4 comments/ 9813 views/ 11 favorites Flashes in the Dark - Rebecca By: LaRascasse Hi Litsters, This is a set of disconnected vignettes about the women in Heather Franklin's life. I have written them as a separate series to distinguish them from her stories which are more closely bound to her job as a lawyer. Your votes, comments and private feedback mean the world to me, so please do not forget to leave them. Hat-tip to House MD. As usual, a profound vote of thanks to my editor, Bramblethorn, for whom no praise can be too effusive. "The burden of the world is too great for one man to bear, and the world's sorrow too heavy for one heart to suffer." - A House Of Pomegranates, Oscar Wilde ***** "Read out the number again." "Three hundred and fifty million dollars," said the triumphant senior associate. "We got Holmann Pharmaceuticals on patent infringement and the jury gave us three hundred and fifty fucking million." "It's a shame most of it will go to our client though." "Don't worry. Whatever we get plus legal fees will mean there's still plenty to go around." "There had better be," replied a perky young paralegal. "I need a new convertible this year. I've got half an eye on a Maserati." "What are we still doing in office?" yelled the senior partner in charge. "Let's go to the Ritz and celebrate." There were hoots and yells of approval from all directions. "I'll get going then." All eyes turned in the direction of that voice. Heather Franklin leaned against the lobby wall, covering the tip of her Marlboro with her hand. She lit it carefully and looked up at the crowd goggling at her. "I'm not much of a party fan," she said, taking the fag out to blow a thin stream of smoke into the air. "C'mon, Heather," insisted the senior partner. "After all, it was your cross-examination that won us the damn thing." "Thanks, but no." "What if we get a cocktail waitress for you to make out with?" snickered someone else. "It might come as a shock to you, but lesbians don't feel the random urge to make out with every other woman they see," she said with a roll of her eyes. "If you must know the truth, I have an early dinner date." She stubbed out the remainder of her cigarette and left, leaving a whole series of jaws hanging open in her wake. ** Per Se is one of the most high-end restaurants in the city, befitting someone of Heather's stature. Even though her reserved table was removed from the bustle of the main floor, she could still see the occasional whisper and finger pointed in her direction. She bided her time, smiling back once in a while. One of the perils of being a known media face was the instant recognition. She looked at her watch, still ten minutes to go. Heather hoped the dating site algorithm had matched her with someone who could afford to eat at Per Se. She leaned back and let a few more idle glances flit her way. Right at the allotted time, she saw her favourite waiter coming, with her blind date in tow. The woman looked to be in her mid- to late thirties. She had a graceful gait and fit body. Her hair was red, several shades darker than Heather's, and it complemented her wine-red cocktail dress. As she came closer, Heather saw the expected gasp light up the freckled face. She looked like the cutesy girl next door who'd grown up. "Wow... this is a surprise." "Does that mean I don't have to introduce myself?" said Heather, rising to meet her date. They shook hands. "Rebecca Maitland," her date said, giving her a perfunctory peck on either cheek. "I have a double speciality in oncology and paediatric oncology and am the head of the department at Clinton Memorial." "A doctor, interesting," Heather said, putting a finger between her lips. "Somehow I can't seem to picture you in a white coat." "I actually was wearing one like half an hour ago," Rebecca said, dabbing the sweat off her forehead. "Just got off an eighteen hour shift, mostly supernaturally boring meetings." "No actual patients?" "I do that too, once in a while. As a department head, most of time goes in approving budgets, hires and other such uninteresting stuff." They were interrupted when the waiter brought a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. "With compliments of the house, ma'am," he said with a bow. "Thank you," said the lawyer and accepted his offering. She turned her attention back to her flustered and somewhat uncomfortable date. "You don't do this very often, do you?" "Is it that obvious?" Dr Maitland asked meekly. "Frightfully so," replied Heather. "To be honest, I didn't even know I had a date till today. Some of the young doctors created a profile on a dating site with my name and details. They quite literally forced me into it, saying I work too hard." "I know the feeling. I just wrapped up a long trial myself. For the past three months, I don't think I had a single weekend." "Was it another murder?" Rebecca asked, curiously. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry... but was it?" "No, it was something much less sensational. Your run of the mill patent violation." "I must sound like a total flake here," said the good doctor. "I promise there is more to me." "I'll find out soon enough," said Heather, beckoning for the appetiser to be brought. "I don't suppose I have to give you my life's story, if you caught the Belvedere trial." They shared a laugh before Heather spoke up again. "What did your doctors say about me?" "Born in Scarsdale, graduated summa cum laude from Yale in '07, and have been practising law in this city ever since," she rattled off. "There were a few more things, but I think I captured the gist." "There's not much more to me," Heather lied genially. "What about you? What's your story?" "I was born and raised in Syracuse, not all that far from here. My Dad was a high school track and field coach and my Mom stayed home to raise my brother and me." "Are they still in Syracuse?" "In a manner of speaking, yes. My Dad died of thyroid cancer when I was sixteen. He's buried there. Mom didn't deal with it well, taking solace in the bottle. She's in assisted living now. On a good day, she knows me by face. Her neurologists say her dementia is progressing fast and I'll soon be another unknown face in a sea of faces," she said matter-of-factly. "My brother, on the other hand, is a successful Wall Street broker. We had a bad falling out years ago and have not been on speaking terms since." Heather gaped at her, unsure whether to offer condolences or say something about her remarkably calm tenor. Rebecca sensed her discomfiture and explained calmly. "When you see people lose their loved ones on a daily basis, it desensitises you to grief," she went on. "Trust me, Heather, there is so much suffering out there that mine looks tame in comparison." "I lost my mother to ovarian cancer," said Heather, taking a bite of her appetiser. "She suffered for one whole year before the cancer finally killed her." "In the case of my Dad, it was detected in the final stage itself, so we only had a few weeks to say goodbye. It's what made me want to be an oncologist." "So you can see more people with cancer?" "So I can save lives," said Rebecca, taking a spoonful of braised tenderloin in her mouth. "At least that's what I managed to convince my sixteen-year-old self." "You don't sound entirely happy with that choice." "My job has its moments," she admitted, taking a sip of the wine. "Sometimes, the definitive test comes back showing the cancer in an early stage. It feels rewarding to see the relief all around when they beat it early." "And other times?" asked Heather. "Other times... it takes some self-prescribed Zoloft," she admitted. "You'd think it gets easier after seeing it the first thousand times." Heather sensed she had touched a raw nerve. She mumbled half an apology and concentrated on the pale strips of salmon that had come to the table. Rebecca ate quietly as well for a few long minutes. "Desyrel," Heather spoke up. "It's my poison of choice." "You sure picked a bad one," the doctor shrugged. "If you were my patient, I'd totally give you a disapproving stare right about now." "Do you prescribe anti-depressants to your patients? To lift the gloom of their final days, even a little bit?" "No," she replied, cutting into her veal. "Some of my colleagues do, but I refuse. No amount of drugs can take away the reality that you're living on borrowed time. The best thing you can do is stay lucid and spend what little time you have left with those that matter the most." "This is probably the most depressing first date in history," sighed Heather, taking a bite of the poached halibut. "All we seem to talk about is death and dying When was your last date?" the lawyer asked. "It would have to be back when Bush was still in office. I hardly have the time for recreation." "I have a proposal to make and I hope you'll see it for the pragmatic solution it is." "Okay," Rebecca replied, unsure. "We're both busy working professionals. The stars must have aligned for us both to get the night off. Who knows if we'll ever even see each other again. I think you understand that a long term relationship is out of the question." She nodded, wiping the corners of her mouth. "You know the usual drill - many dates, movies, Broadway plays before one of us finally woos the other into bed. It's all very romantic, but what if we make an exception and skip to the end for once?" Rebecca almost choked on her wine. She looked up, surprise writ large on her face. "You want to have sex with me? Tonight?" "My apartment isn't all that far from here and I have my car." "Sex on a first date," mused the doctor with a smirk. "Can't say I've ever done that." "We're lesbians in a Literotica story. We should be having sex at first sight." Heather pointed out. "It's a miracle we haven't started making out yet." "That stereotype mostly applies to perpetual eighteen year old hotties," came the light-hearted reply. "I doubt two women in their thirties would be as desperate to jump into the sack." "Let's make an exception then." "C'mon, Heather. You can't be serious about this." "Would you prefer a couple more hours of awkward conversation followed by a peck on the cheek and we never hear from each other again? I've been under a ton of pressure for months on end and I am desperate for stress release. Those bags under your eyes tell much the same story about you." Rebecca leaned back, the absurd sense of the situation sinking in. Heather reached out and put her palm over the doctor's. "For once, let's do what we want to. Let's have a memorable night. When I look at you, I see someone who needs a friend to talk. I could also use a friend too, even if for one night only." The doctor seemed unsure, still digesting the idea. Heather leaned forward and spoke again. "I get it. I really do. You feel you have no one to talk to, no one who would understand the staggering weight you carry on your shoulders. I don't know you and yet, I know you deeply." Rebecca sat motionless. Heather stroked her palm. "Lonely, isn't it?" There was a soft nod on the other side of the table. "It doesn't have to be. Let all those shields down for one night and pour it all out. All I ask in return is you let me do the same." "You wouldn't want to hear it." "No, Rebecca," said Heather. "You don't want to say it. I am trained to take it all in, you're not. You cannot imagine the kind of things I am forced to keep secret because of attorney-client privilege. I hide secrets for the worst people in the city, I can take some for a friend." There was silence, as Heather searched her friend's eyes for a hint of indecision. Instead, Rebecca smiled broadly and raised her hand. "Check please." ** "Nice view," remarked Rebecca, looking out of the thirtieth-storey balcony. "I bet you pay exorbitantly for it." "Yeah," said Heather, putting down two goblets on the table and pouring them to the brim with the finest three-decade-old rum from Jamaica's Appleton Estate. She lifted one of the glasses to her nose and inhaled the smoky aroma. Rebecca picked a glass off the table and sat down with. Heather leaned back on the recliner, stretching herself out. "Is this the part where I come onto you? Like in a bad porno." "There's no lame background music, so I think we can refrain for a little while," replied Heather with an eyeroll. "What have you been up to since the Belvedere trial?" "Don't tell me the media's forgotten about me already?" she replied with mock dismay. "Sadly, they've moved on to that NBA team owner's unfortunate knack for racist remarks," said Rebecca. "Fame is a fickle friend." "To say the truth, I'm glad to be out of the spotlight. I had become an idol of sorts. I'd hate for everybody to see the kind of people I've defended since, the kind I usually have to represent in court." "You either die a hero or you live long enough to become a villain," Rebecca quoted. She drained her glass in a gulp. "What about you? I'm sure you get to play the hero at work." "More like the grim reaper. Usually, it's about telling someone their lifespan has been reduced drastically. It hurts to see that look in their eyes, that look of disbelief turning to despair." "How many patients can you save?" "Not as many as I would want to." Heather leaned over her onyx cabinet and retrieved her lighter. Flint rolled and a second later, she had her favourite blend of Marlboro between her lips. Rebecca watched her blow a puff of smoke. "Those things will kill you, you know? Maybe not now, but they will." "They'd be doing the world a favour," she said, undeterred by the dire warning. Rebecca's eyes shot up at the last sentence. She studied the nonchalant lawyer taking a few more puffs from her cigarette and asked. "You're not the same person they showed on TV. You look weaker." "Strength is a useful façade, but I can stop pretending when there's no one around to notice." "I have a façade too. Today, I had to tell a newly married man he won't live long enough to see the twin girls his wife is pregnant with. Every bit of me wanted to jump over the table, hold him tight and cry into his shoulder. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was to give him this news. Instead, I kept a straight face and gave him a treatment plan for chemo which might give him an extra month to live, and will be excruciatingly painful. His wife sobbed for the entirety of the appointment, but he listened to everything I said quietly." Heather looked over and smiled weakly. The doctor leant to the side, resting her head on a cushion. "Just another appointment. It was one of four I had today." "That bad, huh?" "So what did you do today?" Heather stubbed out the remainder of her cigarette and looked up at the ceiling, thinking how best to phrase her thoughts. "There was the verdict in my patent infringement case. Other than that, I spent the day preparing a strategy to help a certain bank justify depriving a widowed mother of four kids of her late husband's pension." "Did you have any second thoughts?" "No," said Heather brusquely, taking out a new cigarette. "It's in the job description. The bank hired me for a particular reason and it was my duty to deliver, no matter how cruel the outcome." "Just doing your job, eh. Is that why you need Desyrel to sleep?" "Among other reasons." "What about a relationship? It's not as scary as it looks at first," Rebecca chuckled, pouring herself another helping of the Jamaican rum. "I'm more of a fan of lesbian bars and one night stands. Long term commitments aren't for me," said Heather dryly. Rebecca took another sip from her glass. Heather spoke up again. "Who was your first relationship with?" The doctor composed herself, her lop-sided smile clearly showing the disinhibiting effect of alcohol in her system. "Years ago, I was doing my oncology residency at Mount Sinai Hospital. There I met a concept artist named Esme Hill recovering from surgery." "The Esme Hill who won the Pulitzer last year?" "The same. Until then, being gay was just an excuse to avoid dates from my fellow residents, but Esme was different. With her, life had more colour. She was so witty and her art was... out there to be honest... but it spoke to me. We would spend days at a time in her studio." "How was the sex?" Heather interrupted. Rebecca looked at her wide-eyed. "You know, the sex. Don't tell me you spent all that time together without getting it on." "I swear, you're a dirty old man inside," said the somewhat tipsy doctor. "It was your typical starry-eyed whirlwind romance, complete with sex hot enough to set the mattress on fire. We couldn't keep our hands off each other at times." "What happened?" Rebecca took a deep sigh. Heather understood that whatever came next would be hard for her to remember. "The warning signs were all there. Esme loved kids. Whenever we went to the park or the mall, she would smile at every kid who walked past. She hugged any who came to her, and talked to them like they were her own. It was only a matter of time. I should have seen that day coming." The doctor turned away. Heather saw a few stray teardrops crawl down the side of her face, as her eyes closed at the memory. "One day she came to me with several brochures from sperm banks in the area. She was so thrilled at the prospect of having children of her own. She discussed them animatedly with me. I thought I could go through with it, for her sake, but I couldn't. I simply couldn't." She shed a few more tears, keeping her face turned away so as not to show them. "I told her I didn't want kids and I wouldn't be there for her if she went ahead with it. She was so distraught. She cried, she begged me to reconsider, but I didn't. I didn't see her after that day. The last memory I have is of her crying into her brochure." "You're not a fan of kids, I take it then?" said Heather, moving closer. The doctor turned her face towards her. Rivulets left by tears stained her cheeks, tears she had held back for too long. "I love kids. I always have. But I don't want to have any of my own." "Why-" "Perry Taylor," interrupted Rebecca, her tone bereft of all emotion. "He's eight years old. He is the most cheerful kid you'll meet, always smiling and always full of life. He loves drawing and he loves fireworks. He's looking forward to the fourth of July to see a fireworks display." She paused to stifle a sob. "He has an aggressive variant of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. He will not see the fourth of July. No matter what I do, he will live for another six weeks at most." "I'm so sorry." "Every day, no matter how busy I am, I go to his ward, sit beside him and hold his hand. He tells me about how much he liked the fireworks last year, before his parents got divorced. I'm the only one he has left to talk to." "What about his parents?" "His parents spend all their time in court, trying to get one over on the other. His use to them disappeared when they realised he wasn't going to live long enough for them to wrangle child support out of each other." "That's..." began Heather, unable to come up with a proper adjective. "I tell him he's going to be all right and we're going to see the fireworks together, even though I know it's a lie." That was the limit of Rebecca's fortitude. She held her head in her hands and cried. Heather reached out and patted the back of her head. After a minute, she raised her head, her mascara messed up in a flood of tears. Flashes in the Dark - Rebecca "It tears me up from inside, but I do it every day. Before Perry Taylor, there was Tommy Dunn. Before him, Isabel Garcia. Before her, Jonathan Carr. Before him... well you get the point. Now tell me, these are children I didn't know before they came in. My only attachment to them is as their doctor and yet, each leaves an indelible scar. Imagine if that was my own child." Heather pursed her lips and nodded in understanding. "Right from the first grieving parents I saw as a resident, I knew that the smallest chance of me being in their place, however insignificant, is too high a chance for me. I'm sorry if it sounds improbable and unreasonable, but that's how I am. The world can think it's because I'm a baby-hating career woman hell-bent on rising in my job. I can live with that." The emotion had choked her voice, rendering it a semi-coherent stream of syllables. Heather moved beside her and stroked her hair softly. Her body shook with a few more sobs. They held each other tightly and Heather let her friend cry some more. "Let it out, Rebecca. Let it all out," she whispered, running her fingers through her scalp. Heather felt a strange warmth within her, feeling connected to a woman she didn't know an hour ago. Dr Rebecca Maitland, MD, walked with the weight of the world on her shoulders. For once, she had the opportunity to share some of it. ** "Really?" "Yes, there's nothing legally we can do," said Heather, making sure the bottle was empty before rolling it away. "Perry's parents left him to die all alone in a hospital. As inhuman as that sounds, you'd be hard-pressed to find an actual law that they broke." "What about parental neglect, or emotional cruelty or something else?" said the doctor. "Trust me, it's not a case worth fighting." Heather walked to her cabinet and took out a swirled red decanter. The design on the glass was as intricate as it was unique, etched in a thin layer of amethyst and crystal. Rebecca let her gaze wander over the fine details. "I present to you my original Remy Martin Black Pearl," said Heather with a flourish. "One of the world's most expensive cognacs. This particular bottle came to me at an auction in Abu Dhabi a few months back. You do not want to know for how much." "I can hazard a guess," laughed the doctor, watching her hostess pour out two glasses filled to the brim with the inky black liquid. They leaned back on the couch, facing each other. Heather took a sip from her glass and let her fingers wander over her date's palm. The doctor looked on longingly before she leaned in for a kiss. The kiss was slow and exploratory, each of them getting a feel for the other. Rebecca let her tongue gently feel the inside of the lawyer's mouth. The kiss continued, undeterred by the heavy stench of nicotine. Heather's arms went around her paramour's neck and she softly caressed her scalp. "How long has it been since you last did this?" Rebecca did not answer, kissing more urgently now. She detached her lips from Heather's and began trailing a series of gentle of kisses down her neck. She stopped to pull Heather's dress away. Her eyes waited a moment to appraise the breasts laid out before her. They were plump and firm, yet inadequate to Heather. Rebecca lowered her lips to the swell of her left breast and began a slow lick on the pliable flesh. Heather threw her head back and groaned with pleasure as the tip of Rebecca's tongue traced the underside of her breast, moving up along the side in a single agonizingly slow motion. Rebecca went on, tracing a long ellipse repeatedly. Gently, she brought her hand to the nipple and rolled it between her thumb and forefinger, making Heather moan again. The oblong licks gradually spiralled inwards as she approached the nipple, rolled and tweaked in anticipation. Abruptly, she let go of the nipple, letting her tongue scrub the areola instead. The tip of Rebecca's tongue fluttered over the nipple, flicking it back and forth before she took it in her mouth. Her tongue lashed the sensitive bud, causing a burst of pleasure to course through Heather, moistening her below. Rebecca took the nipple between her teeth and stretched it out before slurping it once more. Heather's eyes widened and her pulse quickened. Rebecca let her free hand tweak and pinch the nipples of her other breast. Her mouth followed her hand and her hand nestled between Heather's legs, feeling the nascent dampness. Her roving fingers played with her puffy lips before centring on her clit. She rubbed it with her thumb, not relenting the delicious feel of her tongue on Heather's nipple. It was all too much for the lawyer. The combination of the thumb grinding against her engorged clit and the experienced mouth drove her over the edge. Her clenched shut, seeing sparks and flares dance before them. Her climax sent her into orbit, looking down at the world from a hazy vantage point. When she opened her eyes again, her vision was blurry. Rebecca brought her palm up and painted Heather's face in her own flood of arousal. The doctor enclosed her lover's face in her hands and licked all over her, tasting the unique taste of her juices melded with the sheen of sweat clinging to her skin. Her tongue was insistent, but kittenish in the way it lapped over her face, culminating in a deep kiss. Heather tasted her own arousal in that kiss. "Not long enough to be out of practice." ** "The view is spectacular," reaffirmed Rebecca. She sat on two deck chairs, facing outwards on the balcony, wrapped in a flimsy sheet with Heather. Twilight was rapidly losing ground to the inky blackness of night. Heather leaned on her lover and gently kissed her neck. The two of them faced the glittery metropolis ahead of them. The skyscrapers at the far end of Central Park were lit, looking like a montage of indistinct shapes lit in a continuous incandescent glow. Rebecca took a sip of her cognac, letting the acid taste burn past her tongue. Heather took a long drag from her latest cigarette, making sure it was a stump before she tossed it off the balcony. She looked to her left and sensed so much whirling around in her new friend's mind. She had seen that look of holding too much inside in the mirror and knew Rebecca was afraid to open the floodgates. They looked at the horizon wistfully. "Heather, is there any real justice in the world?" "Not really. What passes for justice is what the rich and powerful have put in place. If you have money, you can get away with anything. The laws have specific weak points you can use to drag the case on indefinitely, if not get the charges dropped. The system is only there to serve the ones who can afford it." "Sounds a lot like healthcare," Rebecca smirked. The lawyer took out a new cigarette and lit it. Her eyes beheld the ephemeral shroud of cigarette smoke before it dispersed into the night air. They sat in silence for a while. "Do you always assume your client is innocent, or do you ask them first?" "Rule number one of being a lawyer - never ask a question you don't want the answer to," she said, sending a thin stream of smoke into the cold, unforgiving night. "Don't ask, don't tell," Rebecca said. "I'm familiar with the concept." Heather turned to face her lover curiously. She looked straight ahead at the jagged skyline in the distance, her milky skin washed in moonlight. She began talking in a disenchanted voice trying to hide the burden of pain she brought up from the nadir of her soul. "There's this word. We oncologists think about it. It's a weight we walk under, a nagging feeling that refuses to go. We don't use the word, preferring to cloak it in barely understood technical jargon, or don't speak of it at all. But it's always there - that evil word." The lawyer looked at her for a few moments, trying to read her mind. Rebecca continued staring in the distance. For the first time in her life, she did not feel the need to keep that straight face. For once, she felt the presence of a kindred spirit. "Euthanasia." Heather looked down and bit her lip. A private part of her had sensed this coming. "Oliver Barksdale, a 65 year old former police officer with end stage lung cancer. The pain was so intense that I couldn't even pretend to lessen it. I sat beside him and showed him how to use the morphine pump. I told him that too much would kill him, but not to worry since the pump only gave out morphine within safe bounds. To override the limit, one had to enter a special code into the electronic keypad. I left his side, went to the head nurse and told her the code was 6743 loudly. Then I went back to my office and cried where no one could see it." "When did it happen?" asked Heather, wrapping her non-smoking arm around the doctor's neck and drawing her closer. "Last week. It's not the first time." "Did it make you feel better?" "I know I gave that man everything I could. I know that he knew that too. It should have given me some measure of peace knowing I had done the humane thing in the end." There was silence for a few seconds, interspersed by the sound of cicadas from Heather's landscape garden as the words hung in the air. "At least you're legally covered. Any defence lawyer can prove that there are no reasonable grounds to arrest you. You gave a suicidal man a loaded gun, but you didn't pull the trigger. Big difference." "Morally, is there a difference?" "I'm the last person you want to come to for moral advice," said Heather quietly, finishing off her latest fag. "I have learnt that there are grey areas to everything, even murder." "Like with Mrs Belvedere," Rebecca remarked. "I don't want to talk about her." Rebecca read the heavy tone and understood not to probe any further in that direction. The grim silence hung in the air long enough for Heather to dispense with her current cigarette. She was half-way through the next one when the doctor spoke up, having contemplated other topics in the interlude. "Who was your first lover?" Heather stared at her incredulously for a few seconds. "You know mine, so it's only fair you return the favour," the doctor said, slightly tipsy. "Did we suddenly land back in freshman year?" "Oh... c'mon." "Fine. It was a professor at Yale. Satisfied now?" "Hardly," mocked Rebecca. "Details, woman. Details." "Professor Charlotte van Dyke," Heather said with a mock flourish. "Ironically enough, she was entrusted with teaching Legal Ethics." "Is the first ethical guideline to sleep with your student?" "If she had written it, I guess it would have been. The lady had Dyke in her name. In retrospect, I can see why." "So... was it all soft and tender between you and your professor?" "Hardly," said Heather, blowing a ringlet of smoke. "She is not one for the delicate niceties of sex. She is a predator in the truest sense of the term. As I found out eventually, she takes a naïve, young female student in hand at the beginning of their freshman year. It was mutually beneficial in my case as I learned a lot more about the law in her secluded mansion than I did in four years of tedious classes." "Secluded mansion? She sounds like someone out of a Stephen King book." "Charlotte is independently wealthy. She teaches only as a pastime, and because she actually wrote that damn textbook on ethics. She still takes that course and still lures unsuspecting freshman girls into her bedroom." Rebecca paused to take a deep gulp of her cognac. The sky had finally given in to darkness, dotted with twinkling stars looking down on them. "What did she do to you?" "She spent the first month schmaltzing me on campus grounds. Some coffee, friendly banter and the like. It's amazing how much I confided in her and trusted her. It was a confusing time for me, coming to terms with my lesbian identity." The doctor nodded in unspoken understanding. "I always knew where this was going. Charlotte never had the gift of subtlety. Sitting across the table, I could sense her itching to drag me back to her place. Not that I would've turned her down. The clandestine thrill of a professor-student relationship was intoxicating." "So did she drag you back to her place, kicking and screaming?" "In a way. She promised to show me her rare, first-edition Anaïs Nin. Based on what she had told me, I just had to see it. It was then that she presented me with what would define our relationship - a silver collar." Rebecca choked on her drink, sending trails of invaluable cognac to the floor. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, all the while staring at Heather like she was an other-worldly being. Heather simply shrugged back. "Told you she doesn't care for the delicate niceties of sex. After that, it became a rule. Whenever I was inside the house, I had to wear that collar," spoke the lawyer, pausing to light a fresh Marlboro. "Am I making you uncomfortable?" "Not by a long shot. I mean, BDSM isn't my thing, but I know enough about it not to be scandalised." "Even on the Yale campus, I was always under her thumb. She had inventive tasks for me - from wearing a custom made vibe during a seminar where I was the speaker, to gritting my teeth into silence with my face pressed against the library window while she pounded me with her strap-on. These were two of the less colourful ones." "It's a good thing we're both drunk," muttered Rebecca. "There's no other way we could be having this conversation." "The best part was when she asked me to name complex rulings and important judgements from memory. Even the slightest mistake and I would feel all nine tails of her flogger against my bare ass. Most of the law I know now, I learnt on my hands and knees with my rear end exposed." "How long did it go on?" "Right up to the beginning of my sophomore year. I had lost my novelty to Charlotte and she had already settled on her next project - a certain Faye Burnett." "Faye Burnett? The divorce attorney to the rich and famous?" "Yeah, she's done well for herself. Although the only way I can picture her is masturbating with a Sharpie while trying to remember the countries where a no-fault divorce can hold. One wrong country and she had to restart her list. She only got to orgasm after saying all of them correctly." "Charlotte invited you to watch, I presume." "She frequently invited her previous initiates back to be part of the making of a new one. Faye and I had to perform several scenes for her Ladyship's viewing pleasure. The one universal rule was that neither of us got to cum until Charlotte van Dyke said so." "She sounds like a fascinating woman. I wish I had the chance to meet her." "It's not what you think. That year you spend with her changes you. You come naïve and unworldly wise and leave... someone else. She takes any innocence or goodness you have and kills it quietly. She made me a better lawyer, but a much worse person." "I'm sorry." "Don't be," said Heather coldly, taking a deep pull from her Marlboro. "I couldn't have been one-tenth the lawyer I am now if I still had a conscience worth mentioning. Charlotte took my conscience and crushed it like a child's dreams." "Are you still in touch with her?" "Only when I need advice. Sometimes, when I need some guidance and other times when I want her to tell me that I'm nothing more than one in her assembly line of monsters. Everybody can praise me, but I need her to tell me who I really am. To remind me." "Bound by the shackles of your past," quoted Rebecca. "Always." ** Heather leaned back against the plush bed, her legs parted and her wet sex glistening in the dim light of the room. She saw the respectable doctor drain what was left of her glass in one gulp before letting her eyes roam over the temptation laid out so elegantly on the bed. The tipsy doctor clambered up to her and they kissed. The kiss was hungry and passionate, expressing an unfed need in both women. Rebecca kissed down her neck and shoulder blade, allowing herself the liberty of a sharp nip at the skin every now and again. Heather moaned at the bites, her fingers enmeshed in her lover's hair, directing the movements. Rebecca dipped lower, bringing her attentions to Heather's torso. The lawyer disentangled her fingers and lit up a fresh Marlboro. She took a pull, feeling the cocktail of nicotine flow through her and out of her mouth in a brief puff. Her brain was shaken back to the moment when she felt her nipple pinched and tweaked again. The doctor sucked her right nub into her mouth and sent recently familiar feelings tingling through her nervous system. Heather groaned, feeling a desperate ache within her finally sated. She took another long drag and let her cigarette dangle off her hand. The doctor zigzagged across the length and breadth of her torso in a series of tortuously slow licks. Her tongue went lower with every passing sweep of her lover's stomach. Heather let out a low moan, deciding to sit back and be a spectator to the deconstruction of her own body. The first time Rebecca's tongue made contact with her clit, Heather momentarily lost control. The cigarette slipped from her hand and burnt a neat hole through the inordinately expensive Ziegler Mahal carpet under them. Her eyes rolled back and her toes curled at the exquisite sensations imparted by her tongue. The dexterous tongue made a trip down her inflamed lower lips. Rebecca licked and slurped down the length of her wet slit, teasing the fleshy insides. Heather put her fingers on either side of her opening and pulled the lips apart, revealing her pink interior. The doctor smiled and locked her lips to the opening, sending her wondrous tongue as deep inside as possible. The fleshy tongue thrust in and out of her before pulling out suddenly. Heather's eyes snapped open in shock and she felt a vacuous emptiness. The feeling was soon dismissed by the good doctor inserting her index and middle fingers into the gaping orifice. She reached back and found the lawyer's G spot and rubbed against it. She turned, twisted and corkscrewed the fingers inside her, coaxing sinful pleasure out of the bedraggled lawyer. The room reeked of sexual secretions. The air seemed thick with the smell of their carnality. Heather continued holding herself apart, struggling to stay still amidst the chaotic bursts of pleasure coursing through her nervous system. She finally let out a guttural moan and let loose. Her body slumped and a dizzying orgasm swept through her. Her skin stuck to her lover's. Gasping and panting for breath, she could barely make out the words "It's your turn next" over the pounding of her own heart. She lay on her back, her breasts rising and falling with each breath. The chilly air enveloped her sweaty frame, cooling the sweaty sheen plastered over her body. "I have a better idea," mumbled Heather. "But give me a break to catch my breath." She pulled herself and rested against the cushioned headboard. Her right hand reached out and pulled a new cigarette from the bureau behind her. "Just a point of interest, but where do you get the Zoloft from? I know it's a taboo among doctors to prescribe themselves." "Attorney-client privilege?" "You're not my client, but sure." "Fake prescriptions for a fake patient," she admitted. "I pay one of my orderlies to pick it up. The fake file exists in the records in case anyone cares." "You will probably lose your medical license if someone ever investigates this fake file." "I don't care. I need the Zoloft and no one else can know about it." "I know a guy. It's the same guy who gets me Desyrel." "You know quite a few criminals, Heather." Flashes in the Dark - Rebecca "The real criminals are the ones who use the legal system to get away with it. For instance, I'm currently in a class action lawsuit defending a food packaging company who used cheap, harmful anti-freeze in their products. There are over a hundred plaintiffs who have health issues from eating the food, but I know that I'll win, even with all that damning evidence against the company." "How?" "Because I know the loophole in the law to exploit. I know exactly how to get evidence to disappear. I know which introductions to make and which palms to grease. The case will go on and on, in an endless limbo for all the plaintiffs until they run out of money to pay for legal fees. That is when I will countersue for abuse of process and bankrupt them all. It will be a message to anyone else with the same idea." Rebecca gaped. Heather nonchalantly took a drag from her cigarette and said. "The system isn't meant to protect you and me, Rebecca. It's only meant to protect them. Whatever happens in a major case is always known, always part of a bigger plan." "Can't you try to change things? You're famous now." Heather chuckled and exhaled a ring of smoke. "We're alike, Rebecca. We're both puppets, dancing for the amusement of those who can afford it. The only difference is, I can see the strings and I know the script. It doesn't mean I can change it." Rebecca looked on in wonder, before she looked down despondently. Heather studied the half of her face visible against the slanted light. "I already knew some of what you told me," she said, still looking down. Heather looked at her, puzzled. She went on in a morose tone. "Around five years back, before I became the head, I had a habit for studying national cancer rates. I noticed a suspiciously high rate of renal cancer in people from coastal towns in this state. Even I had treated a few patients fitting the profile. I reviewed their charts and found traces of toxic chemicals in their bodies. After a little more digging, I found out that Karstedt Petrochemicals uses that shore to dump their processed waste." "The more I researched, the more I saw the smoking gun. The chemicals in that waste had been connected to higher rates of kidney failure and cancer in many international studies." "The local ones having been suppressed or bought off," Heather added helpfully. "I had gathered enough data to write a paper on it. My digging had tipped off the company, who sent a bevy of representatives to buy me off. Sponsorships to conferences, international travel, inflated grants - you name it and they offered it. I refused them all. Then one day, they tried something else." The lawyer looked down, knowing within her heart what Rebecca was going to say. "The hospital lawyer, Derek, a close friend of mine, called me to his office one day. There were three men in suits waiting for me. They told me how they planned to finance negative ads against the hospital if I didn't bury the paper. Derek told me it would adversely hit our funding and would mean the end of the new radiology lab I was lobbying for. The men left. Then Derek told me that even if I went ahead with the paper, it would be decades before anything came of it." "He sounds like a wise man." Rebecca kept her shameful gaze downwards. Heather sensed her pain and spoke up. "You did the right thing. Your two choices were getting a new radiology lab and pursuing an impossible ideal for justice. Despite what you may think of yourself, you're a hero." "Does that change the fact that go to sleep every night knowing people still drink water loaded with carcinogens?" "No it doesn't. It also doesn't change the fact that they couldn't buy you off. It had to come to a threat before you backed off. Most people would've taken the money." Rebecca smiled weakly, taking in the validation from her date. "I bet you weren't the only one who found the pattern. Many did and most of them settled for the money. You were brave enough for them to have to show their true colours. There was one researcher who actually went to court with his findings." "How do you know it?" her voice trailed off and she saw the rueful look on Heather's face. The lawyer lit a new Ultra Fine. "You were their lawyer?" "At the time, I was. I got in touch with a crooked prosecutor and trumped up so many charges against him - unpaid taxes, unpaid child support, embezzling. None of them could ever be proved, because none of them were true, but the damage was done. His reputation took a beating. He lost his house, his family, his job. Finally, he took a swan dive off Brooklyn Bridge. The CEO of Karstedt gave me a bonus over and above my retainer for a job well done." The doctor took a few seconds of silence to digest the news while Heather burnt through half her cigarette in one pull. "So if I had gone ahead with the paper and tried to publish it..." "You would have come up against me in court. I hate to think what I'd have to do to you then." "Thank God for small mercies." Heather walked over to her cabinet and unearthed another bottle of cognac. Rebecca smiled as she brought it to the bed. "You forgot the glasses." "We won't need glasses this time," said Heather with a deliciously wicked smile. She raised her hips and parted her legs, exposing her leaking pussy. She uncorked the bottle and tipped it tantalizingly over her slit. The doctor's eyes widened at the thought. "For real?" "Why not?" Carefully, Rebecca positioned her mouth under Heather's lower lips. With a smile, Heather tilted the bottle, letting a thin stream flow down her slit before sloshing into Rebecca's mouth. "Told you I had something better in mind," said Heather, tilting the bottle some more. ** "C'mon, Heather. You get to do some good too," said Rebecca. "Look at the Belvedere trial." "That's one case." "I'm sure there are more. I remember the media talking about a dying environmental activist you helped out." "They're the exceptions. It makes the others bearable." "Are there any other memorable cases like that?" Heather cracked her neck and closed her eyes, mulling over her cases. "What I'm about to say can't leave these four walls, okay?" said Heather solemnly. "Trust me, you will be inviting a world of pain on yourself if you even think about telling anyone." The doctor nodded. "Remember Sandra Bertram?" "Yes," nodded the doctor. "It was a few months back. It dominated the headlines for days. High society party ends in murder. Sandra Bertram was found shot to death in her own home after she had hosted a party. I think they even found the man responsible - a security guard who tried to rob the safe in the room." "The thing is," said Heather, taking a deep pull on her cigarette. "That man was only guilty of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her husband, Ross, shot her. It was murder, plain and simple." Rebecca's eyes went as wide as saucers. "Wait... the guard confessed, right?" "He's just a patsy. The Bertram family, being as important as they are, wanted to avoid a scandal. Armed robbery gone wrong sounds much better than murder. They called my firm and in turn, me, to do the needful." "Why would the guard confess then?" "His little daughter has very severe cerebral palsy. He couldn't afford the treatments or therapy. The Bertrams agreed to pick up the tab for as long as she was alive if he took the fall. After that it was the usual. The right cops came and in exchange for money, falsified all the forensics to point straight to the guard. He played his part and confessed, tying up the whole thing in a neat bow." "How is that helping someone?" Rebecca asked, still in rapt attention. "It is. You see, the Bertram family paid for all of two months, the time it took to tie up the loose ends and dispose of any evidence. Then, they saw no need to pay any more. He couldn't appeal from behind bars because the evidence trumped up against him was too damning." "What happened then?" "Nothing happened - the payments kept coming to the PO box where they were supposed to." "I don't understand," said Rebecca, narrowing her eyes. "Who paid the-" She stopped mid-sentence and her head snapped up. She caught the knowing, grim smile on the lawyer's face. "You've been paying ever since?" Heather nodded, taking her latest cigarette out of her mouth. "Why?" "That man sacrificed his freedom for his daughter. I promised him his daughter's treatment would be taken care of. I think it's the least he deserves." "Any idea why Ross Bertram did it?" "I don't know. Maybe Sandra was having an affair. In my experience, it's better for your peace of mind if you don't know the answers to such questions. As far as the world goes - they were the unfortunate victims of armed burglary. The real truth will probably never come out." Silence reigned in the air for a few long moments. Swirls of cigarette smoke shrouded the air, wafting in the breeze. "All things considered, it's a good thing that you did for that girl. You should be proud of yourself." "It means a lot, coming from someone else. Thanks." "Have you met the girl? Does she know why her father is in jail?" "No," replied Heather, stubbing the remainder of her Marlboro on the ashtray before taking a fresh one out of the pack. "I think she knows on some level. You'd be surprised how perceptive kids are. We adults try to hide the ugly truths from them, and yet they take it more easily than us." "Where'd you get that from?" "Tommy Dunn. Seven years old. He had osteosarcoma... bone cancer. From the first time I saw his test results, I knew how bad the prognosis was. It was a matter of months. His parents tried so hard to hide their grief from him, but he knew." The doctor took a few moments to gather her thoughts. Heather lay on her side, propping her head up on one pillow and taking a smoke with her other hand. "He told me how he knew but he was hiding it from his parents. He didn't want them to know he knew. He wanted to give them that scant satisfaction." "He wasn't scared of dying?" "On the contrary, he was looking forward to visiting his grandma and tasting her chocolate chip cookies once more. The only thing he was sad about was his parents splitting up." "They didn't bother to hide it from him?" asked Heather coldly, taking another pull from her Marlboro. "They tried. They really did. Cancer doesn't just kill people, it kills families. The grief of seeing someone die slowly drives their loved ones into a deep, unremitting depression. Very few parents get through seeing their children die right in front of their eyes. Tommy Dunn's parents were no exception. They tried to be amicable about it and hide it from Tommy as best they could, but he knew and he blamed himself." Heather shook her head ruefully, letting tresses of auburn hair fall behind her shoulders. "I told him it wasn't his fault, but he kept blaming himself. He wished he never got cancer, only because it made his parents fight. He made me promise that I would tell his parents to stop fighting when he wasn't there any more." "When did he finally..." began Heather. Rebecca looked into her eyes and discerned the unspoken word. "November 24th, 2013 at 4:55am. Cause of death, multi-organ failure secondary to osteosarcoma metastasising to other parts of his body. I was with him the whole time. I saw the light flicker in his eyes one moment and die out the next. I called the time and I signed the death certificate. His parents were in the waiting room, finally asleep after so many long nights. I was the one who woke them up." There was silence once more. Heather held her fag over the ashtray, tapping the ashes in. "The smallest coffins are the heaviest to carry." Rebecca averted her gaze, looking at the intricate floral pattern on the bed. She did not say anything, letting the disquiet speak for her. "I pray he's with his grandma, having his favourite cookies." ** "What do you think?" said Heather with a smile, standing in the doorway. Rebecca's eyes lit up. "That's a surprise." Heather looked down, letting her slender fingers idly stroke the eight inches of rubber jutting out of her crotch. It was attached to a triangular black leather harness which looped around the lawyer's thighs and buckled to her side. The fake cock was flesh coloured and reasonably realistic, even with a network of veiny contours wrapped around the shaft. Rebecca slowly spread her legs, taking a sip of cognac. The low light in the room made her slit glisten. Heather briefly stopped to light up a fresh Marlboro. The doctor's eyes were arrested by the dildo, even as she inched across the void between them. "Ever done this before?" "A few times," she replied, lazily rubbing her clit. Her fingers dipped into her slit. She brought the wetness up to her her hardened nipple and rubbed it all over the areola. Heather bent down and took it in her mouth, relishing the tarty taste. The tip of her dildo teased and probed Rebecca's lower lips. She looked into the doctor's eyes for a final go-ahead and sank the entire length into her in one smooth motion. Rebecca gasped. Her pupils dilated at the sudden entry. She stiffened and felt her inner walls clamp down on the intruder. The grooves and ridges along the sides rubbed against her sensitive walls. Heather's lips remained fastened on the nipple, even as she drew back. She pushed in, eliciting a throaty moan from the doctor. And again, she pulled out entirely. The fake head was visible at her entrance. She plunged back in all at once, ramming into her G spot. The doctor's eyes opened wide and he muscles tightened. Her nervous system was aflame with desire, bursting out from between her legs and engulfing her entirely. She let out a throaty groan from the pit of her stomach, feeling a rising swell within her. Heather slammed in and out of her in long, rapid strokes, with the rhythm and intensity of a battering ram. Her lips left the delectable nipple and she brought her level with her lover's, pounding her. Her hips swayed back and forth, driving the amalgamation of rubber and plastic deeper into Rebecca. Each stroke connected with her G spot, spurring her on to unknown heights of ecstasy. The lawyer dropped her cigarette and wrapped her arms around Rebecca, pulling her forward. Her manicured nails left a shallow wound, but neither of them seemed to bother. Heather plowed on with renewed vigour. "More... harder." With those two simple comparatives, all pretence was thrown to the wind. Heather slammed home on every in-stroke with all the strength she could muster. Their sweaty skins were plastered together one instant and exposed to the cool air the next. Flesh splattered against flesh in a carnal celebration. Rebecca clenched her eyes and gritted her teeth. She felt her lungs deflate when she let out a piercing scream. Her sound reverberated around the room. Her closed eyes beheld an explosion of colours dancing in front of her. The rising feeling of euphoria finally crested, heralding a volcanic orgasm. A shock wave of pleasure surged from between her legs to the extremities of her limbs, leaving a tingling aftermath even as she came violently around the dildo embedded deep within her. They collapsed in an entanglement of sweaty flesh. For a few seconds the room was still spinning and the world was definitely off its axis. Rebecca lay on her back, facing the blurry ceiling and Heather rested her head on the doctor's breasts. They panted, slowly regaining their breath and Rebecca's bosom rose and fell, moving Heather with it. Dr Rebecca Maitland, MD, ached in the best way possible. ** "Is this the place?" asked Heather. The doctor nodded. "I'm not so sure about this." "You're going to do it," said Heather, pulling her Bugatti to a stop around the street corner. Rebecca took a deep breath, feeling the twin emotions of apprehension and fear flood her. Her stomach knotted with anxiety. Heather sensed it and reached over to wrap her arm around her shoulder. "I know how scary it seems at first, but it's something you need to do. You can't keep bottling it up within you. You need someone to share your burden with on a regular basis." "Otherwise?" "Otherwise..." said Heather with a derisive laugh. "Otherwise you become me. Don't do that to yourself." Rebecca leaned back into the leather seat while Heather took out a fresh cigarette and lit it. "I know a guy who knows the guy behind the New Year's Day fireworks over the city. It might take me a couple of days, but I can organize a grand fireworks display. Do you think you can bring Perry to the venue?" The doctor looked over with a weak smile. "I'll try. It all depends on how he holds up." "Cheer up, Rebecca. We'll give him the best damn fireworks display he's ever seen. He won't miss the fourth of July." "Thanks. I'm sure he'll enjoy it." The heavy resignation was evident in her tone. Heather cupped her chin and turned her face towards her. "I also want you to know that if you want to publish your paper linking Karstedt Chemicals to cancer, I'll represent you against the libel charge pro bono." Rebecca chuckled weakly and replied. "And if you keep smoking at this rate and get lung cancer in the future, you can always look me up." They sat in silence, staring at the late evening crowd shuffling out of theatres and hallways, making their way to their cars. Heather made rings of smoke against the window. "So essentially, the next time we meet will be either when you are being sued or I have lung cancer?" said Heather with a smirk. "Doesn't sound like an ideal second date if you ask me." "It is what it is. Maybe you are right. Maybe we are all fucked up and doomed to die in this apathetic excuse for society with no one to remember us." "On the contrary," began Heather, tapping the ashes out of her window. "Ever since the Belvedere trial, I am more convinced than ever that there is goodness in society." "Really?" "I was cynical before. I only saw greed and avarice, but then I realized I was looking in the wrong place. I was looking at the top - at politicians, businessmen, the rich and famous in general. They are the people I get to meet most often and hence, I assumed that any goodness in society would lie with them. I was sorely mistaken." She took another drag of her cigarette before continuing. "There is no goodness or morals in big business, big industry, big oil, big pharma or even Congress. The tragedy of our society is we let the filth rise to the top. As much as we may want it to be different, power and money corrupt everybody." "If you want goodness, look at the other end of the spectrum. Look at underpaid teachers and social workers. Look at doctors in inner city clinics. Look at the patrol cops or the firemen down the street who risk their lives for complete strangers. Look at the Good Samaritan who gives a homeless guy a twenty for a meal. Look at the teenager who helps an old lady across the road. Look at the everyday acts of kindness all around you, but for God's sake, don't look at the top." There was silence in the car as Rebecca digested all the words. It swirled inside her head, sinking into the walls she had built to protect her. "Thank you Heather," she said in a tremulous voice. "I really needed tonight. I didn't realize how much, but I needed it." "Which is all the more reason you need to get over your fear and do what we talked about. You need someone in your life to share with and care for." "What about you?" the doctor asked, her tone still trembling with emotion. Flashes in the Dark - Rebecca The sentence hung in the quiet. Heather threw the burnt fag out of her window before looking straight at the cloudless night. "It's too late for me. I don't even feel it any more," the lawyer said in an unwavering voice. "I've reached a point where I can bury it and move on." "Do you keep convincing yourself that?" "Yes." "The day I see a patient who is going to die in front of me and not feel a thing is the day I turn in my papers and walk out the door," said Rebecca with conviction. "Don't let that day come for you any sooner than it has to. Please, go and do it." They turned to look at each other once more. Heather leaned over and planted a tender kiss on the doctor's lips. Their tongues brushed each other slowly, saying a parting farewell. "Do you want me to wait until you're inside?" "No," said Rebecca. "I need to do this alone." Heather nodded in understanding and clutched her hand one last time. "You take care, Rebecca. Let me know when Perry can make it to the fireworks display." With a final peck on the lips, the doctor got out of the car. Heather sped away, leaving her all alone. She made her way to the doorway and rang the bell once. A lump caught in her throat at the thought of what she had to do next, but she was more resolute than ever to do it. The wait was painful, feeling like a small eternity to her before she heard the patter of footsteps approaching the door. She composed herself and took a deep breath as it opened. "Hi, aunt Becky!" "Hi there, Annie," she said dropping to her knees and engulfing the tiny form of her niece in a hug. "I haven't seen you in so long. You've grown so much." "I'm in second grade now," she giggled. "That's amazing," Rebecca said, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Is your Dad home?" "Annie, who is it?" Rebecca got up in time to see her brother make an appearance in the hallway. His looked stunned to see her. "Annie, help your mother lay the table for dinner, will you?" he said, sending his daughter prancing back down the hall. Rebecca watched her tiny form longingly. Her brother walked to the door and leaned against the frame. "Becky? This is a surprise." "It is, Jeff. How've you been? How's Alice?" "We're good. How have you been?" She pursed her lips, unsure how to answer. Jeff looked at her curiously for a few seconds before she spoke up. "Jeff, I'm really sorry for what happened all those years ago. If I could, I would take it all back. But we need to get past that. I need you, Alice and Annie in my life. You're all the family I have left. It's really lonely without all of you." He looked at her, then back at the room where he heard the laughter of his wife and daughter. Tears welled up in Rebecca's eyes with every passing moment of indecision. Finally, he stood aside and ushered her in. She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "I've missed you so much, Jeff. You have no idea." "I've missed you too, Becky," he said into her shoulder. "Come in. It's cold outside." They held hands as they walked down the hall. "Just so I know, what prompted you to suddenly show up at my doorstep so late in the night?" "A friend." "Must be a good friend." ***** If you want to read more stories centred around Heather Franklin, try "How To Catch A Falling Star", "The Day The Music Died", "Moira" and "Edge of Reason".