subject matter, and it both shocked and impressed him that she did.  "Freaked you out bad enough to run off?  That seems extreme."

      "You don't understand!  There were six of them!  All different women!  And then you said you...you wanted to paint me.  I don't want to be the next tied up lady on that wall in that room.  I just can't be number seven.  I can't."

        It was Beckett's turn to pace.  He wandered back and forth, weighing his words, and finally stood in front of her.  "Look, Mo.  It's can't be news to you that I've been with other women.  For God's sake, I was engaged to someone else when we met.  Those other women...the ones  I painted...we had a different type of...relationship.  And they're long gone.  No longer part of my life.  When I was with you...it was only you.  But I'm not gong to stand here and apologize for, or justify, my life before you were part of it.  My past is simply my past, as your is yours.  Can't you just accept that?"

       She leaned back on the sink, her green eyes locked onto his.  "So...you don't want to paint me...like that?"

       He raised his shoulders in a sign of resignation.  "No.  Not if you don't want me to.  But I was kinda hoping you'd keep an open mind."  He stepped in front of her, and leaning in, trapped her with his arms against the counter.  "So darlin'...either you want to try this again...or you don't.  No games.  No running away.  If you want me to go, just say so.  I'll be on my way, out of your life, and we'll both forget about the whole 911 thing."

     It was hard to think straight with him so close.  She'd be crazy not to stand her ground.  Insist that he
get rid of those not so gentle reminders of the women who came before her.  Shame him into dismantling that awful room piece by piece.  Demand a solid commitment.  But she knew in her heart that he'd agree to none of them.  If she had a single brain cell left in her head, she'd show the arrogant son of bitch right to the door.  Move on, and try and forget him.  But the thought of never seeing him again, never hearing him laugh, or never touching his hair, made her physically ill.  And so, despite every sensible thought that her brain could produce, she put her arms around his neck.  "I don't want you to go, but I'm not sure how to start over."

     He smiled, his eyes never leaving hers, as he began to open the buttons on her sweater.  "Well, that's  easy enough, love.  We work on the making up part first."

Decision time for Maureen

           ________________________________________________


       As he shoveled the several inches of freshly fallen snow off the church stairs, Fr. Kevin O'Kenney wondered if he'd ever have a moment of peace again.  The first few months of this assignment were like a long lost dream.  Holy Family was a small parish in a small town.  There were no hassles that usually came with a large demanding congregation.  No attached school to cause financial burdens he'd need to solve.  And as a bonus, it came with a comfortable little rectory he shared with no one. It should have been perfect.

       But then his gardener had been murdered on the church's front lawn, followed by the man's wife, in a suspicious fire, a few weeks later.  There had been that whole awful thing with crazy Tessa Peppers that ended with him getting shot.  Finally, there had been the money left in the confessional that had almost gotten both he and his sister killed.  It was just too much to comprehend.  And now, he worried that his baby sister would be hauled off to jail for a stupid prank she should have known better than to try.  He was beginning to feel like Job in the Old Testament.

       He propped the shovel against the church's door, and walked down the street toward the deli.  He was nearly there when he noticed the Sheriff's black Mustang parked in front, covered with a thick blanket of snow.  It was obvious that the car had been parked there since the night before, and he deduced that Beckett and his sister had worked through their differences.  It made him feel guilty that he had most surely compromised his sister's morality for the sake of saving the family from the embarrassment and trouble of her arrest.  But the fact was, the two of them seemed to actually care about each other, and he was sure they would have probably worked their way back together eventually.  He'd let God worry about his sister's path, as he had enough trouble managing his own.

       Wishing to avoid another awkward moment, he decided against a morning visit, and made his way back to the rectory for some well deserved breakfast.

          _________________________________________________

       It was nearly 10:00AM before Fr. Kevin finally sat down to eat.  On his walk back to the church, he had noticed that the over hang above the church entrance seemed weighted down by the heavy snow, and hoping to avoid any expensive damage, he decided he needed to clear it off before he did anything else.  It had taken almost two hours, and by the time he had finished, he was completely exhausted, and near starving.  He had gone all out for his meal, cooking both bacon and sausage, as well as a stack of pancakes, and several scrambled eggs.  Now, settled with the newspaper, a huge cup of coffee, and the pile of food, he planned on an hour of peace and quiet.

       So when he heard a car pull up in front of the rectory, and picked up the sound of loud voices in the midst of an argument, he did his best to ignore it.  But it was impossible to ignore the repeated banging on his front door, and the incessant ringing of the bell, and so shoving himself away from the table in a less than charitable mood, he went to investigate.

        Through the front windows he could make out a figure of a man in a suit and top coat standing on his doorstep, but the glass was too frosty to allow for a clear view.  For a second, a shot of fear ran up his spine, remembering the figure of Marzano standing at his feet while his goons beat the crap out of him.  But the man on his stoop looked taller and younger than the supposed mob boss, so Kevin pushed aside his apprehension, and opened the door.

        Upon seeing his visitor, the shocked priest would have traded back for Marzano.  For a second, he was speechless, and the guest, impatient with waiting, barked at him first.

        "Well, don't just stand there gawking, you big dope!  Grab these bags and invite me in."

        As he stared wide eyed at his oldest brother, Kevin picked up the suitcases, and finally found his tongue.  "This is sure a surprise, Patrick.  I didn't... expect you.  What are you doing here in Dollyville?"

An unexpected visitor

Copyright 2013 Victoria T. Rocus
All Rights Reserved
   

   

     

       

       

 

     
     

       



       


       

   



     

     

   

Games People Play

Maureen has a plan

 
      He could tell something was wrong even before he returned home.  Beckett had sent Maureen a text message on his way to the station house, and at that point, she had immediately answered. It was the same with the message he'd sent 20 minutes later.  But after those two contacts, he hadn't heard from her at all.  Not a word.  He considered that maybe she had dozed off on his sofa, but eventually dismissed that thought.  She had been much too ill at ease to relax in such a manner.  And though it was possible she had just missed hearing the notifications of four incoming messages, or the three calls that went to voicemail, it was highly unlikely.  She had access to that iphone every waking minute, going as far as to keep it on her nightstand when she went to sleep.  He very much doubted that she had placed it anywhere out of hearing distance, unless on purpose.

       When he finally made it back to the house on Maple Avenue, he called out to her as he unlocked the front door, only to have silence answer him back.  He walked through the parlor into the kitchen, and noticed a small piece of paper lying on the granite counter top, a fridge magnet next to it.  Quickly reading through the note from Helen Burke, his housekeeper, he swore under his breath.  The kitchen door to the basement was open, as well as the one to the Red Room, and he knew in that instant, what had transpired.

                      ________________________________________

        It was a quarter to midnight when the last movie ended.  She wandered out to the lobby, and found herself one of a handful of people still in the theater.  The teenage staff was scurrying about, working quickly to close up, and be on their way.  Although she was bleary eyed from sitting in the dark, and staring at a lit screen for near seven hours, the closing of the place left her with nowhere else to go.  She had seen a pub a few blocks away on her bus trip over, but the idea of walking into the place unescorted, this late on a Saturday night, made her nervous.  She was out of options, and determined that going back to her flat was probably the sanest plan.  If she were lucky, Ted had tired of waiting for her to return, and had gone back home.  Once he figured out how she had snooped in his personal affairs, he probably had no intention of ever seeing her again.  The thought made her eyes sting, but this very minute, her focus needed to be on the task of getting safely home.

        She pushed through the glass doors of the movie theater, and into the frigid cold.  The temperature had dropped several degrees since earlier that evening, and she shivered, both from cold, and the fear of being alone.  Walking down to the bus stop, she was careful to stand under the round beam of light thrown from the street lamp.  There were only a few cars left in the parking lot, and only a small mix of people exiting from the same doors she had just come from.  Most of them never gave her a second glance, except for the two men, both in their late twenties, who came strolling toward her, hands in their pockets, and caps pulled low over their brows.  They stood behind her for a few seconds, just watching, until the taller of the two moved forward and spoke to her.

       "Give you a lift, sweetheart?"

        Maureen shifted from one foot to another, working hard at appearing calm.  "Um...no thank you.  I'm waiting for my...um...my boyfriend to bring the car around."

        His buddy moved closer, and stood on the other side of Maureen, squeezing her between his friend and himself. "Gee...and here we thought you was waiting for the bus.  You look real cold.  Maybe we can keep you warm until your boyfriend gets here."

      Her heart caught in her throat, and she frantically tried to remember any of what Ted had tried to teach her about escaping.  Before she could formulate a single thought, a low voice came out of the dark from behind the three of them.

      "Is there a problem here, gentlemen?"  The light caught the left side of his face, and he looked  pissed.  Very pissed.

      The buddy grabbed her arm, and pulled her closer.  "Beat it, pal.  We got it covered."

      Ted pulled back his jacket, letting the ray of light from the street lamp hit the shield at his waist, and the huge Glock in its shoulder holster.  "I disagree."  He practically growled the words, and took a step closer to where the three of them stood.

       The tall man stepped back, putting his hands in the air in a show of surrender.  "We're not looking for any trouble, Officer.  Just thought we'd help the lady out."

        Beckett stared at the tall guy's friend, watching as he took his hand off Maureen's arm.  "Yeah...well, looks like I've got that covered now. "  He reached forward, and pulled Maureen next to him, none too gently.  "Move along.  Party's over."

      The pair shuffled away, muttering under their breath.  Ted abruptly turned, his hand wrapping her wrist, and pulled her around the corner of the building, to where the Mustang was parked.

      "Look...I didn't..."

       "Just get in the damn car, Maureen."  Not wanting to face him, she moved toward the back seat,  but he quickly stepped in front of her, and motioned to the front.  "I don't want to have to talk to the rear view mirror."

        She slid into the front seat with a loud "tisk" of annoyance, an act of false bravado on her part.  Her nose was running from the cold, and her heart was still beating hard from the scene in front of theater.  She tried not to think of what might have happened if he hadn't shown up, and worried about what she'd say now that he had.

     Beckett's plan had been to speak calmly and plainly, like a rational human being.  But there was something about the tiny red head that got under his skin, and caused his control to falter.  She seemed so small sitting there, her body pushed up against the passenger door, skin paler than than the snow swirling outside the car, her eyes round pools of emerald green.  He wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her.  Tell her it would be okay.  That they'd work it out.  But his pride wouldn't allow it.  She had run out on him.  Just like the other.  Without a word of explanation.  Without a chance to talk things over.  He started the engine, and spoke.  "Just what the hell did you think you were doing?"

       "I...was waiting for the bus.  I would've been fine too, if those two assholes hadn't started hassling me."

        "You would've been waiting for that damn bus until tomorrow morning, because the last run is at 10:00 PM, and it's almost 1:00 AM now.  Didn't you bother to check the sign at the stop?"

       Embarrassed, because she hadn't actually bothered to check, and being as inherently stubborn as he was, she refused to acknowledge the fact that he had probably just saved her sorry ass from God knows what.  With her chin stuck out in defiance, she answered.  "I didn't think to look.  I was too busy... trying to run from my ex-boyfriend...the liar."  She thought she saw him flinch, but then, maybe it was wishful  thinking.  "How did you find me, anyway?"

       He grunted, obviously a sign of his dismissal at her subterfuge. "It wasn't all that hard.  Followed your footprints in the snow right out the front door, and down the street to the bus stop.  They stopped there, so I guessed that you had gotten on the bus.  I followed the route, checking in at the only businesses still open along it.  The movie theater made the most sense, as it was opened the latest.  I showed your photo to the ticket seller, and he said he recalled seeing you, but didn't remember what movie you were seeing.  Damned if I was gonna stumble around in the dark trying to find you.  I figure you'd have to come out eventually, so I sat in the lobby and waited."

        The idea that he might have been there the whole time, made her both uneasy, and pleased, at the same time.    "How long were you there?"

        "Long enough to be thoroughly aggravated."

         They drove in silence, until when, at a stoplight, he turned to her, stone faced and asked, "In what way am I a liar?  If anything, I'm guilty only of the sin of omission."

        "Omission?  Is that what you think that was?  Gimme a break!  You should have told me you were some kind of freak...before we got involved."  This time she was sure she saw a reaction in his  poker face, but somehow, it didn't make her feel victorious. Just sad.  She wanted him to rail, to swear, to explain about the paintings, to tell her she was special to him.  He did none of those things.  Instead, he drove on, eyes on the road, his lips a tight line across his face, and a furrow between his brows.

         Nothing more was said.  He pulled the car up in front of the deli, and putting it park, they sat in strained silence for what seemed like an eternity, but in reality, was only a minute or two.  He spoke first, his face masked and cold.  "I guess this is good bye then."

       She could only nod, her throat too tight to push any words out.  She opened the car door, stopped a moment to say something, and then changed her mind.  From the car, he watched until she was safely inside the building, and then drove off.  She made it all the way to the top of the stairs before the tears came in great, heaving sobs.

            _____________________________________________________

        And so it went for nearly two weeks.  Both of them miserable, distracted, and short tempered.
At the station house, everyone worked at keeping safely out of the Sheriff's way.  He snapped at his deputies, made the secretary cry, and fired a guy on the maintenance staff.  No one in his work circle felt they knew Beckett well enough to ask what was wrong, and no one was willing to risk speaking to  him.  He kept the door closed, came and went without a greeting of any kind, and when it was necessary to ask him a question, the answer came in terse mono-syllables.

       The housekeeper received a snotty lecture about leaving information such as that on the fridge, and the ensuing argument between them almost cost him her services.  But Helen knew him better than anyone in town, was responsible, trustworthy, and loyal, and so he was required to pull in his claws, and apologize for his nasty attitude.

       Things were no better across town at Schiller's deli, or the apartment above it. Maureen walked around with constant puffy eyes and a red nose, and had taken to sleeping with Betsy, Basil and an old dress shirt Beckett had left in her bathroom.  She had almost called him a dozen times.  Thought about sending a text message.  Considered a greeting card.  But none of these ideas came to any fruition.  Hallmark just didn't make a card that expressed one's ambivalent feelings towards a kinky ex-lover.  Fact was, Maureen wasn't even sure how she felt about any of what had happened.

      She had, in all truth, snooped.  Seeing the note on the fridge might have been an accident, but her picking the lock on the door was a conscious decision to invade his privacy.  Then, she had left without even talking to him about her issues.  Never gave him the opportunity to explain, or deny.  And until that moment in the basement, she had always found him to be honest to a fault.  Almost blunt in his answers to her questions.

       Of course, it was pretty hard to deny what she had seen with her own eyes.  It wasn't as if she were ridiculously naive, or hadn't heard of any of that stuff before.  Her old room mate in Boston had been into the alternative life style scene, and she had seemed normal enough, except for the fact she claimed to enjoy being spanked.  But what wasn't normal, was having naked paintings of your former lovers on display.  Paintings that revealed a whole freaky side of yourself.  If she was sure of anything, it was that there was no way she was going to become Tied Up, Naked Lady #7, hanging on the wall in that wretched room.

      She spent her days going through the motions of her routine with a heavy sense of sadness, and those closest to her noticed the change.  Kevin had tried to be supportive, visiting her in the evening, and inviting her to dinner several times over the two weeks.  Maureen had confessed early on that she and Beckett were no longer a couple, but gave no information as to why that was.  Her brother politely avoiding prying, but she sensed that he was less than heartbroken over the turn of events.

       Her long face, and quiet behavior, so different from the norm, was also noticed by the astute Mrs. Schiller.  She was the first one to bring up Beckett's name as they restocked the shelves in the small deli, asking about his whereabouts, and commenting how it had been awhile since he'd been in the store.

       The last thing she wanted to do was discuss the loss of Ted, but the woman was relentless.  After much prodding, she finally explained how they had broken up, leaving out any of the essential parts about the room in the basement.

         The old woman nodded her head in sympathy.  "You poor dear.  That's such a shame.  You made  a  real cute couple.  But don't be hard on yourself, sweetie.  That man's gonna be hard to pin down.  So charming and handsome, that one.  Sampled half the women in this town.  He's gonna hold out as long as he can, and it's gonna take one hell of a woman to snap him up."  She gave the girl a small pat on the back, and went back to her work.

       Instead of being consoled by her boss's words, Maureen was insulted.  Why didn't the woman think she could be the one to "snap him up"?  It was obvious that Ted found her attractive.  No doubt there.  None at all.  Hell, he couldn't seem to keep his hands off her.  In addition, she was fun to be with.  He said so himself.  Smart too.  Needing to defend her reputation as a desirable female, she continued the conversation.  "It wasn't like that, Mrs. Schiller.  I broke it off with him.  We just had totally different personalities.  I wish it would've worked out, but it didn't."

      From behind a stack of fresh produce, the elderly woman nodded, a polite smile of non belief on her face, as she stacked the heads of lettuce in a neat pyramid pile.  When she thought more about it, Maureen couldn't say for sure who dumped who.  Maybe it was a mutual decision?  Or maybe she had taken Ted's "goodbye" the wrong way?  What was clear in her mind, was the fact that she had run like a scared rabbit.  Just like Boston.  Gave up, and went down without a fight.

       Ted made her happy, and it was clear she miserable without him.  So why couldn't she change her own fate, and Beckett's as well?  No reason at all.  And amid the the ripe tomatoes, and fresh green beans, Maureen O'Kenny came up with a plan.

               _________________________________________________

        It was close to 5:00 PM, and the Sheriff was on his way out.  It was another long day, with too much paper work, and too little action to free his mind.   He desired only to escape the confines of the station house without the need for communication, so the appearance of his secretary at his door was more than a little annoying.

        Hesitantly, the woman stood in the doorway, a yellow slip in her hand.  "Sheriff...this just came in over dispatch.  It's a  B and E with assault."

         "I'm on my way out, Grace.  Already out of uniform, with plans for the evening. Turn it over to Sykes."

          Grace looked nervous, and wrung her hands before continuing.  "I think you'll want to take this one yourself, Sir.  It's Miss O'Kenney."

           Beckett felt his chest constrict.  Maureen?  Damn it!  He grabbed the slip from the woman.  "How long ago did this come in, Grace?"

           "Two minutes, Sir.  I came to find you right away."

            He nodded his thanks, and raced out to his patrol car.  With sirens blaring, and speeding all the way, his brain would only allow for worst case scenerios.  He swore under his breath at the thought that he hadn't changed the locks on her doors like he had planned, that he hadn't pushed her training harder, and that he was to blame for any injuries she had sustained.  Thoughts of Marzano and Cassie hit him like a mallet to his head, and he increased his speed, wondering if he should have called for an ambulance to meet him there.

       Beckett slammed the car into the curb in front of the old building.  All was quiet in the store, and he took the stairs to her apartment two at a time, calling to her as he did so.   "Maureen!  You up there, babe?  Say something, hon!"

        "I'm here."

Beckett comes to the rescue...again

           
        She stood in the kitchen area, leaning against the sink, and looking...well terrific.  "Maureen, are you alright?"  Overwhelmed with relief that she appeared perfectly fine, it took a second or so for him to realize that so did the apartment.  Not a thing in the room was out of order, not a hair on her head was out of place.  Realization of what was going on hit him squarely in the face.  Incredulously, he could only stare and ask, "You called in a false report?"

      Maureen hesitantly shook her head yes, not sure yet as to how he would react.

      Blinking, the anger in his blues eyes readily apparent, he ran a hand through his hair, and then pulled her away from the sink. "Damn it, Maureen.  What the hell would make you do something this stupid?  Do you realize that calling in a false report is against the law?  Not to mention how worried I'd be on the way over here?  What a shitty, underhanded thing to do!"

     Her lower lip trembled, and he almost weakened.   But then he saw her stick out her chin, and narrow her eyes, and he pulled up his guard.

      "I didn't totally lie, you know."  She stuck her hands on her hips to further prove her stand.  "Theft and assault did take place here."

      "Oh, really?  You're gonna have to explain that one, darlin', 'cause from where I'm standing, you appear to be nothing more than a conniving, little brat.  One who most decisively broke the law."

        He could see her sway a bit, and he thought maybe she was ready for the tears.  But instead, she pulled back her shoulders and stuck out her lip in a full pout.  Beckett admired the fire in her.  There was no doubt she looked incredibly sexy.  Deliciously, and wonderfully so. But there was no damn way he was going to let her top him.  Not now. Not ever.  He crossed his arms, and stared right back at her.  "Go ahead.  Let's hear it."

       The first few words came out in a stutter, but there was no backing down.  "You're the thief, Ted Beckett.  It was you. You stole my heart, and then you broke it."

      It was so not what he was expecting, that for a second, he was at a loss for words.  Then, she stuck out her wrists in front of him, all pale, creamy skin, her pulse jumping at the vein.

     "That's the way I feel, Beckett. I trusted you with my heart, and you trampled on it.  So if you want to arrest me for something that's entirely your fault, then you go right ahead."

     She should have thought twice about offering up her wrists, knowing what she did about Beckett's darker side  But caught up in her plan to try and "fix" things, she wasn't thinking clearly, and when he smiled at her, she was far too busy congratulating herself to worry.

    With his right foot, he kicked the chair away from the table, and grabbing her wrists, pulled her closer.  She held her breath, losing herself in his eyes, and waiting for him to kiss her.  When, instead, he ran his hands up her arms, and gently pushed her into the chair, she was a bit confused, but certainly not concerned.  In fact, it wasn't until he pulled her wrists behind her, and she felt the cold metal, and heard the snap of the lock, that a wedge of anxiety set in.  Tugging her arms, she was shocked to find herself snuggly handcuffed to her kitchen chair.

    "What the hell are you doing, Ted?  You let me go right this minute!" She wiggled her hands, trying to pull them away from the back of the chair, and slamming them against the wooden slats.

     His response to her fussing was to pick her up, chair and all, and place it smack in the center of the apartment.  He set her down, and she immediately lifted her legs to try and kick him, but he anticipated her move, and caught her ankles between his hands.

     "Don't you dare try to kick me.  Stop it right now, or I'll zip tie your ankles as well."

     In frustration, she slammed her feet on the floor, and screeched her anger.  "You undo me right now, Beckett!  Who do you think you are?  I'm not one of your damn"tie-up" women."

     "And just what exactly are you to me, Maureen O'Kenney?"  He leaned down, hands on her thighs, his eyes looking into hers.

      Embarrassed, confused, and flushed, she had nothing to say, and looked at the floor instead.

     "That's what I thought."  He sighed, and stood upright.  "I think I'll give you some time to think about what it is you really want... and myself time to figure out why I shouldn't just drag your pretty, little ass off to jail."

       The sun had set, and the room was growing gloomy in the dark.  He turned on the small lamp on the bureau, and without any other fanfare, made his way down the stairs.  He could hear her yelling and banging all the way down.

       "Damn it, Beckett.   You kinky bastard!  Let me go, or else!  When I get free, I'm going to kick your freaky ass.  You come back here right now.  You can't leave me like this!"

        He chuckled at the bottom of the stairs, and locked the door behind him.

Games people play

       
            Copyright 2013 Victoria T. Rocus
            All Rights Reserved

     

 





       




       

   

     

       

   

Bad Romance

Maureen suffers through Beckett's lessons in self defense

    For the next several weeks, Beckett and Maureen lived in the land of new relationship paradise.  The flat above the deli acted as a cozy cocoon, isolated from the rigors of the real world, and a place where the focus could remain on their exploration of each other.  She cooked fabulous meals, wore flimsy lingerie, and hung on every word he said.  He covered her apartment in fresh flowers, gave long massages with scented oil, and said pretty things in several different languages.  Their time together was like something out of a dreamy romance novel.  The stuff fantasies are made of.

   Unfortunately, life has a way of reminding each and everyone of us, that fairy tales are simply make believe.  Dollyville was a very ordinary town in southeastern Massachusetts, and Ted and Maureen were very real human beings.  It wasn't long before reality creeped into their perfect world like a stray dog scratching at the door.  Little things that originally seemed so charming, now caused slight tickles of annoyance.

    What had first drawn Maureen to Beckett, besides the fact that he was devastatingly handsome, was the masculine, "take charge" aura that he presented to the world.  When he walked into a room, people noticed, and if he gave an order, it was followed.  This seemed undeniably sexy from afar, but living with it up close and personal was a different story.  She had grown up in the shadow of seven brothers, so she was used to being unheard and outvoted, but Ted's bossiness took this issue to a new level.

     It began the evening she came home to find a very large flat screen TV mounted on the wall facing her bed.  The very same wall she had hoped to hang some pretty botanical prints, and an antique mirror, when she happened to discover them in her thrifting adventures.  He had expected her to be excited about his gift of the latest in digital technology, and was obviously disappointed when she didn't gush.  He had offered to remove it, but seeing the annoyed look on his face, she waved the white flag, and the big, ugly thing stayed right where it was.

    On another occasion, he spent an entire Saturday morning re-arranging her kitchen cabinets to what he claimed was "higher efficiency".  Being that she was the one who did all the cooking, she felt it was rather presumptuous of him to decide what worked better for her, and when he wasn't around, she moved everything back to the way it was.  He noticed the change a few days later, letting his displeasure be known for several hours, and when she couldn't find a certain saute pan she needed to finish dinner, he sat at the table and gloated.

    But the worst of all, was his decision that she was in need of some basic instruction in self defense.  She had grown up on the streets of inner city Boston, and had never once needed to defend herself.  She sincerely doubted that moving to the small, sleepy town of Dollyville increased her risk of personal attack, especially since she spent most of her time in the company of the community's Sheriff.  But he would not be swayed to her way of thinking, and she found herself helping him move all of furniture aside so he could begin her training.

     Initially, she thought the whole experience might be rather fun.  The thought of wrestling around, and having him pin her to the floor, sounded uber sexy, and he looked crazy hot wearing only a pair of nylon athletic pants.  But it was clear in the first five minutes that he had absolutely no ideas of romance in mind.  He was all business, pushing and prodding her until she was out of breath, and covered in nasty, purple bruises.  She might've swallowed all of this without a word, if he hadn't begun "tisking" in disgust when she got it wrong, or patting her on the head, saying "good girl", when she pleased him with her success. It made her feel as if she were the family pet, and not his significant other.

     So, when the opportunity arose to use one of his techniques to take a free, open kick, she swung around and caught him squarely in the groin.  That was the end of the lessons for the rest of the evening, and pretty much everything else.  Though she publicly offered him showers of remorse, she secretly congratulated herself for terminating any future instructions.  But to her complete shock, he was right back at it the following night, working her doubly hard, showing absolutely no mercy, and then making her go on a three mile run with him afterwards.  Needless to say, she thought twice about taking any additional cheap shots at his male anatomy.

      Still, it would be unfair to place the blame entirely on Ted alone.  He was wild about her.  Have no doubt of that.  He found her beautiful, smart and funny, and couldn't deny that there was a very real connection between the two of them.  So, maybe it was because he was ten years older than she, that he often felt as if they were on different planes of the universe.  It might have also been his military training, or the kinky side that refused to stay buried. Whatever the reasoning, there were certain things about the lovely Maureen that set his teeth on edge.

    For one, she had to be the most disorganized person he had ever had the occasion to spend a serious amount of time with.  She was constantly opening drawers and cabinets around the flat, and then would  forget to close them.  He couldn't count the times he had banged his shin on the opened lower drawer of the bathroom vanity, or caught the top of his head on a cabinet door that wasn't completely shut.  And every morning, he was forced to watch her forage through the tiny closet for something to wear to work, dragging out several pieces, trying them all on, and then discarding most of them in a pile at the end of the bed, rather than hanging them back up.  When he had suggested that she might decide the night before what she wanted to wear, she looked at him as if he were crazy, explaining that she wasn't sure what type of mood she might be in when she awoke.  This, to him, made no sense at all.

Maureen's morning routine drives Beckett crazy

   Then, there was her reluctance to take the self defense training he was providing with any level of seriousness.  When it came to personal safety, he found her ridiculously naive.  She would repeatedly leave her doors unlocked, went for walks alone at night with headphones stuck in her ears, and gave out way too much information on Facebook for his liking.  With the knowledge that both Cassie and Marzano were still floating around, and knowing that he might at any given time be sent out of the country for extended periods of time, he was adamant about her at least being aware of the less than savory elements surrounding her world.  It was his plan to eventually teach her how to handle a weapon, but until then, he wanted her to have, at the very least, the ability to escape a bad situation, or    some extra minutes to seek help.

    Lastly, although it made him sound rather self-centered and rude, he was sick to death of her tiny, one room apartment.  Tired of a shower that didn't allow him to completely rinse off.  Disgusted by the cloudy water from the kitchen faucet.  Uncomfortable sleeping on an angle in the too short bed.  He simply missed his own home.  Missed his studio.  Missed his dog.  Missed his bed.

     The weeks together in her flat had been sexy as hell.  Isolated from the day to day grind, it had seemed like a lover's secret hideaway.  But if the relationship was heading toward anything more remotely permanent, she needed to share more of his personal life, including spending time in his home.  He knew broaching the subject would difficult.  Maureen viewed his abode as the evil place where he and Cassie had spent time together as a couple, even though she had been gone for nearly three months, and he'd wiped virtually every trace of her from the building.  He wanted to change that picture in her mind.  Make memories there that would be special to her alone, with the hope that she would eventually agree to move in with him, and give up life in the flat above the deli.

      There were things about him of which she had no clue, and he'd have to tread carefully to avoid her fleeing in a panic.  With time, he believed she'd be able to accept him as he was, but if he'd known in advance how things would turn out during that first visit, he might have gone a different route, and waited a bit longer before pushing the issue.  As it was, it took several intense conversations, and a whole lot of promises, to get her to agree to spend the following Saturday and Sunday with him at his place.

                   _______________________________________________

       Beckett thought he had covered all the bases.  He gave the housekeeper the weekend off, kenneled the dog, emptied space in the closets and drawers for her things, and ordered all new, luxurious bedding.  He had no reason to check the fridge, as he never did the shopping, and that was, unfortunately, where the problems began.

     On Saturday morning, Ted could sense that she was apprehensive, and not entirely sold on the whole idea.   Her only other visit to the house on Maple Avenue had been that hellish engagement party Cassie had insisted on hosting, and that had not been a pleasant memory maker.  He decided to ease into the whole day, and began by taking her to breakfast at her favorite diner, followed by several hours of antiquing along the Cape.  When they finally arrived back at his house, it was nearly 4:00 PM, and she was in a jovial mood, having found a few vintage treasures, that to him, looked like old junk.

     He took her coat and bag, and then proceeded to give her a tour of the place, carefully avoiding anything below the main floor.  She nodded her way through the parlor, his home office and the weight room, and turned several shades of pink over his bedroom, and the enormous platform bed the size of a small football field.  Lastly, he walked her to his studio, a loft type area on the third floor that boasted an immense skylight, and several floor to ceiling windows offering a gorgeous view of the wooded area south of town.  Beckett had never mentioned to her before this moment that he painted, so to say that she was surprised, was putting it mildly.


    "Oh, Ted!  This room is awesome!  I didn't know you painted.  You never said a word!"  She wandered over to a stack of canvases that were tucked into a corner, and began flipping through them. "These are beautiful.  Are they of the woods around your cabin?"

     "Mostly.  Some are of Tuper Woods outside of town."

      "I love this one of your dog.  It's like you captured her whole personality... just sitting there on your front porch, watching the world go by.  You're really talented!  Have you done any portraits of people?'

      Beckett hesitated a moment. "I've done a few.  But I don't...have them here." He grabbed a sketch book off a low table, flipped through it, and then handed it to her.

     Seeing the images, Maureen blushed.  "These are of me!  How?  I've never caught you sketching me when we've been together."

     "I did most of them from memory.  But the one with your dog I took from a Facebook photo, and the smiling one I based off a picture on my Blackberry.  I took it the first time we went out together."

     "These are wonderful.  I look...so pretty...so happy."  She handed the sketchbook back to him, embarrassed.

      He pulled her into his arms.  "Just pretty?  No. I'd say more like beautiful...a gorgeous woman in love."  He kissed her, and then added.  "I'm hoping someday you'll let me paint you."

      Suddenly shy at the thought of being his model, she could only whisper. "We'll see."

       As they made their way down from the studio, his cell phone rang.  Checking the number, he made a face, and put up a finger for her to hold up.  From the answers on his side, she could tell that it was someone at the Sheriff's office, and knowing that he was his off duty, predicted it was something important enough for them to bother him at home.  Part of her hoped it would mean cutting the overnight visit short.  Despite his efforts to put her at ease, spending the night with him in that giant bed, and knowing full well Cassie had spent time there as well, made her feel ill.  She couldn't logically explain why she seemed unable to get beyond this.  It wasn't fair for her to hold something against him that was set in motion long before she ever knew him.  And in all honesty, she herself knew he was involved with someone when she first acknowledged her attraction to him. The mix of guilt, insecurity, and foreboding, made for a nauseous mental cocktail, and she was hoping for any type of reprieve.

        His call completed, he led her back to the front parlor.  "I'm really sorry, Maureen.  There was a small fire at the station, and we have two prisoners in holding.  I have to go over there, and see to their transfer.  Shouldn't take more than an hour or two.  Will you be okay here alone for a bit?  Maybe watch TV, or something?  I want you to make yourself at home.  Then, when I get back, we'll see about going out somewhere for dinner. Sound alright?"

       She really, really wanted to say no.  Wanted to suggest a postponement for a date further in the future.  Way further.  But he looked so hopeful and cute, she didn't have the heart to disappoint him.  "Sure, Ted.  I'll be fine.  You go take care of business."

       He grabbed his jacket, kissed her again, and promised to be back as quickly as possible.  She watched him drive away, uneasy in the empty, rambling house.  The TV offered nothing to hold her attention, and his stack of magazines on criminal law, investments, and politics, held no allure.  Bored, she decided she'd explore the kitchen, and possibly surprise him with some dinner here at home.  He had a full time housekeeper, so it was likely there were groceries that could be combined for a meal, and the kitchen itself was a cooks dream.

    She wandered over to the stainless steel fridge, large enough to hold provisions for a family of twenty.  It was highly polished, so much so, she could see herself in the mirror finish, and as she patted a loose curl into place, she noticed the note stuck to the front with a small magnet.  It wasn't as if she had planned to snoop.   The damn thing was just hanging out there for the whole world to see, and Ted had told her to make herself at home.  Pulling the paper off, she read the neat handwriting.

        Mr. Beckett,
          The plumber was here yesterday.  He believes the leak is located 
          in a pipe  behind the west wall of the Red Room, and
          will have to cut a large hole in the drywall to be able to
          get at it.  He would like to know if you want him
          to take the wooden beams and chains off the wall, 
          or would you rather do it yourself.  If he does it,
         it will add to the cost of the job, and he will not be
          responsible for any damage to your equipment.

         Please let him know your decision ASAP.  
         He wants to start the job on Tuesday.

          Have a good weekend,
          Helen

       Maureen stood holding the note in her hand, confused and slightly woozy.  Red Room?  Beams and chains?  What the hell was that all about?  He had given her a tour of the house, and not in any of the rooms did she see anything remotely resembling a room painted red.  Of course, they hadn't ventured below the main floor.  Now, she wondered what it was he left out of his little tour, and why he had done so.  Leaving the note on the counter, she found the door off the kitchen, and made her way down to the lower level.

        Relief flooded through her.   It looked like a regular basement.  There was a laundry room, an extra full bath complete with walk in shower, and several metal shelving units holding camping equipment, tools and storage bins.  She walked to the far end of the hall toward a plain wooden door, and trying the knob, found it locked.  Leary, she stood outside it, her conscience doing heavy battle. Maureen knew she should just walk away.  Go upstairs, stick the note back on the fridge, and wait in the parlor for Ted to return home.  But her curiosity was overwhelming, and she rattled the door hard enough to shake the frame.  She could see there was a small space between the lock and the door jamb, and it gave her an awful idea.

      She headed back upstairs, and found her purse and wallet, from which she drew out a plastic credit card.  Stopping in the kitchen, she grabbed a butter knife from the flatware drawer, and went to work on the lock.  It took several minutes of fiddling and poking, but eventually she heard the bolt pop, and the door swing open.  What she saw was beyond strange.  She felt along the wall for a light switch, and finding it, flipped it on. Having the room illuminated did little to alleviate her shock, and she had to force herself to breath normally.

Maureen discovers the Red Room

      The space was like nothing she had ever seen...at least not in person. The only word she could seem to formulate was, "Shit."  The walls were papered in red velvet, and trimmed in black lacquer.  Above her head, the ceiling was all mirror, catching her startled reflection in the low light.  The center of the room contained a black four poster bed covered in crimson satin, chains and cuffs dangling from the corners.  No matter where her eyes landed, there was something creepy and weird. Paddles, straps, sticks, and things she had no name for, covered every square inch.  Forcing her feet to move, she willed herself inside for a closer look, eventually noticing the several framed paintings hung on the walls around the room.  She stood in front of the one closest to the door, and stared.  It was of a woman, nude, head down, and restrained at the wrists and ankles with wide satin ribbon, a thick silver collar around her exposed neck.  A few feet further, hung another painting of similar theme, this one of a blonde, also naked, her hands above her head in chains, her beautiful face in a state of rapture.

       There were six in all, all of the same nature, each one bearing the initials "THB".   Her heart couldn't deny what her brain and her eyes were insisting was the truth.  Ted had created these.  Her Ted.  All of them.  And it was obvious to anyone with a soul, anyone who had every been in lust or love, that the subjects were special to their artist.  The connection was that apparent, breathing life from the painted canvas.

Those awful paintings

      Maureen was sick, her stomach rolling in waves, bile gurgling in her throat.  Hadn't he said to her, only an hour earlier, that he wanted to paint her?  Had he meant like this?  Wrapped and presented like the gift of the moment?  Just another woman tied to Theodore Beckett, treasured, and then discarded, leaving behind only an image of pigment stretched in a wooden frame?

     She needed to get out.  Out of this room, and out of this house.   In a rush, she turned off the lights, but didn't pull the door hard enough, leaving it slightly ajar.  She ran up the stairs, heart pounding,  palms sweaty, as she gathered up her purse and wallet, not caring about the overnight bag.  Maureen made her escape through the front door, and once outside, wasn't clear as to where she should now go.  Her apartment was definitely out. As soon as he discovered her missing, it would be the first place he'd look.  She thought about hiding out at the rectory, but decided against it.  Kevin would immediately figure out that something was wrong, and damned if she was going to talk to him about any of this.

      Hesitating only a moment, she abruptly turned and headed down the block to the bus stop on the corner.  She prayed her transportation would arrive soon, and nervously watched the street with for any sign of his familiar patrol car. The minutes ticked by like hours, her resolve strengthened only when the lumbering vehicle came to a halt in front of her.  With a quick backward glance at the big house on Maple Avenue, she slipped through the accordion doors, and disappeared into the cold, still night.

The basement Red Room

                               

   Copyright 2013 Victoria T. Rocus
   All Rights Reserved