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Restoration

By: ABSTRUSE



"Fuck it!"

Blackie slammed her pencil down to the floor. She had been sketching for hours and everything was wrong. Her flow was now gone, the paper was a blur and her head was beginning to pound.

She rubbed her throbbing temples as the pain shot through her skull, highly concentrated and precise, like a laser beam penetrating her brain. Fumbling around on her desk she searched for the bottle of aspirin amongst the tubes of paint, empty cigarette packs, pencil stubs, brushes, and soda cans, when she finally found it, the bottle was empty.

"God...damnit!"

She winced in pain as she flung the empty bottle across the room. The constant headaches were starting to worry her and she wondered if she should bow out of the gallery showing. The stress of wanting to create the right painting, compounded with the nearing deadline, not to mention the upcoming holidays, were taking their toll on her physically as well as mentally.

Capturing the pose was essential; she had sketched out in her mind the layout of the painting, the semiotics involved, the colors though sparse would be a focal point and the painting itself was to be a pinnacle, in fact her swansong. This piece was to be a dedication to her brother Daniel. 

Blackie glanced over at the sprawled out form of her model. Draped on a chaise, his hard and perfectly cut torso looked delicious under the carefully positioned lights. She wanted to paint in the style of the Pre-Raphaelite artists; in her mind was the painting by Henry Wallis, "The Death of Chatterton," which depicted the poet's suicide at the young age of 17. Her use of light and color were to be prodigious as to her normal style of painting, a cross between surrealism and impressionism. As in the painting by Wallis, she too would use symbolism as a means of telling a personal story as well as light and color to set up the mood. The whole pose was affected, a mix of sensuality and sympathy, so subtle, so rarefied, so...ruined by the loud snore that came from the sleeping oaf.

Blackie walked over and kicked the sole of his foot with her boot; the sleeping Adonis woke with a startled snork.

"What the fuck?" He looked around to get his bearings.

"It ain't happening Marco, get dressed and go home." She quickly wrote out a check while he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"Sorry Blackie, I didn't mean to doze off. Portia had me out late last night and the chair was so comfortable..."

Blackie cut him off, "Don't sweat it hon, it's not your fault." She walked over to him to hand him the check. "I'll call you tomorrow and we can try it again."

"Sure no problem, I'm not doing anything tomorrow." He took the check and gathered his clothes.

"Of course you're not doing anything tomorrow. You're owned," She thought to herself as she stared at him while he was pulling his jeans up over one of the most perfect male asses ever created.

Marco was definitely eye candy and that was pretty much the extent of his depth though he was great friend to Blackie, stepping in to take over the role of a brother. He was also Portia D'Ascenzo- Conrad's delightfully hunky boy toy and the only reason Portia loaned him out to her was because Blackie was the top featured artist that would be showing at her charity event. The event was to be held in Portia's gallery and it would include an auction to benefit Aids research. Blackie didn't particularly care for Portia, but the cause was close to her heart. Her brother's lover died from Aid's related complications three years ago and it was still fresh in her mind.

Near her desk on a side table she kept a picture of her squeezed between Daniel and Evan taken the year before Evan was diagnosed with HIV. She felt the same emptiness in her that she felt when she got the news about Daniel. The feelings of having your heart shrink in your chest and drop into your stomach, it was a constant reminder that a part of her is gone forever.

Daniel was all Blackie had left as far as a family. Their mother was killed in a car accident when Daniel was 4 and Blackie was 6, their father worked long hours to be able to support his children and make their world a happy one. The fact that Blackie was an artist like her mother pleased him greatly, the fact that Daniel was a writer did not set well at first, add to the fact that his only son was gay made it more difficult. However things changed when their father met Evan, his charm and humor had won dad over and the added perks of Daniel's father getting to watch his favorite baseball team from a luxury box helped a great deal.

John Malone died the year before Evan did, they never told him what was wrong with Evan, just that he was prone to colds. It was all for the better Blackie thought; until Daniel killed himself after finding out he too was HIV positive. The stress of losing his mother at such a young age, then his father's death too early in Daniel's mind, followed by his lover's was unbearable, he took the last of Evan's painkillers leaving behind a most eloquent suicide note to Blackie. Seeing the pain her brother endured was evident in his words, though she had seen it in person, she assumed her little brother was the stronger of the two. His death threw Blackie into turmoil she began painting again, almost non-stop to keep from having to face the world, a world less colorful, less exciting, and less beautiful now that Daniel and Evan were gone. Her best and only friend Di, persuaded her to show her works in a gallery, Portia's gallery to be exact. Blackie had made it finally, but she was alone in a bittersweet twist of fate.

Portia was a pretentious and gorgeous, rich bitch; her ex-husband gave her the gallery in the divorce settlement. If Portia liked you she would spare no expense to promote you, if not you could be sure that you would never show your work in this town. She had plenty of rich friends that were willing to buy from Portia as well as many investments, a yacht, a fabulous penthouse and a young handsome boy on her arm. God she hated her.

"Hey, you okay?" Marco had been watching Blackie wince and reach for her forehead.

"Hmmm? Yea, just hurts." She made her way over to the sofa and rested her head against the back.

Marco stooped down near her and placed his hand on her knee. "Can I get you anything?" He said softly, his brow furrowed in concern when she stayed silent. "You better get checked out babe, this is the third one this week." 

Without moving or even opening her eyes she managed a weak smile and reached for his hand. "I'll be fine sweets, it's just the stress from the show coming up so soon and the holidays too. I just need some rest is all."

He gave her hand a little squeeze and smirked. "You're so full of shit girl, you hate the holidays and you're making up excuses. Look, call me if you need anything, okay?"

Blackie gave her head a slight nod 'yes' and listened to hear Marco walk towards the door, pause momentarily and then she heard the click of the door closing behind him. She reached blindly for the throw that lay across the back of the sofa, pulled it around her as she settled against the armrest and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

She woke up to the sound of the answering machine receiving a message. It was Marco checking up on her. She didn't pick up but let him leave his message while she slid her feet to the floor to stand up. Confused and a little groggy she realized that she was still fully dressed from the day before. A dull ache still remained lodged in the back of her head; deciding a hot shower was just what she needed to make the residual pain go away. She shuffled toward the bathroom peeling off her shirt and bra and tossed them to the floor. As she let the water run she glanced at herself in the vanity mirror. Her hair was in disarray; dark circles were starting to show under her eyes. She stuck out her tongue not sure what she was looking for and sighed heavily. "Who the fuck are you?" Rubbing the back of her neck she answered herself. "Oh yes. You're that washed up, no talent, pathetic, brain damaged artist."

After stripping off her yoga pants and panties she stuck her hand under the water to test the temperature, finding it to be fine she stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain closed. The steady stream of hot water felt good, it started to dissipate the pain in her head and would cleanse her of the film of failure she felt was glued to her skin. Grabbing the soap and a washcloth she scrubbed her skin roughly leaving red blotches behind, then washed her hair in the same rough manner. She felt suddenly alone; the memories of last night came back to her without mercy. Slumping down in the tub the stream of hot water began to sting her skin making her realize that she was still alive, alone and unloved. The wracking sobs that shook her body made her draw her legs up to her chest and the tears that ran down her cheeks were indecipherable from the rivulets of hot water that washed over her face. Curling into a fetal position in the bottom of the tub she lay there crying wishing she would dissolve and flow down the drain. She lay there until the water ran cold and finally forced her to turn off the icy spray. Shivering and wet she rose to her knees and pulled a towel down from the rack that hung on the wall outside of the tub. Wrapping the huge body towel around her she rose and gingerly stepped out of the tub onto the mat. Her teeth had begun to chatter and she decided to go to her bed, choosing the warmth of the comforter and blankets over the cold air of the bathroom. 

The softness of the flannel sheets and the way the comforter compressed her further into a small safe cocoon made her feel warmer. The thought of having a lover's arms wrapped around her made her a little warmer but then again reminded her, she was lonely. She was also hungry. It was time to get dressed and get moving the thought of coffee and a bagel made her empty stomach growl. Hopefully the change of scenery, being with other humans may help her to refocus all together.

She changed into comfortable jeans and a black thermal shirt, dried her hair and brushed her teeth. Slipping into her favorite pair of motorcycle boots and grabbing her long black wool coat she headed towards the door. Something caught her eye as she reached for the doorknob. Tucked into the light switch near the doorframe was a pale blue business card. She pulled it out and found a handwritten message on it. "B, call this # tell them I sent you. It will help you, M." She almost expected to see a little smiley face drawn underneath his name. Flipping the card over she read, "The Restoration" and a number. "Must be one of Portia's flaky friends." She thought as she stuffed the card into her jean pocket and headed out the door.

Outside she was greeted by an overcast day, a few light flurries floated through the air, she pulled her coat around her before taking in a deep breath of the gloom and started down the street to her favorite café. 

As she walked in she noticed it was more crowded than usual, Christmas shoppers popped in to warm up with a quick cup of something-a-chino. The tacky Christmas decorations glared out at her as she approached the counter and ordered her usual coffee and bagel, she blocked out the retro Christmas music playing on the portable CD player. Reaching into her pocket for her money she pulled out the pale blue card at the same time, it fell near her feet. She bent down to pick it up, "The Restoration" smiled back at her and she rolled her eyes before slipping it back in her pocket. Gathering up her order she looked for a place to sit amongst the yuletide shoppers and regulars. Spotting a single table in the back corner she pushed past a few people trying to figure out if they should go for the skinny cappucinolatte or carb-free mochalattechino. 

Setting down her real coffee and bagel, she then removed her coat and placed it on the back of her chair before she sat down and dove into her bagel with double cream cheese. Food can be a good thing she thought to herself not remembering when she last ate anything. The hot coffee was just what she needed and she began to relax. Nibbling on her bagel she read a discarded newspaper left on the table. Flipping through the pages of Christmas ads, news of the war, reading the art and book reviews she soon found herself looking at the obituaries. Her heart felt like it flipped over in her chest when she saw the name of her best friend in Art school. He was an awesome artist and fashion designer, when they graduated he was snatched up by one of the European fashion houses. They lost contact after a while until Blackie saw him again in the hospital when Evan was in for his last time. It wasn't listed that he died of Aids, she knew that's what it was, he had told her when they had rehashed what had been going on since the last time they saw each other. The stigma would be too much for the family, so there would be a memorial service and family viewing only. Just like it was for Evan and Daniel.

A torrent of memories came rushing back to her and it wasn't until she noticed the dark spots spreading across the newspaper that she realized she was crying. She wiped her eyes with her shirtsleeve and took a sip of her coffee. It was cold. Christ how long was she sitting there weeping? She needed to get out of there right away before some good soul full of holiday spirit tried to console her, being left at the mercy of her emotions was not something Blackie liked to do in private, let alone lose in public. Hurriedly grabbing her cup and bagel remnants she threw them away wrapped her coat over her shoulders and ran out the door.

Once outside the door the cold air stung her teary eyes, she put her head down and pushed her way blindly through the happy multitudes until she reached her front stoop. Her head started to hurt again, she cursed as she fumbled with the keys in the lock, working up a sweat until finally opening the front door. Blackie leaned back against the door trying not to hyperventilate. She took off her coat and hung it near the door before sitting down on the sofa, as she started to sit she felt a stab in her upper thigh. Startled, she stood upright slid her hand into her jean pocket and pulled out the pale blue card.

"What the hell is with this anyway?" she yelled as she threw the card onto the coffee table. Her head throbbed more now making her nauseous and she ran to the bathroom to vomit.

Pulling herself up to the sink she washed her face and rinsed out her mouth. After drying her face she leaned against the sink and looked hard at her reflection. Combing her fingers through her short shock of bleached blonde hair she saw an apparition of herself, pale and wane, her blue eyes were dull. What the hell happened to her? When did it all go to shit? A wave of fury swept over her.

"It should have been you!" she screamed as she glared at the soulless reflection and stormed out of the bathroom not before throwing a can of hairspray at the mirror sending thousands of shards imprinted with Blackie's pained expression scattered across the bathroom.

Back in her studio she noticed the light flashing on her answering machine as she searched for a pack of matches. Playing back the messages, two from Marco and one from someone trying to sell her a timeshare, she decided she had better return Marco's calls before he came over and broke down the door. Picking up the phone she dialed Marco back and reassured him that she was fine, just not in the mood to draw today. He asked if she had found the card and made her promise to call the number. She did so to pacify him so he would chill for a while.

Walking towards the easel she stared at the blank paper waiting for her touch, then she looked over the sketches scattered across the floor. She pulled out a cigarette, lit it, took a long drag and slowly exhaled. The smoke lingered, wrapping itself around the easel giving it an ethereal frontage back lit by the late morning sun creating swirling, dancing figures that mesmerized Blackie. As she stared hypnotically at the undulating smoke the image of her brother appeared to her, mouthing her name. Startled she jumped back a step rubbing her eyes and when she looked again, he was gone. Reaching out she touched the sketch paper, it was cool and smooth, there was nothing of Daniel there, it had all been in her mind. She was losing it, her mind was failing her and now she was hallucinating. 

"I'm standing on the threshold of madness." She thought. "But aren't all artists mad?" she asked of no one, pacing the floor and smoking feverishly on her cigarette. "Van Gogh cut off his ear, Latrec indulged in absinthe, Chatterton and Plath killed themselves how many other artists, writers, poets and musicians had gone mad or died? Was it the curse of the creative thought process that tormented them, the pursuit of artistic integrity or the deep passionate yearning to show the beauty only they could see? The line from an Eliot poem came to mind...I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas."

Blackie felt weighed down, angry, hurt, sad and hopeless. All her emotions were confused, as was her mind. She hated being alone in her own head with her own mental demons; it was if they laughed at her failure, constantly reminding her of weaknesses, feeding off her pain. They needled her endlessly invading her sleep with dreams of what she didn't have, yet desired, whispering deliberate imperfections in her ear, they were like leeches on her soul suckling away what was left of her spirit. She paused and realized she had ended up in the living room. As she bent to stub out her cigarette the pale blue card caught her eye as if beckoning to her. She picked it up, rubbing her thumb across the embossed print, "The Restoration". 

~The Mind~

Blackie stood outside of the townhouse checking the address she had written down. It looked normal; nothing unusual about this one made it stand out from the rest and the neighborhood was in a nicer section of town. She took a deep breath and walked up the steps to the oaken wood and glass doorway. Pressing the buzzer she fought back the urge to turn around and go back home.

"Can I help you?" the unattached voice asked. It was a woman's voice, almost sensuous and sort of husky, not what Blackie expected. She had talked to a gentleman when she first called.

"Um...Blackie Malone, I have an appointment."

"Come in please." The buzzer sounded to let her inside the small foyer where another door stood, unsure she opened it and stepped inside.

The room was small with a high ceiling, the floor was a glossy hardwood dotted with a few tatami mats and the off white walls were decorated with scrolls that depicted some kind of calligraphy. Clusters of white candles were lit on the floor and on small tables in the sparsely decorated room, the only color was from a huge swath of purple silk that hung from ceiling to floor. A large gold hook suspended it splitting it into two sections that were tied back with gold silk braids secured to the wall serving as a framework for another doorway. Blackie could smell incense burning; it was Sandalwood as far as she could tell. She wondered what she had gotten herself into; she knew nothing about these people or what 'Restoration' meant.

The sound of footsteps broke her from her reverie and a woman appeared in the doorway.

"Hello Blackie, would you come this way please?" The voice was the one she had heard earlier at the door. "I'm Vivienne, welcome." She held out her hand to Blackie and smiled. Blackie extended her hand to shake it, but the woman took her hand and pulled the tall blonde close to her, hugging her. 

Vivienne released from the embrace and looked into Blackie's eyes. "Such pain." It was all she said as she pressed her hand against Blackie's cheek.


Restoration



"Are we sure we want to sell the house? It's in a great location and it should be scarfed right up. There won't be second thoughts to be had about it. Sales in Mystic are booming."

Daren Peters was standing at a window at the back of the house, taking a break with a cup of coffee, while his older sister, Peggy, chattered on as she continued packing boxes to send back to California. She was getting all of the good stuff, but that was fine with Daren. Once he'd left Mystic, he hadn't come back—even during college. There'd always been an away tennis match to go to or prepare for. And he had no place to put the stuff now anyway. As of the previous weekend, he had no place at all. Walking out on Tony in a gigantic blowout—the blowouts having increased in intensity the last few months—and getting the phone call from Mystic almost before he'd hit the street had both contributed to very bad timing.

His mother's health had been declining for some time, so her death didn't come as a surprise. They'd kept in touch over the past fourteen years, but he hadn't been back to Mystic since he'd taken off for his first year at the University of Connecticut. His mother had visited him often at the university but never had insisted that he come home. On some level, Daren had always thought his mother knew why Daren wasn't coming home and was content with letting it be. She, of course, didn't know that what he'd done in Mystic could almost as easily be done in Storrs, home to U.Conn.

After he graduated and took a job she regularly visited him in New York City, as well, as had Peggy, from her California movie studio job—over 3,000 miles and a whole universe away. His father had died when Daren was a toddler, lost at sea in the Gulf of Aqaba, when the naval ship he captained had gone down in a freak missile firing. Daren had gone fatherless until he found a substitute on his own. There were some who would say that would help explain some things in his life.

"I think so, Peg," he answered, although his attention was split between his sister's chattering—a false cheerfulness, he knew, as they were mere hours back from the funeral and Peggy had been very close to their mother—and the spread next door, where a young man was getting tennis instruction from an older one on a tennis court behind the neighboring house. "There's no way you're going to be lured back to Connecticut from the West Coast, I know, and this place is too large for me." And too many memories too, he thought.

"You never seemed to be content here," Peggy said.

"No. Those were frustrating years."

"But, still. It all worked out for you. Well, once . . . you know?"

"Once I accepted that I was gay and settled down with that notion, you mean?"

"Well . . . yes, I guess."

Peggy had been a brick about that. Both she and their mother had. Of course, it had been easier for Peggy. She'd been four years gone when Daren had been coming of age and was struggling with his sexual identity. And she was in the movie business in L.A. She no doubt had seen it all and learned to accept it all.

His mother had accepted it in a more tentative and on-edge way, going from wondering out loud where she'd gone wrong—while accepting that it was so—to continually being oversensitive and indulgent about it. She'd never said a peep about it being Tony's apartment she visited in New York or that Tony and Daren slept in the same bed.

"How is Tony, by the way?" Peggy asked, snapping Daren's attention back into the room, Peggy sounding so much like his mother that, for a second, the death and funeral were both swept away. But his own form of grief rushed right back in.

"I'm sure Tony is fine," he answered. At some point Peggy would get the point—that there wasn't a Tony anymore. That once more Daren was on his own.

"Of course New York isn't that far away. And you can do your work right here. You could bring the paintings back here to restore them, couldn't you? There are so many rooms in this house that you wouldn't have any trouble setting up a studio. But then Tony's work traps him in the city, doesn't it?"

She was fishing. She finally was on the beam and was fishing for a finish.

"Yes, Tony's work keeps him in New York. And I don't think I ever could come back to this house."

His eyes were back on the tennis court of the house next door. The tennis lesson seemed to be coming to a halt. The two were at the side of the court, toweling off, both with their shirts off. Both in great condition, even the older man. The two were chatting amicably. Daren wondered if . . . but it wasn't his business to wonder.

"I see that Stan Waller still lives next door," he said.

"Does he? I didn't know. I wonder if he's still playing on the pro circuit," Peggy said absentmindedly. "Are you sure you don't want this crystal bowl? It came down through Dad's family, and you're the boy. You have the family name."

"No, it's fine. I don't want the bowl. And, no, Stan isn't playing pro tennis anymore. He must be over fifty. Well, no, not quite fifty, I guess. But tennis players don't play very far into their thirties. He's coaching now, I know. I see him occasionally on TV during coverage of the Opens. Sitting in the coach's box."

"Do you? I didn't realize you had kept up with him." Did her voice have a sad edge to it when she said that? Daren didn't have time to think about that, as she continued to talk. "I wonder if this table runner is worth shipping."

Daren looked around to where Peggy was holding up a crocheted piece of material. "I think Grandmother Karen made that."

"Ah, well, to California it goes then. Maybe dry cleaning will brighten it up. I was thinking of going down to the harbor for lunch. Maybe Mystic Pizza isn't overwhelmed with tourists today. Do you want to come?"

"I think not. I see that Stan has ended a tennis lesson. I think I'll go over and talk with him." And indeed, the session next door appeared to be ending with the tennis student walking down to the driveway and a Mustang convertible and Stan entering the back porch of his house.

"Do you really think that's wise?" Peggy asked, her voice a little tight. "It's been how long? Fifteen years?"

"Only eleven." He paused at that. He should have said 'only thirteen,' but Peggy hadn't caught the gaff. He quickly continued talking. "I'm not sure that anything in life is wise," Daren said. "Go ahead down to the waterfront for lunch. You need a long break from this. Perhaps we can go back there for dinner tonight. I'll probably be leaving tomorrow."

But where would he go when he left? He couldn't go back to Tony's apartment in the city. And even his art restoration studio was attached to Tony's import house. Daren hadn't thought about tomorrow. He hadn't even thought of coming here to see if there was anything he wanted from the house. He certainly hadn't thought about spying on Stan Waller giving a tennis lesson next door. He hadn't thought about any future at all beyond his mother's funeral earlier that day.

He looked intensely at the roof of the screened porch next door to see whether Stan Waller would come out of his house again.

* * * *

"Can I come up?"

Stan swiveled his head around to take in Daren Peters standing at the bottom of the steps up to the screened porch on the back of Stan's house.

"Yes, of course, Daren, please do. I was hoping you would come over. I was sorry to hear about your mother. I didn't feel it right to come to the funeral, though."

"I understand," Daren said as he entered the porch. Stan Waller was sitting in a wicker chair. There was another one near it, with a side table between. Four cans of frosted beer sat on the table.

Stan gestured to the empty chair. "Take a load off. Care for a beer?"

"You were going to drink four beers?" Daren asked, as he settled into the wicker chair and took a beer. He was turned toward Stan when he did. Still shirtless, Stan didn't look to Daren like he was forty-nine years old. In physique he wasn't much less well-muscled than he'd been fourteen years ago when Daren turned eighteen.

"I'd hoped you would come over and join me. I saw you in the window of your mother's house, watching the tennis lesson. It's why I sent Brian on his way. I was hoping you would come down."

"Otherwise?"

"I would have taken him into the house, yes. A lot has changed in the last twenty years, Daren. Not that."

"Is Ken still—?"

"Ken died two years ago. He never made it far up into the rankings, so I guess his death in an auto accident didn't make the headlines. His career was essentially over anyway."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I. It gave me some stability in my life. You know, I'm surprised I never saw your name in the rankings. You showed great promise. An intercollegiate champ from U.Conn."

"You kept track."

"Yes, of course I did. You were one of my young men."

"Just one of them? The high school seniors mowing your lawn in exchange for tennis lessons."

"Yes, but you were the best. You always were my best."

"My interests drifted off into something else. You did that for me as well."

"Oh?"

"The artwork you collected in your world travels on the circuit. The Shunga prints. The collection of old masters in oils—and in the basement, your Roberts prints in that room you set up out of the Arabian Nights. You still have that room?"

"Yes, but I don't understand about—"

"The artworks. You helped turn my interests toward art. Not painting it, although it started off there. Restoring it. It became a good profession for me. I work out of New York."

"Ah, I'm glad to have had a beneficial effect on you in some way."

"Your effect on me was beneficial in every way, Stan," Daren said, as he reached for his second beer and looked directly into Stan's eyes. "It wasn't always clear at the time, but it clarified my life for me. I have few regrets there."

"And are you living with someone now?"

"No, not as of five days ago."

"Ah. You are looking good, Daren. Really good. You can't be keeping in shape by restoring artworks."

"I'm still playing tennis, and spending time in the gym. But thanks, you're looking great too. You've hardly changed since back then, when I'd just turned eighteen."

"Yes, when you turned eighteen. Do you remember that corny line, 'Want to come up and see my etchings?'" Stan asked, as he crushed the empty of his second beer can in the strong grip of his big hand. "To think it led to a career for you."

"It led to a lot, and yes, I had been dying to see your etchings."

"You asked about the Arabian Nights room." This said in a low, hoarse voice. "Would you like to come in and see my Arabian Nights room again?"

"Yes, Stan, I would like that very much."

* * * *

They fucked with abandon on a stack of silk pillows in a windowless basement room with red gauze-covered walls to simulate a tent. They fucked like they'd been hungry for each other for years, which they had been. They fucked like they'd been "perfect fit" lovers for years, which for three years—one right here and two in motel rooms near the U.Conn. campus—they had been.

Before he rolled Daren over on his belly, encircled his waist to bring him up on all fours, and furiously fucked him to completion like a dog, Stan held the younger, moaning man in a side split, embracing him from behind, an arm around Daren's neck, bowing the younger man's back, and turning Daren's face to his for a deep, possessive, prolonged kiss. The hand of his other arm was pulling Daren's left leg back over on top of his thighs, as Stan strained to get his cock inside Daren as deeply as he could, which was deeper than any other man had been.

They rocked against each other's bodies, murmuring whenever they came up for air about how long it had been, how good it still was, how much they had missed each other, how tragic it was they'd let the time go by. The two of them panting, breathing heavily, grunting and groaning at the straining to merge their bodies into one hungry, powerful fucking machine. Daren crying out in passion as Stan dug deeper, thrust harder, pistoned faster.

"I'm going to come!" Daren called out in a strangled voice. Stan rolled off to the side, gripping the back of Daren's neck with one hand and bringing the other down to push two fingers into Daren's ass to gyrate the tips of his fingers on Daren's prostate, as Daren stroked his cock and sent an arc of cum up his belly. Immediately, Stan turned and pulled Daren's back into his chest, grabbed Daren's left leg and raised it in the air, and rolled his pelvis into Daren's buttocks. Daren arched his back and gave a little cry, as Stan's cock slid home again and started to pump.

They collapsed in a heap as the end approached, with Stan rising up on his knees beside Daren's trembling, prone body, stripping the condom off, shooting off on Daren's cheek, and Daren opening his mouth to the cock to clean it off. Just like the old days.

Stan reached down and cupped, distended, and rolled Daren's balls, as, arching his backing and grimacing in intense concentration, Daren stroked his own cock to another completion.

Collapsing beside him and pulling him into his embrace, Stan whispered, "As good as it ever was. You always were my best boy. You've lost none of your flexibility. Hole's not as tight, of course, but that's to be expected. Opens to me faster now."

"Nor has your sexual prowess diminished. And you still are my best man," Daren murmured. The heat and sexual acrobatics had brought the realization to Daren's mind that Tony hadn't been coming close to satisfying him in bed—and to the understanding as well that being satisfied in bed was important to him. They had drifted into being a vanilla married couple—although they'd never gotten around to marrying, thank God. Stan was more than satisfying in bed—and in a chair and on the floor and on top of a table. He always had been; he still was. The biggest, thickest, most vigorous cock Daren had ever taken. He had ached for it as an eighteen-year-old. He ached for it now. He ached to have it again.

As if tuned into Daren's thoughts, Stan asked, perhaps a bit nervously, "Neither one of us is young enough to go all night as we used to. Have you had enough?"

"Never enough."

"We can take a break, and then do you want to see my old masters again?"

"You'll never be old to me; you'll always be my master."

"I mean the paintings upstairs." Stan laughed.

"I knew what you meant. I wanted to make the other perfectly clear, though. And how can you say old? You're hard again."

"Why, yes I am. I'm so glad you noticed." He already had another condom packet in his hand and was splitting it open. "I'll stop, though, if you want me to."

In answer, Daren reached down to roll the condom onto Stan's cock.

Daren cried out in passion and surrender, as Stan, on his back, his knees raised, with Daren's chest resting against his thighs, pulled Daren's now wide-open passage down on the cock, embraced Daren's chest in his arms, pulling his shoulder blades back into Stan's pecs, lacing his legs through Daren's and raising and spreading them, and, showing that he still was an athlete, started to pump hard up into Daren's hole. Making Daren scream across the top of the clouds like he hadn't done for eleven years.

Restoring Daren's sense of need for it.

* * * *

"Tell me," Daren asked as he sat on a stool across a kitchen island from Stan, who was leaning on the counter, supported on spread arms, "the rumors have always been that you were secretly working for U.S. Intelligence as you traveled the pro tennis circuit. I think they're called NOCs—nonofficial cover, I think that's what the acronym means. Is it true?"

Both men were naked still. Both had half hards. Both knew this was just an interlude to more fucking. Once started, Stan never took his men just once. Stan had always been virile and vigorous. He liked fucking men multiple times in a session, to exhaustion. Daren had every reason to know that.

"I couldn't say. I could say that when I graduated from the Naval Academy and then did my Marines stint, I worked a year in naval intelligence before going with tennis. I think that's where the rumors started. I went on the pro tennis circuit too late."

"Not too late to have gathered all of these valuable paintings with your winnings," Daren said. He'd gone hard just in walking around the first floor of the house and looking at the oil paintings Stan had.

"Well, it helps to have two incomes," Stan said, with a wink.

"You're a complex man, Stan. And there is much more to you than most see."

"Correct. Most don't see my cock." Stan laughed.

"That's the truth. It's the biggest and best cock I've ever had."

"Thank you. I aim to serve."

"There's certainly nothing wrong with your aim—or your serve."

"I meant it when I said you were my best boy," Stan said, suddenly more serious. "You could be my boy again, you know. I want to be your daddy again."

"Hard to think in those terms when I'm thirty-two."

"You know," Stan countered, "that age isn't an issue in a daddy and sub relationship. You know what I mean when I say I want to be your daddy—what I'd do with you and what you'd do for me. I know you. You want to be my boy. Age isn't the issue—as long as I can get it up and use it."

"You really messed up my teen years," Daren said, sliding off the issue Stan raised, something that had been germinating in the back of his mind as well. "I wanted you since I was fifteen. There were three years of maximum frustration there. It made my life hell. But you made me wait until I was eighteen." Stan had been the father figure Daren hadn't had for a good five years as he came into his teens and then, from age eighteen, had been his daddy in an entirely different sense. More recently, Tony, of the same general age as Stan, had been employed as a substitute father figure in both of those senses. But Daren realized now that this relationship hadn't cut it.

"Did you make all of your young men wait, Stan?" he continued. It had been an agonizing period of confusion, guilt, and frustration for Daren.

"All of them, yes. I wouldn't get into the shit of fucking anyone underage. I didn't need to. I didn't see any guy's desirability in terms of being his age."

He paused and looked away, but then turned back and continued. "There were no others that I had to take cold showers to stay away from when they were fifteen, like I did you. I didn't want you because you were fifteen; I wanted you because you were you. I was as anxious and frustrated at holding off as you were. And you teased and tortured me, noting from your seventeenth birthday how many days there were before your eighteenth birthday."

"And then on the morning of my eighteenth birthday I came over for a tennis lesson . . ."

". . . and we never made it to the court. I asked you that corny question about seeing my etchings, brought you in here, and fucked the hell out of you."

"It was a nightmare at first—even though I ached for it and for some time."

"You screamed like a stuck pig, but you insisted you didn't want me to stop. You'd teased me into a fury. I lost control, I never was more sorry."

"But after that first time, I begged for it again and again, and you fucked me again and again—and then it was all I imagined it could be. Just like today, down in the basement."

"God, I've missed you, Daren."

"You pulled away from me after those two years at U.Conn."

"Motel rooms became so tawdry. And the press was nosing around. I could only admit to so much—for both our sakes. You were gaining a reputation in intercollegiate tennis. And you were too good for me. I didn't want you to be in my shadow and I would never have been happy in yours. Ken came along. He was content to let me stand in the light. I settled down. You know, after Ken came along, it was just him. Then one was enough. One could be enough again, Daren."




Restoration



Blackie could see her pain mirrored in the woman's eyes, the clearest lightest blue eyes that she had ever seen they almost looked transparent. It was if she could see into Blackie's very soul. At first she thought the woman was Asian with her jet black hair pulled back into a severe ponytail and her petite frame dressed in a jade silk jacket and pants, but the eyes proved her wrong. 

Vivienne led Blackie into the next room; it was darker and illuminated only by a few candle groupings. After taking the taller woman's coat she motioned for them to sit down. They sat on cushions in front of a small table on which two earthenware cups and a teapot were waiting.

Reminding the blonde of a geisha performing a tea ceremony Vivienne kneeled down sitting on the backs of her feet and poured them both a cup of tea. She smiled as she handed a cup to Blackie who was sitting cross-legged and watching her intently.

"I enjoy a cup of tea when I chat, don't you? It relaxes the body and stimulates the mind." She inhaled the fragrant tea and took a small sip. "It's my own secret blend, I hope you like it."

Blackie broke away from Vivienne's gaze long enough to sip her tea. It was unlike any she had ever tasted before, a mix of fruit and spices, slightly sweet and very good. "It's delicious, thank you."

Vivienne leaned back holding her cup in two hands still smiling. "There's no need to feel nervous lovely, I'm here to help you. Marco must have been very concerned or you wouldn't be here now."

Blackie sat looking into her cup as she replied. "To be honest, I have no idea why I am here."

Vivienne threw her head back and laughed. "I hear that from every person who has sat right where you are now. You know very well why you're here, lovely."

Normally Blackie would have told her 'Fuck off' and left, but it was as if she couldn't move, even the thought of being laughed at didn't upset her. "The bitch must have drugged me with this tea." She thought.

"I assure you, lovely, I am not laughing at you and the tea is all natural. You're here because you are disconnected."

Blackie felt the blood drain from her face, "You can read my mind? Look, if this is some kind of cult, I want out, now." She put her cup on the table and started to rise. Vivienne took her hand quickly, looking at Blackie with a solemn expression causing her to stop her ascent.

"We are not a cult, I promise you that, we are here to help the lost ones find themselves. Please sit and let me explain." Vivienne pulled her down toward the table holding Blackie's hand in both of hers.

"I'm listening." Blackie replied softly. Vivienne's hands were warm and it was if she sent calming vibrations through her self into the taller blonde.

"The Restoration is a group spread out worldwide that have a mission to help restore a human soul back to it's original self. Our group is very old, older than the cult of the Christ, older than any known religious following on Earth."

"Hold on, so you're saying you're a very old religious group that fixes broken souls, broken human souls? What the hell do you mean by that? Do you understand how farfetched this sounds?" Blackie was growing slightly agitated.

"I never said we were a religious group, lovely. Religion is the belief in a higher entity, we do not believe in a higher power other than the power of our own spirit or soul. The human mind is incapable of understanding all that is within one's grasp. One can see, feel, hear the elements but one does not truly understand their powers, nor does one truly understand the spirit within all living things. The spirit itself is alive and being so it can become harmed or damaged, so it sometimes disconnects itself from the mind and body. We help you to restore all three as it is essential that they work together or one can never heal properly."

Blackie tried to make sense of what she heard, "Are you saying that my soul has disconnected from my body and my mind?"

"Yes it has, you can feel it has can't you? You're consumed by anger and sadness, you've forgotten how to laugh and find joy in the simplest of things. There is a dull film over all you see that no color or light can penetrate. You blame yourself for things you have no control over, you're angry at those who have left you behind, and you feel anything you do now is all in vain. You feel you are a person unworthy of being loved by others that you don't deserve to be loved nor do you see your self worth. The concept of time is foreign to you now, that lack of placement is making you feel like you have lost your mind, am I correct?"

Blackie's heart began to race hearing this stranger tell her everything she held hidden inside of herself. She felt as if her very being was dissected and now lay spread out for the world to see, she was now out in the open. For the first time in a very long time she was afraid of being discovered as the fraud she really was on the outside.

Her mouth was suddenly dry and she picked up her cup and gulped down the last of her tea.

"Okay, so you're what, some kind of metaphysical freak? What next? You take me into a past life regression and bring up every horrible incident I've endured then also? You already have me flailing on the pin, out in the open and ready to be studied, I won't resist since you seem to know everything already."

Vivienne smiled slightly, "Metaphysical freak, huh? Well that's the first time I've been called that, close but no cigar. I am of a higher dimensional spirit, some call us angels if that helps, but I am just a restorer plain and simple. I am neither man nor woman but both. You can feel me, so to you I am physical, yet in truth I am a being of light. I am ancient beyond what you're mind can conceive yet I never grow old. Anthropomorphized to make it easier to give help to humanity. I know this is difficult for you to comprehend at this time, but it will all make sense soon enough."

"I hope so because I have no fucking clue to what is going on now. This has got to be a hallucination because there is no way in hell this can be real." Blackie felt like she was trapped in some remote part of her subconscious, she had to be sleeping and any moment she would wake up and be lying in her bed alone.

Vivienne stood up and motioned for Blackie to do the same, it was time to start the restoration process. Taking her hand and guiding her into another room Vivienne handed her a pale blue robe, then she instructed her to remove all of her clothing and jewelry then place them on the shelf behind her. There were also slippers for her to put on as well. Blackie waited for the petite brunette to leave the room unsure of what was ahead of her, glancing around to make sure there were no hidden cameras or any other things that could signify some kind of danger. She found nothing of the kind and then realized she was being silly, Marco would never send her to anywhere that she could be harmed. Shrugging her shoulders she decided she had nothing to lose and removed her clothing, shoes and jewelry before putting on the robe and slippers.

The robe itself was so soft and light that even as she tied the belt around her waist she felt as though she were wearing nothing at all. The slippers too were just as comfortable. She felt very relaxed when Vivienne returned, once again taking her by the hand and leading her into yet another room.

This room was all white, as if it where made of pure light, yet it didn't hurt Blackie's eyes. She could see no walls, no floor or any windows it was just pure white space. Vivienne turned to face her and took both of Blackie's hands within hers before speaking; their eyes became fixed on one another. Vivienne's smile relaxed her making her feel very safe and oddly enough, very loved.

"Mary Katherine," she used Blackie's real name, the one she hated since it made her sound like an Irish Catholic nun. "You've come here at the most significant time of the year. At this time humanity, through the celebration of the birth of the Christ, is at it's most loving. We are going to meditate together, when your mind is clear we will look into your past so you can understand your present and future. This will not be easy Mary Katherine, you will see things you've repressed and face them again, but it is necessary for you to do so to enable yourself to move on, it's all part of the restoration process. You're stronger than you think, lovely and I will be with you at all times."

They sat together on the floor side-by-side, legs crossed with Vivienne's right hand holding Blackie's left hand. Vivienne instructed her on how to breathe, to allow the air to fill her lungs and to expel all negative thoughts and feelings. When her mind was clear of all thoughts, Vivienne told her to open her eyes.

They were back in Blackie's college dorm room, it was Christmas eve and Blackie was decorating a pathetic little Charlie Brown tree with origami ornaments she made, her favorite string of faux pearls and other assorted bits of nonsense. The Cat in the Hat would serve as the tree topper. Blackie plugged in the single strand of lights. "Perfect!" 

Her roommate Sophia, Queen of the Goths and Siouxsie Sioux wannabe rolled her eyes and went back to reading her collective works of Edgar Allen Poe. "I don't know why you even bother, it's not like you're religious." She sighed.

"I know that", Blackie grinned widely." It's just that this time of the year, everything feels right, like even the worst things in life are minimized. The big project we have due, doesn't matter, it's Christmas, and there's no time for sadness or despair."

Sophia looked up over her book at Blackie, her face frozen in a permanent scowl. "You're not going to go into some speech like they do in those old black and white movies and drone on about Christmas miracles and all that crap I hope?"

"No, life of the party, I'm not, I just feel really good is all. It wouldn't hurt you for one day to forego the angst of anarchy and antihumanitarianism. The Nihilistic thing isn't always going to work."

Blackie then started to wrap some gifts so she could be ready when her father picked her up to go home for Christmas Eve dinner. Taunting Sophia was always a high point of her day.

"I like my angst thank you. Besides the commercialism surrounding this whole charade makes me ill, so I choose to not enjoy the fact that others are making money off of sweatshop labor, underpaid salespeople, and the whole materialistic ideal behind the gift giving thing. It's some Jewish kid's birthday and the whole world has to go nuts."

The blonde gave a sly smile to Sophia, "I guess that means you don't want to go caroling huh?"

"I would rather be dragged through town by my pubic hairs then go caroling." Sophia slid off her bed and reached under her pillow. She walked over to her roomie and presented her with a small package wrapped in black paper. "Here, ya psycho bitch."

Blackie took the package and looked at Sophia quizzically. "What's this?"

Sophia was chewing on her lower lip. "It's a present, stupid. Now before you get all mushy and queer on me, it's just that...out of the 5 roommates I've had so far, you're the only one who treated me like a human and I wanted to let you know that I'm grateful." That said Sophia hugged Blackie adding, "And if you mention this to anyone I'll tell everyone you're a raging diesel dyke that rolls her own tampons."

"It's okay, I tell everyone you drink blood." Blackie smiled at Sophia. She then reached over to the little tree, taking a small paper crane off of a branch, she handed it to Sophia. "Merry Christmas Dracula."

The Goth Queen smiled as she cupped the little bird in her hand and gave Blackie a sly sideways glance. "Merry Christmas...Mary Katherine." Before Sophia could run away, Blackie had managed to hit her with her pillow and the two girls landed on the floor laughing.

Blackie stood there smiling remembering that Christmas Eve and all the fun that her and Sophia shared those last few years of college. 

"I wonder what ever happened to her?"

Vivienne laughed. "She's married with 3 kids, a dog and teaches Sunday school."

"Wow, never saw that one coming."

They soon found themselves in a darkened apartment. The only light came from a doorway that was cracked open; inside they could see a young blonde girl sitting on a bed looking through old photos. She had been drinking out of a whiskey bottle and was quite intoxicated. Tears streamed down her face as she held up the photos, gently running her fingers along the faces of her brother and Evan. It was her first Christmas without them and the last Christmas she would celebrate.

"Why? I can't be alone you know that, I can't do this you selfish bastard." She took another drink out of the almost empty bottle, some of the whiskey spilled down her chin. She wiped it away with her sleeve and continued. "I would have taken care of you, I would have taken your pain away. We could have gone to Europe like we said we were going to when we were kids. I would sell my paintings and you would write your novel. We would travel through Italy and France and we would laugh and drink and...you...you had to go and ruin it all. You fucking coward! All of you, all of you left me here to deal with it...fuckers! First momma, then daddy, and then Evan...then you Daniel. I would have taken care of you like I always did but you didn't even give me a choice...I hate you!"

With that Blackie stood up and smashed the bottle against the wall crying out angrily at her lost family until she finally fell to the floor bitterly sobbing, her face buried in the rug, gripping her hands through the pile as if she were going to be dragged away by force. Eventually she passed out drunk and exhausted.

Blackie looked down on her past self, her lower lip quivered as she remembered that Christmas and how much she wanted to be dead also. The anguish she felt lessened throughout the years but never fully went away. She always felt like a big part of her was dead, her heart and soul felt as if someone had taken a pick axe and methodically hollowed out parts of her, the parts that made her who she was. She suddenly felt sick and wanted to leave, pushing past Vivienne she ran out of the bedroom and was back in the white room again.

Trying to keep from passing out she bent down so her hands rested on her knees and she took in deep breaths.

"That's not fucking funny Viv, why did you do that?" she growled.

Vivienne hated this part of the restoration, she hated seeing human pain and suffering but she knew it was needed. She carefully placed her hand on Blackie's back to let her know she wasn't alone and that she was there to help.

"I didn't do that lovely, your inner self brought out the memory. You have to face the pain and conquer it, you have to take away its power and gain control again."

"And how the hell do I do that?" Blackie retorted. "Accept that those good people deserved to die so young, that they can never make an impact on the world? Accept that my brother was weak and selfish?"

"Accept that you are still alive, accept that death is a part of your mortality and that the earth is still spinning through space even though you feel your life is hell. You're angry with them for something you couldn't control; you saw them abandoning you, who's the weak and selfish one now? Be angry with the whiskey that man drunk before his car hit your mother's car, be angry at your father's heart for failing him, be angry at the disease which stole the lives of not just two people, but millions of people. Be angry at your own selfishness that allowed you to get this far.

People who survived the atrocities of war are less of martyrs than you, what makes your pain so damn special? You're no different than the mother who is so strung out on heroin she doesn't even realize her baby is dead in the crib right next to her and has been dead for three days. This difference is she escaped her reality in a drug; you escaped yours by shutting out the world.

You can't save the world Blackie, one person can't do it alone, so instead of accepting that you chose to make pain and suffering your personal crusade. You did it to the point where you blurred reality and fantasy building a façade so high and so thick that no person could penetrate it."

Blackie stood up quickly and spun to face Vivienne. "Shut the fuck up, you have no idea what you're talking about. I did what I had to do to get by and if building a wall kept me from being hurt again, that's what I had to do, it's my goddamn life and I'll live it my way."

Vivienne stood there staring into Blackie's eyes showing no emotion what so ever. This was a crucial point and she needed to be careful in her choice of words and actions. Blackie was so close to a revelation. She decided to push the envelope.

"No I don't Mary Katherine, I don't know what you had to do, but I know what you want to do." Vivienne reached inside the sleeve of her robe and pulled out a pistol. She put it in Blackie's hand and then moved her hand upward to let the barrel of the gun rest against the blonde's temple. "Go ahead, make it all go away now."

Blackie looked back at Vivienne in disbelief and shoved the gun back at her. "You crazy bitch, is this how you help someone? You kill them off?"

Vivienne gave her a smug look, speaking very evenly "No, but it just shows me who the coward is, you're quite weak and pathetic aren't you? You've said so many times that you wanted to die, you've thought about it often, now here's your chance."

Tears streamed hot down her face and Blackie felt the wave of rage take over. "Maybe I did think that and maybe I am weak, but I'm not ready to end my life."

Vivienne let out a sigh of relief and embraced the bewildered blonde, squeezing her tightly against her body. "I was hoping you would say that lovely. I needed to know that you have it in you to go forward." She took Blackie by the hand and ushered her to another room. "Time to move on, but I warn you, this will be brutal. It's not only going to be mental but physical as well, be prepared to hurt."

"No offense Vivienne, but I don't see you as much of a physical challenge to me."

"No offense taken lovely, but it isn't me that will challenge you, I'm giving you over to Brone. His name means sorrow, keep that in mind. There have been people that have spent years trying to get past this level of restoration so I'll give you one solid piece of advice. If Brone gives you a task, do it without question, there is a reason he will make you do it, but don't question him about what it is you have to do, no matter how unimportant it seems to you, there is a reason for it. Things won't always be what they seem to be, lovely. Trust your instincts, use your intuition, that inner voice, don't turn a deaf ear on what you know in your heart is right. Good Luck Blackie."

~The Body~

They stood outside of a large wooden door; it seemed very tall and very thick as well as quite old.

"Will I see you again Vivienne?" 

Vivienne put her hands on either side of Blackie's face and kissed her softly on her lips. "Not to worry lovely, I'll be waiting for you when you finish." Then she pointed to the door.

Blackie moved toward the door and placed her hands against it to push it open, she turned to say Goodbye to Vivienne, but the brunette was gone.

The door opened to a room with a large desk weighed down with papers and books. She felt a little more confined and looked down to see she was clothed in a white long-sleeved dress shirt, black pants and black shiny shoes underneath a big black woolen jacket.

"Mary Katherine Malone." A deep voice boomed in behind her as two very powerful hands spun her around. She found herself staring into the chest of an exceedingly large man. Leaning her head back her eyes met a pair of blue eyes very similar to Vivienne's but not as kind. He too had black hair cut short and neat, his square jaw and thin lips reminded her of a drill sergeant. 




Restoration



"The name is Brone, you will address me as sir. I've looked over your file, you'll need a lot of work."

"I have a file already?" she asked unknowingly.

"Yes. You have a file and in the future you will speak only when spoken to, is that clear?"

"Yes sir." She gulped back the tears, she would not cry in front of him no matter how scared she was, not knowing what lay ahead. 

Brone moved behind the desk and came back with a clipboard handing it to Blackie. "This is your task sheet and here's a pen. You are to check off your tasks as you complete them and then return the sheet back here."

Looking over the sheet and then up at Brone she asked. "If I may sir?" He nodded a yes. "I have to do tasks?"

"Well what do you think Malone, that I'm going to do it for you? My job is a lot different from Vivienne's, I have a higher case load and a compressed schedule, and I don't have time to make you tea." He gave her a stern look and then pointed towards the door.

Blackie turned on her heels and went out the door; upon exiting she found she was outside in an alley behind the townhouse. Reading off the sheet she was instructed to take the black van to an address marked on the page. She looked around and parked behind her was the black van, the keys were inside already and at this point she wasn't about to question anything. Not even to ponder how the van suddenly appeared when she knew it wasn't there a moment ago.

Finding the address she pulled the van up to the building. The sign out front said "All Souls Shelter". She went inside to find a few people getting tables set up for dinner. A young dark haired man approached her and extended his hand. 

"Hi, I'm Jacob. You must be here to drop off the order I gather?"

Perplexed Blackie answered yes, that she had assumed she was and that the van was parked outside. Jacob told her to drive it around the back through the alley and pull up next to the door. He told her she could start to bring things inside and would be shown where to put them.

After finding the right door she pulled up, got out and opened the back doors of the van, it was loaded with boxes and bags filled with all sorts of food items. Blackie never bothered to look in the van when she got in but assumed it was empty. The door to the building swung open and a man appeared with a younger person in tow, she assumed the man was a cook as he wore a dirty apron.

"This is Katie, she'll be helping you unload, make sure she does her share of the work. You can take everything right into the pantry."

So her helper was a girl, it was hard to tell from her clothes, she wore pants that seemed too big, an old ratty sweater covered a dark shirt and she wore a black knit hat pulled down almost over her eyes. As she grabbed two bags of food and walked through the door Blackie noticed she didn't have any socks on and her worn out shoes were only half laced. It was obvious the girl was homeless and she probably helped out here to earn her meals and shelter. It had been a particularly chilly day and Blackie tried to imagine how hard it must have been living on the streets at this time of the year. Grabbing a crate of vegetables she followed Katie into the doorway and found the pantry. As she set down the crate she noticed several people in the kitchen area preparing for the crowd that would be there later to eat. Despite the amount of work that needed to be done, the group seemed to be in good spirits and was singing Christmas carols to make the time go by quicker.

Back outside Blackie made an attempt to talk to her silent helper. She stuck out her hand, "Kate right? I'm Blackie, nice to meet you."

The girl glanced at the extended hand, her eyes never looking up as she then grabbed a sack of potatoes and slung them over her shoulder quietly muttering, "Katie."

"My apologies Katie." Blackie said to the girl's back as she went on her way inside, then she sighed realizing that this girl was not going to be overly friendly. They emptied the van in silence and seeing how it was a cold day, the cook that met her earlier at the door offered her a cup of hot coffee.

Setting the cup down in front of her at a small counter he gave her a warm smile. "This should keep you warm as your moving about today, I'm sure you're going to be busy today of all days."

Blackie had no clue as to what she had in store for her today of all days, whatever that meant, she didn't give it a second thought as she watched Katie put away the some of the deliveries. As she was reaching up to one of the higher shelves Blackie noticed the poor girl was skin and bones. Unable to get a good look at her face it was hard to tell how old the girl really was, whatever her age, she didn't look like someone who should be out in the streets. How does one reach this point in their lives, thought Blackie, how does it get this bad?

"I see you have everything unloaded, good." The voice was Jacob's, he put his hand on Blackie's shoulder and handed her an envelope. "Go to the next address on your clipboard, give them this envelope and they'll give you the baked goods order. You can take your helper with you. See you in a little while, don't be too late, we still have plenty to do here." He turned around and walked back into the kitchen before Blackie could say anything. Katie stood there solemn faced, she nodded her head towards the door to let the blonde know she was ready to go, as if she was used to this routine.

"Do you wanna grab your coat?" asked Blackie as she finished the last of her coffee.

Katie stared down at the floor to hide her embarrassment. "Nah, I'm good, let's just go."

When they got into the van, Blackie turned on the engine and cranked the heat up; she looked over her check sheet to find the address, made a mark after her first finished task and opened the center console to put the clipboard inside. When she opened it up there was a pack of cigarettes and matches inside. Thank fuck for small miracles. She packed them against her hand a few times, ripped open the top and pulled one out, then she offered the pack to Katie. "Smoke?"

"Fuck yes." Katie took one out of the pack and bent down to get a light from the match Blackie had already lit and held out for her. "Thanks." She took a long drag and slouched back into the seat. Blackie blew out the match, tossed it into the ashtray and put the van in gear; they pulled out of the alley heading toward the main streets. Reaching over she turned on the radio; nothing but cheery Christmas music and a sermon from some overly hyped-up evangelist was all she could find.

"You wanna hear Christmas carols or have your soul saved for just a few dollars?" she asked Katie.

"Neither, I don't do Christmas and I don't do God." The girl muttered as she stared out the side window.

"Well, I see we have two things in common, smoking and cynicism."

The girl let out a small laugh, which made Blackie relax a little, she doubted that the girl had any real conversation in a while and thought she would make a go of it, what else did she have to lose?

"If it makes you feel any better, I have the same opinions on Christmas and God that you do, I could get by without either one."

Katie opened the window and flicked her cigarette butt outside, then rolled it up quickly to keep the heat from escaping the van. "It just another day and another deity. Nothing changes, everyone is all cheery and nice, you eat a lot, maybe get a gift or two but the next day everything picks up right where it left off. The world isn't any better than it was 364 days earlier."

"Damn, it's like hearing my words coming out of somebody else's mouth." She glanced over at Katie who was staring ahead biting her nails." Sorry about the name thing before, you look more like a Kate."

"You think? What's with Blackie, I doubt it has to do with your hair?"

"It was given to me by a friend, I only wear black." She grinned widely, she then added." How did you end up on the streets?"

"How did you end up a delivery girl?" she snapped back.

"Fair enough, honestly? I had no choice."

"Me either." The girl sighed.

They had reached the address of a bakery across town from the shelter, Blackie gave the owner the envelope and the two girls began load the van with breads, rolls, cookies and pies. Back inside the van the girl rubbed her arms to keep warm as she waited for the heat to start up again, checking off her task list Blackie couldn't help but notice how thin and sickly the girl looked. She took off the big jacket she had on and pushed it in the girl's direction.

"Here, throw this on, I'm sweating to death in it anyway."

Katie took the jacket without speaking and slid it on over her thin shoulders, it still held the blonde's body heat and for the first time in a long time, she felt human again.

They drove back to the shelter in silence except for the sound of one or the other inhaling a cigarette. Once they arrived, they quickly unloaded the van and found themselves in the midst of a conundrum. Some of the volunteers that were to come to help in the kitchen had trouble when their bus broke down and they weren't sure when they would arrive. Dinner couldn't be late, there was too much to do and too many people were depending on them. The two girls were immediately enlisted to potato peeling duty. Katie hung up the jacket and grabbed them both an apron, before they knew it they were up to their elbows in potato peels.

Eight 20lb sacks later they were finished, wrinkled fingertips, dirty aprons, sore muscles and all. While the potatoes cooked, they worked on cutting the pies, placing the breads and rolls in baskets, then they helped to arrange the tables. Jacob called Blackie over to the side to go over some more paperwork she would need to take with her on her next run; she took this time to ask about Katie.

"What do you know about her? Does she have family or someone who would take her in?"

Jacob looked at Blackie with a smile, "Why, you going to adopt her? Actually I don't know much about her except she's a very talented artist. She made all the centerpieces."

She took a closer notice of the centerpieces made of intricately cut pieces of colored paper, folded and sculpted into an abstract floral arrangement. They were simplistically beautiful and they would make the girl quite a bit of money if she were to sell them. She would have to use her connections to see what she could do for the girl, she would even talk to Portia.

Jacob could tell by the look on the blonde's face that she was impressed. "Beautiful, aren't they? You have to go and check out the drawing she did that's hanging in my office. She didn't want to part with it, but I offered her a job and the promise that when she got back on her feet, she could have it back if she let me keep it here where it wouldn't be destroyed." He then handed Blackie a list of names and addresses. "Before you do that, you two need to make these last deliveries before it gets too late. The cook has them all ready for you, they just need to get to their destination and I know it may be hard, but limit your time at each place, there's still much to be done here."

She took the list from Jacob reluctantly; she wanted to see the drawing more. Katie was arranging some cookies on platters in the kitchen when Blackie found her. "Okay Tonto, we ride again." They took off their aprons and the blonde handed the girl her jacket using the excuse that she couldn't drive in it, as it was too bulky. Back in the van they snuck a quick cigarette before going to the first of many destinations. They were delivering Christmas dinners to people who couldn't get out to the shelter many of whom were elderly or infirmed. Blackie and Katie would each take a handful of dinners, being that they were in the same building, then meet back at the van.

Knocking on the door of one apartment, Blackie was greeted by an older woman. She let the girl inside, stepping away and then putting her cane aside, sat on a chair near the window.

"I like to look out the window, especially today when it starts to get dark and all the lights from the decorations are lit, so many pretty colors. I was too tired to put my little tree out this year, besides, it's only me, and I enjoy seeing other peoples trees." The woman spoke, almost to herself.

"I put your dinners on your table ma'am, is that alright?"

"Yes dear, that's fine. Like I said, it's just me anyway, has been for too many years. I'm sure you can't wait to get home to your family."

"I don't have any family but I don't really celebrate the holidays either." Blackie almost wished she hadn't said that, looking around the small apartment she could see the walls adorned with pictures and postcards from around the world. "Did you go to all these places?"

The woman turned her head and looked at the walls with a small sad smile. "No dear, they are all the places where I wanted to go when I was younger, now this is the only way I can go there. I look at the pictures and imagine myself there."

"I understand, I was going to travel Europe with my brother one day." Touching a picture of the canals in Venice, she imagined her and Daniel floating in a gondola, she could almost hear his laughter echoing off the ancient walls across the water.

"You still have time dear."

"No, I don't. My brother died a few years ago, so there's no point in going now."

The woman let out a small laugh. "Your brother's dead not you dear. He's gone on to someplace without you, don't sit around and mourn your own life while you're still living it, I learned that one too late. Life carries on when nothing else matters, I see it from this window everyday."

Blackie turned and looked at the woman, that could very well be her one day, alone in her own world experiencing other's lives from behind a window. Finding joy in some old pictures stuck to the wall lamenting a life that could have happened. "Can I ask you your name ma'am?"

"Mary. Yes, that sounds about right, its Mary."

"Mary where's your little tree?"

The woman pointed to a door next to the entrance. "It's in that closet, in a small box already decorated. Not sure if it will still light up."

Blackie opened the closet and found the box. She carefully opened it and pulled the small tree out, it was decorated with small origami ornaments and had a single strand of white twinkle lights. Moving a small table in front of the window, she found an outlet and plugged the tree in to find the lights worked and the little tree brightened the room with its glow.

"There you go Mary, you can share your tree with the rest of the world too. In fact I would dare say that your tree is probably the most beautiful one I've seen so far. I bet you made the ornaments yourself, am I right?"

The old woman's face lit up, her eyes welled with tears as she smiled. "Yes dear, I made them years ago, before my fingers became too stiff to fold the paper. I would give them out as gifts to friends for luck." She reached over to the tree, her hands a little shaky and removed a small paper crane from the branches. "This one is for you dear. I want this crane to remind you that you have wings and that as long as you have them, you can fly anywhere." She handed the ornament to Blackie.

"I...I don't know what to say Mary." The blonde stuttered, trying to hold back the tears. "Thank you."

"No dear, thank you for making an old woman's Christmas special and allowing me one more chance to carry on my tradition." The old woman put her arms up for Blackie to bend down for an embrace. "Merry Christmas Mary Katherine."

Hugging the woman back gave Blackie a new feeling of hope and as much as she wanted to stay, she knew she was running late. "Merry Christmas to you Mary, I wish I could stay, but I have more deliveries to make." She gave Mary a kiss on the cheek and turned to give her a little wave, holding up her ornament with a big smile before she walked out the door.

Katie was already on her second cigarette as she watched Blackie climb back in the van. She regarded the blonde girl as she gently placed the ornament on the dashboard. Blackie wiped a tear from her eye and muttered. "She insisted I get a little something for being so nice." Looking up at the building she could see the glow in Mary's window from the little tree.

"It's cool." was all Katie said smiling to herself.

They finished the last of their deliveries and headed back to the shelter. People were already lining up at the door for dinner. Checking over her task sheet Blackie found she had completed all but one, the last one she found perplexing. "Reveal the truth." She shrugged her shoulders and went inside the shelter.

When she got inside the door, Katie was standing there with the jacket in her hands. "Here, thanks."

"Keep it, I don't need it." Taking the weight off her feet at a small table in the kitchen Blackie stared at the paper crane she had cupped in her hands. It almost blew away as Katie threw the coat on the table in front of her.

"I don't need your pity or your coat." The girl stormed out of the room leaving Blackie alone with the staff staring at her and went out in to the dining hall. Before she could get up to chase after Katie, Jacob came over and handed her another envelope. 

"Oh come on, not another delivery! I'm dragging as is from all the running around today not to mention peeling a billion potatoes."

"No delivery, it's your pay. You did a great job today. Christmas Eve is our biggest day here and you helped quite a bit, thank you."

"What do you mean Christmas Eve, that's still two weeks away?" she looked at him like he had three heads.

"You must really be tired. Today is Christmas Eve. Why don't you stay and have something to eat, if you need, I have some aspirin in my office in the top drawer of my desk."

"What the fuck is going on here?" Blackie thought to herself. "I must have really lost it, how did I lose two weeks in one day? How long was I with Vivienne?" She then remembered the drawing in Jacob's office and she had to go see it. 

The door to the small office was opened and she walked in, her eyes scanned the walls until she closed the door and there behind her was the drawing. She slapped her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out loud. It was her drawing; it was the drawing she was working on for the painting, Daniel's head was staring out at her from the top of Marco's body, a dying angel with his crumbled wings laying beneath him.

"That bitch, she stole my drawing, she had to, how the fuck could she have it if she didn't steal it? I don't remember finishing it, I didn't even have that idea until yesterday but that's my signature." Blackie ran out of the office, she had to find Katie and make her explain how she got the drawing. Her eyes scanned across the tables through a sea of faces until she spotted Katie going into the ladies room. She pushed her way through the aisles past the poor and the dirty homeless people, men, women and children, all faceless and nameless. The only one she focused on was Katie.

Katie was washing her face in the sink, she wasn't going to let anyone see her cry and she was going to let anyone pity her ever again. She had been alone this long and she wasn't about to take charity, she would show them, all of them, that she didn't need them anymore. The shadows of her past weren't going to haunt her anymore.

The door to the ladies room flew open making Katie jump, she backed up against the wall when she saw the look of rage on Blackie's face.

"You bitch, where did you get it? You stole it from me didn't you? What were you going to do, sell it as your own?"

Katie was confused by the accusation. "What are you talking about, your stupid jacket? I told you I didn't want it."

"I'm not talking about the damn jacket, I'm talking about the drawing, the one in Jacob's office! The one you stole from me." 




Restoration



"Your insane. I drew it, that's my drawing you crazy bitch." Katie tried to move slowly around the agitated blonde she was afraid of what may happen next. A fight could get her thrown out of the shelter and for now this was the only place she had to stay.

"That's my drawing, it has my signature on it, you obviously broke into my place and stole it, you little thief. I'll have your ass in jail tonight." Blackie turned on her heel to walk out the door when she was suddenly spun around wildly, and found herself facing the other girl.

"How dare you come in here and accuse me of something I didn't do, you're the liar here. What do you think you're going to do, use the excuse that the homeless girl stole from you so you could take what is mine and sell it yourself? I don't think so."

Katie pushed past Blackie but not before she was thrown against the sink. Expletives flew and the two girls struggled in an ensuing catfight, both girls were consumed with a deep-seated anger that had finally come to the top. Blackie's sleeve was torn from her shoulder, just as she ripped the knit hat from Katie's head. Holding the hat in her hand, breathing hard, she could only stare in disbelief at Katie; dark roots had replaced most of the bleached hair that was hidden under the hat.

"Who are you?" she asked hoarsely. 

"What?"

"What's your name?" Blackie asked louder.

"Katie, Katie Malone. What business is it of yours anyway?" The girl tried to smooth her hair with her fingers.

"No, what's your full name? I need to know." Blackie pleaded now, her expression was a mix of confusion and fright.

"Mary Katherine Malone." Spat Katie. "The picture is of my brother..."

"Daniel who died three years ago, killed himself right?" she finished the other girl's sentence.

Now it was Katie's turn to be confused and scared. "Yes, but how did you know, I never told anyone here my full name or anything about me."

Blackie just shook her head in disbelief; she suddenly felt flushed and needed to get away from there fast. She ran out the restroom and stumbled her way over to the exit. The shock of the cold air didn't help her as she ran down the street blindly. Her lungs were aching and she was sweating hard, she stopped against a doorway to rest. She was startled when she heard a voice behind her.

"Got any spare change Miss?" A short haggard and dirty man held out his gloveless hand to her, his eyes were red from the cold air as well as too much whiskey.

"Do you know what today is buddy?"

The man gave her a strange look before answering. "It's Christmas Eve. So do you have any spare change or not?"

Blackie reached into her pockets finding only her pay envelope that Jacob had given her and handed it to the man. "Here, take it, all of it. Merry Christmas." She started to run again not even sure where she was going, as if she were literally running from herself. The man opened the envelope, his eyes widened as he pulled out five new twenty-dollar bills. "Bless you Miss and Merry Christmas to you too!" he yelled to her.

She couldn't stop thinking about everything that happened, Katie was she, but she couldn't be her because she was herself. She had a home and clothing and wait...Mary, when she was leaving the apartment Mary called her Mary Katherine, but she knew she never told the old woman her name. Was she the future Blackie? Was Katie also the future Blackie...her father would call her Katie. It was making sense but it wasn't at the same time. What the fuck was going on, she didn't know who she was anymore. She stopped in the middle of a deserted street, the Christmas lights from a few apartments twinkled above her, around her and almost through her. She dropped to her knees, shivering in the cold and holding her head in her hands, she felt like she was going insane. She threw her head back and hit her fists off of her thighs and screamed out into the night.

"I WANT MY LIFE BACK!"

~The Soul~

"Mary Katherine. Mary Katherine wake up."

Blackie opened her eyes with some difficulty, she felt drugged. She was lying in a white room; the voice must be Vivienne's. She couldn't move her arms nor could she sit up. She wanted to sit up.

"Take it easy now Mary Katherine, you're restrained to the bed. You gave us a scare last night but we got to you in time, lucky for you that your roommate is a light sleeper."

"Roommate? What is she talking about, I live alone." Thought Blackie. She felt very tired and her arms hurt, down near her hands. She heard footsteps enter the room.

"She's awake now Doctor." The woman's voice said. "She has no idea what happened."

Blackie felt a cool hand on her head; fingers opened her eyelids to shine a light inside of them. Now she couldn't see anything except for the blurred streak of light when her pupils dilated, she could hear a man's voice above her and feel the coolness of a stethoscope lying against her chest.

"Do we know how she did it? She seemed to be making progress." The man asked as he checked her wrists.

"It was some time after last bed check, they found a shard of a broken mirror. She pulled it out of her roommate's jewelry box and snuck off to the lavatories. The music from the jewelry box playing woke the other girl up and when she noticed this one was gone and so was the mirror she went looking for her. She screamed for the nurse and that's how we found her, in good time too. The cuts were pretty deep, she's a bit of a bleeder."

"Did anyone notify Dr. Baxter yet? She'll want to talk to her I'm sure."

"Yes, she's on her way now. She should be here at any moment."

The man sighed deeply. "Well, physically she's out of the woods. Have Dr. Baxter call me when she finds out anything."

"Yes Doctor."

Blackie was starting to wake up; she was confused as to where she was and angry that she couldn't move. "Where am I?"

The nurse looked down and smiled at her. "Your in the hospital ward sweetie, you gave us a bit of a scare last night."

"Hospital ward? What hospital ward? Why can't I move my arms?" Blackie was becoming agitated and tried again to sit up.

The nurse pushed her back down gently. "Relax sweetie, Doctor Baxter will be here any second. We had to restrain you as a precaution so you don't try to hurt yourself again."

Blackie's thoughts were a whirlwind in her head, what the hell was going on here. The last thing she remembered was running out of the shelter. She remembered Katie's face and the cold streets. It was Christmas Eve, but how did she get here and where was here? She looked at the nurse.

"It's Christmas." she half stated and half asked.

The nurse smiled at her again. "That's right sweetie, that's good that you remember. Oh, here comes Dr. Baxter now." The nurse turned to the dark haired woman who came into the room. "She's awake and she knows what day it is."

"Hello Mary Katherine, how do you feel?" the dark haired woman asked. At first Blackie thought she was Vivienne, but her eyes were a dullish brown not the crystal blue she had hoped to see.

"Confused, very confused and stop calling me Mary Katherine, my name is Blackie."

"Okay Blackie, if that's what you prefer now, but can you tell me why you chose that name?"

"Because it's my name, why wouldn't I? Can I have my hands free please, I promise I won't try to strangle myself?" she scowled.

Dr. Baxter nodded to the nurse to release Blackie's hands and then told her she may leave, that everything was under control. "Well, Blackie, when you first came here you wanted to be called Katie."

Blackie furrowed her brow in confusion; she gingerly let her fingers trace the bandages on her wrists.

"Katie was the girl at the shelter, the one who looked like me, no wait...the one who was me." She paused for a moment. "What happened to my wrists?"

"You don't remember anything about last night?" Dr. Baxter knew just by Blackie's hard stare that she didn't recall anything. She sat on the bed next to the perplexed blonde girl and laid a hand on her knee. "Tell me what you do remember."

Blackie layback down against the pillows, her hands covering her eyes as her mind fought with her memories.

"I remember being at the shelter, I was in the lady's room fighting with Katie. I ripped off her hat and that's when I saw me, she was me and I know that because I asked her to tell me her full name. She said Mary Katherine Malone. She knew all about the sketch and about Daniel. It freaked me out and I had to get away from there, I ran outside and I kept running." She paused and then suddenly sat up and clicked her fingers." The man, there was a homeless man... I gave him money. Find him, he'll tell you he saw me, he wished me a Merry Christmas."

"Honey, you came here a year ago after they found you on the bathroom floor at the shelter, you tried to kill yourself then. Your story was the same except you told me you would never become like Mary and that the ghost of you was really a demon from your mind come alive. Why don't I get you something to make you relax?"

Dr. Baxter rose from the bed to call for the nurse. Blackie bolted from the bed cutting her off. Dr. Baxter was anxious, steeling herself against what the hysterical girl might do next.

"Calm down honey, let's just talk then, why don't you get back in bed, you're still weak."

"Don't tell me to calm down lady, I'm not insane. I just don't belong here nor do I believe I tried to kill myself. Call Vivienne, she'll help clear this up or call the shelter, they'll get in touch with Brone, he can tell you why I was there."

"Blackie, try to remember. We told you before, there is no Vivienne or Brone, you told us that before, we checked and there is no such address from the one you gave us, they don't exist."

Standing there with her mouth open, unable to believe what she was hearing, Blackie could feel the ire within her start to grow. Why was this bitch lying to her? She knew something was wrong, very wrong, she felt it deep inside. Vivienne told her to listen to her inner voice and that voice was telling her not to trust what was happening here.

"I get it, this is a test right? This is all a test to help me find my spirit, it's all part of the restoration isn't it?"

"We've been through this before Mary Katherine, remember? The spirit is a manifestation of one's mind trying to compensate for a lack of social norms that one is expected of engaging in and cannot, when you don't feel excepted you create something to replace what you don't have, so you create a 'soul' for yourself.

Vivienne is also a manifestation; the subconscious cloaks a need by creating a pleasurable persona. You felt a need to be saved, so your mind gave you Vivienne. However your mind became confused and you split yourself into Vivienne, Mary and Katie. You lost your true self when your mind and body disconnected, remember, you called it your Alice in Wonderland complex."

"I know what that is, from when Alice meets the caterpillar and he asks who she is and she say's she doesn't know who she is because she's changed so much. I can relate to that, especially now. Everything's changed again...and stop calling me Mary Katherine!"

The door opened and the nurse walked back in to the room carrying a tray with two mugs.

"I thought maybe a cup of tea might help you ladies with your chat, I find it works for me, it's very relaxing."

As the nurse set down the tray Blackie finally noticed her, black hair pulled up into a bun, petite figure, something was familiar about her. She watched as she handed a cup to the doctor and mentioned that the tea was a secret blend of her own. Then the small woman turned to Blackie and smiled.

"I'll leave yours on the tray, lovely, you can drink it when you're ready." She looked at Blackie with her clear blue eyes and winked. She stepped out of the room and quietly closed the door behind her.

"It can't be." Thought Blackie. "They said she doesn't exist."

"Mary Ka...I mean Blackie, everything will be fine now, you'll be safe here. The walls are high and thick here, no one can hurt you."

Blackie looked over at Dr. Baxter, she was standing there with her tea propped up in her hand staring and grinning like the Cheshire cat. Tea, that's what Blackie needed, a nice cup of tea to relax her. As she reached for the cup, something on the tray caught her eye. It was a small paper crane, an origami crane just like the one Mary gave her. She got her wings back, now she could fly.

"You're right Dr. Baxter, I can be safe behind walls. When you're weak and cowardly it's better to stay safe. It's hopeless for me in the real world. I have no one left, no one to love me, but then again, who could love a crazy person. I'm not selfish, they were, and they were the ones who left me behind. I was foolish for so many years thinking I should follow my heart. I wasn't meant to be happy, for some of us we are born into a life of pain and suffering."

Dr. Baxter walked over to Blackie and set her cup down on the tray. She touched the girl's arm and guided her back to the bed.

"I'm glad to hear you say that Mary Katherine, once you accept who you are then you know where you stand in life. The human mind can become detached when conditions are right, it becomes fragile and so many influences can make it believe in so many delusions. 

Katie was so weak, she couldn't even take care of herself, look at how she ended up, poor and homeless. That's what happens when you think your body is stronger than your mind. Poor old Mary, she was so hopeless, believing that a piece of folded paper could bring you luck. She ended up alone with her fallacies watching the world go by from her window. They were both failures too, you know that now don't you?"

Blackie stopped in mid stride and looked complacently at the doctor. Her eyes bore into the woman's dull brown orbs.

"Do you know what I know Doc? I know who I am now. Just as I know who you are, you're a liar.

Katie isn't weak she's a survivor. She could have easily given up but she makes the best of what little she has, she uses her intelligence.

Mary is hope. She's the hope that it is possible to live your dream if you believe in yourself and keep your heart from dying. Staying grounded isn't always safe and life is too short to not live it while you're still a part of it.

I know who I am. I am Katie, Mary and Blackie. I am a person of great worth who has every right to be happy without worrying how it will affect mankind. I know I can't save the world but I can now save me and that's the biggest challenge I face and I will win. 

I also know who you are Dr. Bastard. You're the demon that has lived inside my head for all those years feeding me lies about myself. I didn't recognize you at first, but now I see you for what you really are, a parasite. You attached yourself to my soul; you fed off of all my weaknesses, my emotions. You encouraged my self-loathing and stoked the embers of my deep buried pain. You're every ugly thought I've ever had, the whisper in my ear that told me I was a failure."

Dr. Baxter panicked as she began to change, she started to shrink and distort giving way to an ugly deformed being.

"No, I was the one that kept you from making a fool of yourself. I was always there for you; I never left you, not once. I held your pain and anger for you so no one could hurt you again.

You can't live without me I am you. I am stronger than you and I can see the world for the miserable little marble it is, I kept you away from all those wicked people who only wanted to use you. You're a pathetic excuse for a human and I kept you from ruining the lives of any more people. Go ahead run away, that's what you do best, run from what upsets you and then you can shut yourself down."

Blackie suddenly began to feel empowered, the more her demon tried to save itself the weaker it became and it found it's self shriveling in the light that was forming around it's host.

"You have no more power over me because I now know all of your tricks and lies. Why don't you go away and find some other poor bastard that you can torment. You're done here."

The deformed little demon started to panic as the light grew bigger and brighter until finally it was nowhere to be seen. Blackie felt free for the first time in a very long time. She looked to find that her wrists were healed and realized the cuts were never there to begin with; it was all part of the illusion. 

"I knew you could do it lovely. I felt it when I first touched you, it was very weak but it was still there nonetheless. You have the power."

Blackie ran over and hugged Vivienne tightly. She noticed the dark haired woman was crying.

"Vivienne don't cry and don't be sad. You saved me and I don't know how I can ever thank you."

"I'm not sad lovely, these are tears of joy. You'll find people can cry when they are joyful. As for saving you, no I didn't save you, you saved yourself. You still have free will. I only guided you and opened your eyes you opened your heart. All three parts are now connected and you are now restored." She then kissed Blackie on both cheeks and held her hands. "Now I must leave you, it's my busy season you know and before you ask, yes I will always be with you. You have so many great gifts to share and a heart large enough to love the whole world, go now and make up for lost time."

The tears spilled down the blonde woman's face as she felt the love emanating from this wonderful creature and she realized what she had to do next.

"Thank you Vivienne, I really don't know what else to say."

"Lovely, you just spoke in volumes."

~Merry Christmas~

She stood there looking at the picture taken many years ago on Christmas day. It was a picture of her, much younger sitting in a gondola and holding up a tiny paper crane. Turning it over she read the inscription on the back.

"If you're reading this it must be Christmas day and you are keeping true to your word that you will read this every Christmas. I hope you remember that you have the power to make your own happiness and the wings to soar.

Having a wonderful time, wish you were here...oh wait you are here.

Blackie Malone

She smiled as she remembered back to that one special Christmas. Suddenly she was aware that someone was standing next to her.

"Grandma, why do you read that every Christmas and who's the lady in the boat?"

"That lady was me when I was much younger and sent this picture to myself many years ago so I never forget who I am and what I can accomplish when I dare to spread my wings. Someday you will do the same. Now Vivienne, we have work to do, shall we get things together?"

"Yep, I got the paper and the string, Mommy said you taught her how to make paper cranes and that one day I will do the same with my little girl. Is it true they bring you luck?" The tiny brunette watched as Blackie place the picture back on the mantle.

Smiling down at her granddaughter, she pushed away a few loose strands of hair and tucked them behind the girl's ear. 

"Yes, they do lovely, they brought you to me didn't they?"

"You're silly Grandma Mary, I'm too big for them to carry, now come and show me how to make them." The little girl grabbed her grandmother's hand and dragged her into the kitchen.

They walked past the walls decorated with pictures of Blackie posing with her crane in different cities in different countries. As her granddaughter pulled her down the hallway they almost knocked over the table that stood in the window and upsetting the tiny tree with its paper decorations and single strand of white lights.



Restorative Justice



Many thanks to those of you who commented and favourited "A Knight's Tale, Part1". I am most appreciative of all feedback. Part 2 of the story is almost finished, and will be published here on Literotica in November 2015. 

However, one morning recently, I woke up with a story in my head that demanded to be told, right here, right now. This is it. 

Please leave comments, good and bad, as that is the only way authors like me will ever improve! 

All characters are over 18 years of age. 

Restorative Justice 

Date: November 2026 

Place: London, England 

"Good morning, Harmony Leisure, Jane speaking, how may I help?" 

"Good morning. Ummm... may I ask if you have a Debra Jones working for you?" 

"Debra Jones... hang on one moment, please, let me check... Hello? Yes, we do. Her working name is "Crystal". She's with us through the Community Payback Scheme." 

"Can I make a booking to, er, visit her?" 

"Yes, certainly. When were you thinking of?" 

"Umm, tomorrow?" 

"We open at 11 am through to 3 am." 

"Yes, that sounds fine." 

"An hour is £200." 

"Ah... Okay. It just sounds on the high side.." 

"We get half, and half is sent to the Ministry of Justice as part of the Community Payback Scheme." 

"Umm, is it okay if there are two of us?" 

"Yes, that's absolutely fine, but it will be an extra £100." 

"£300? No, that's okay." 

"What names shall I book?" 

"Susan and Peter." 

"All done Madam, booked for an hour, see you tomorrow at 11 am. Any questions, we'll be happy to help when you get here. You can pay by card or by cash." 

"Thanks, 'bye." 

Click. 

"Petey? It's all fixed for tomorrow at 11! Happy Birthday, darling!" 

"Oh, that's great, Mummy, thanks!" 

Petey is 19 today. He's my only son. He and I live in East Surrey, where I run a small business from our home. It's hard work, but it pays the bills. Petey takes after his late dad, tall, blonde and handsome, but rather shy. He's off to University when he finished his "A" Levels which he's completing at a local college, to read Law. He's a bright lad and will make some girl very happy some day. I could scratch her eyes out already. We have a close relationship and Petey doesn't need any girlfriends yet, not whilst he's got his Mummy to look after him. 

The next morning, Petey and I left home a couple of hours early to drive the 80 miles or so to Harmony Leisure, which was situated off a trading estate in Harlesden, an industrial district in West London. The building was a nondescript former hotel, with a neon sign outside and pink curtains. We drove in at 10.50 am and left the car in the small car-park at the rear. 

The reception area was somewhat clinical, lit by fluorescent lights and smelled of disinfectant. I didn't really know what to expect and was quite nervous, as was Petey, I think. Fortunately, there were no other customers about. 

The pretty, uniformed young woman behind the desk wore a name badge that said her name was "Natasha". She looked eastern European and was drinking a cup of tea when we arrived. 

She flashed a purely professional smile. 

"Good morning, how can I help?" 

"We have a... Um, a booking for 11 am, I stuttered." 

"What name, please?" 

She clicked the reception desk computer keyboard. 

"Sue and Peter". 

"Ah, yes. That will be £300, please." 

I paid by card. 

"That's perfect, thank you, all done. Room 118, first floor, the lift is over in the lobby. Crystal will join you shortly. There's towels in the en-suite if you want to shower first." 

"Umm, I have a few questions first..." 

"No problem, Madam, the Manager will be pleased to help. If you'd care to wait a few moments..?" 

She flashed another professional smile and disappeared into the inner office. 

Petey and I looked at one another nervously and sat down on the edge of the worn reception sofa. 

We didn't speak, but he gripped my hand tightly. 

"Oh, God, what am I doing here?" I wondered to myself. 

Within a couple of minutes, a middle-aged bottle blonde in a too tight dark blue trouser suit appeared at the door. 

"Hi," she said with a friendly smile, "How can I help..?" 

"Well." I said, "I've got a few questions - I've never done this before and neither has Petey..." 

"That's okay, let's all sit down and have a chat. I'm Sally, the Manager here." 

Ten minutes later, Sally showed us up to room 118. 

"Here you are" she said. "Remember , if she gives you any trouble, let me know." 

Inside, it was clean and functional,rather than luxurious. There was a large double bed, a couple of armchairs, a shower room and a WC. I opened a wardrobe, and after noting the contents with a bit of shock, banged it shut. I sat down on the bed.  

"Blimey, Mummy, have you seen this..?" 

Petey had opened a bedside cabinet and was holding up a large pink vibrator. 

Then the door opened and in she walked, the bitch, bold as brass. 

"Good morning, -oh!" 

Her face was a picture. 

"Hello, Debra. Or is it "Crystal"? You obviously remember us," I replied. "Why don't you come on in?" 

Debra was looking like she didn't know whether to come on in or run a mile, and wanted the floor to swallow her up. She was wearing a cheap navy blue nylon boudoir robe that barely covered her arse, black stockings and suspenders and what looked like 4-inch heels. She was a tall woman about my age, in her early forties or late thirties, with auburn hair, cut short. Her figure was good, and the robe was tied loosely to show off her creamy, 34C tits that were spilling out of her black lacy Wonderbra. She was dressed like a tart and I could smell her cheapo perfume acrss the room. 

"Sue? And Peter?" Her voice was almost inaudible. 

"So, Debra", I said with more confidence than I felt, "What's it like, being a whore?" 

She sank down onto an armchair, holding her head in her hands. Petey sat down beside me on the bed. 

"How did you find me here?" Debra whimpered through her hands. 

"Oh, easy. The Ministry of Justice contacted me to say you were involved in Community Payback and where you were working. I must say I'd never thought you'd sink this low." 

"Oh God." Debra moaned through her hands. 

"So how did you end up here?" Petey asked. 

"The prison told me I could work off some of the debt and get out of jail earlier if I pay off half a million pounds." 

"So, twenty thousand quid for each year of your sentence?" I asked, doing some quick mental arithmetic. 

"Yeah", she nodded. "I can maybe do it in ten years. It's better than spending twenty-five years rotting in jail, anyway. They offered me waitressing and hairdressing, but this pays best, so..." 

I snickered. "How much is that a day, then, Debra?" 

"I make about £1000 a day here." 

"Wow. That's what, you get to fuck ten men a day?" 

"Yes. You'll get at least some of your money back, okay?" 

"I won't get my husband back, Petey won't get his father back, will he? 

"It wasn't my fault", she whined. 

"Steve had a heart attack and died on the way to hospital the day he realised we'd lost all our money in your husband's fucking Ponzi scheme! That was our life savings, stolen by people who were our neighbours and who we thought were our friends! We both used to go shopping together, remember? We used to have you all over to dinner! Steve and Bill played golf every weekend! Just wait 'till I tell the Golf Club where you are!" 

"I didn't know, honestly!" 

"You lying bitch! I saw the police interview notes!" 

"Look, I only realised what Bill was up to once it was too late to back out! I swear!" 

"The jury didn't believe you, did they?" 

"No. My barrister was useless." 

Typical Debra. Nothing was ever her fault. 

"Oh, where is Bill, by the way?" 

"Still in Supermax. He only gets out on a chain gang," 

"Do you know," I said, "Stiffer jail terms, legalisation of brothels and the Community Payback are the best bits of legislation the Conservatives passed in the last ten years! It means people like you who fucked people over get fucked in return! Karma's a bitch, isn't she?" 

Debra sat silent, her head bowed. 

"Anyway," I said, "That's all I wanted to say." 

"I said I'm sorry," Debra mumbled. 

"Yes, you did. But I'm not sure if Petey thinks that counts for much, you know? I can't say I blame him. What do you say, Petey?" I looked at my son. 

"No, it's not." He was frowning at the floor. 

"So what do you want to do then, darling?" I asked him. 

"Make the bitch earn her money," Petey mumbled. 

"Well", I said brightly, "You heard the boy, Debra. Time to go to work." 

"What?" 

"You heard me. We paid three hundred quid for this. We've got plenty of time left, and it is Petey's nineteenth birthday." 

"But I -" 

"Oh yes, you can. Why don't you stand up and take that silly robe off and show Petey what you've got underneath, hmmm?" 

"I used to babysit him!" 

"Yes, you did, sweetie. But that's all in the distant past now isn't it? Now you're just a slutty whore. So, stand up and get 'em off!" 

"I can't" 

"You know, I spoke to your Manager when we got here. She said any refusal or silliness means you go straight back to the shithole jail you came from, where you'll do all your time." 

"You want to humiliate me, don't you!" 

"No. I want to see you humiliate yourself." 

Trembling, Debra stood up, defeated. Nervously, she unfastened the bow of her robe, and it slid to the floor. She had an impressive figure, which prison food did not seem to have reduced. She stood before us in her bra, panties, suspenders and stockings, clasping and unclasping her hands in front of her. her cheeks were crimson with shame, avoiding our eyes. 

She was being forced to strip for her former neighbours, one of whom was only 16 years old when she went to prison. 

"Very nice," I purred. I suddenly felt a lot more confident. I glanced over at Petey, whose eyes were almost out on stalks. 

"What do you want her to do next, darling? It's your treat," I asked him. 

"Make her turn around." 

"Give us a twirl, then." 

Slowly, Debra rotated on the spot. 

"Stick your bum out for him." 

Her arse cheeks were impressive behind the sheer nylon panel of her panties. She bent down and thrust out her behind as ordered, in his direction. 

Petey seemed mesmerised. 

"I-I want to see her naked." Petey muttered quietly. 

"You heard him, Debra. What comes off first, Petey boy?" 

"Ummm, her bra..." He mumbled even quieter, embarrassed his Mummy could see him getting a visible stiffy through his trousers and wanting another woman's bra to come off. 

"I can't hear you, darling..." 

"HER BRA!" Petey yelled. 

"That's better, but not so loud, the neighbours'll hear. Okay, Debra, off it comes. Show us your tits." 

"Please, no," Debra pleaded. 

"Look, do I really have to speak to the Manager? No?" 

Hanging her head in mortification, Debra fumbled with her bra. 

"Hang on", I said, "Why not let Petey do it?" Turning to my son, I smiled at him. 

"Go on darling, I can see you want to. Unhook her bra for Mummy." 

Petey was on his feet in a flash and stood behind her. His hands were shaking so much, he fumbled with the clasp for a minute till he worked out how it undid, then Debra's luscious tits were hanging free. 

"Go on, Petey", I encouraged him. "Give them a squeeze. You can suck them if you like. Debra won't make a fuss, will you, Debra?" 

Petey sank his head to her pink nipples and licked and sucked to his heart's delight, whilst Debra looked at the floor in her debasement and shame. 

Petey slipped his hands down to Debra's panties and began to tug them down. 

"Ooh, he wants your knickers off, now. Give him a hand, will you?" I said, and Debra was obliged to hook her thumbs in her panties' waistband to pull them down her thighs. 

Finally, Debra stood naked in front of us, her hands hiding her pudenda. 

I leaned back on the bed and surveyed her with malicious pleasure. 

"I've waited a long time for this, to see you as the whore you are. Revenge really is sweet." 

Debra stood silent, her shoulders and head bowed, her face hidden by the bell of her hair. There was nothing she could do to ease her situation, nothing. So I twisted the knife in a little deeper. 

"I think Petey wants to see your pussy next, don't you dear?" 

Petey nodded like a toy dog! 

"Why don't you sit yourself down, Debra, and show him what you've got, hmm?" 

Slowly, Debra sat down into the armchair and mechanically spread her legs, showing us her almost shaven labia. Petey knelt down and leaned forward between her outspread legs. 

"Oooh, look, darling, she's got a neatly trimmed bush!" 

"Umm, I want to see more. Inside. I want to see her pussy hole", Petey said. 

"Why don't you do it. dear?" I suggested. 

Petey, bless him, slowly placed his hands either side of Debra's quim and split her pussy lips, showing her pink vagina and clit. He then stuck his forefinger into her vagina. 

A wince and a strangled sob were the only responses from her. 

"Where do women piss from, Mummy?" Petey asked. 

I walked over and squatted by Debra's spread legs, whilst Debra stared at the ceiling. 

"Look up a bit from her big hole, dear. There. You see?" I pointed at Debra's urethra. 

"Oh, right." 

"Maybe she'll show you how she pees, later." 

"That would be great!" 

"Oooh, has my little boy got a piss fetish?" I teased him. "Ooh, you've got an erection!" 

Petey mumbled something under his breath, his face scarlet, and tried to cover the tent in his trousers with his hands. 

"I want to see her arse now." 

Debra switched positions, mutely. She was like a robot. 

Petey spread her arse cheeks with his hands and had a good look at her rosebud and pussy from behind. 

"You can spank her, if you like", I suggested. 

Petey gave her arse a tentative slap, then some more, harder. Her arse cheeks were bright red, to match her abashed face. 

"Happy now?" I asked. 

"Not yet. I want to come inside her." 

"Debra, darling, Petey wants to fuck you on the bed now. I think you should maybe suck his cock, first? Isn't that what you normally do, bitch?" 

"Yes." Debra mumbled. 

"Good girl. If you do it properly, maybe Petey will give you a nice tip before we go, won't you, Petey?" 

I walked to the door as Debra slowly climbed onto the bed and started to unbuckle Petey's trousers. . 

"Where you going, Mum?" 

"Ah, I can't watch this, darling, it's too personal. Mummy will be outside." 

"I want you to stay. Please." 

"Oooh! You kinky little boy! All right. then. Mummy will watch you getting a nice suck from over here, yes?" I sat on the armchair. 

Debra eased down Petey's underpants and my, what a surprise! Petey's dick was huge! I had no idea it was so... fat and so long. It stuck up at an angle like the Leaning Tower of Pisa! 

Debra's mouth hovered over Petey's turgid cock and like an automaton, she slowly brought her lips down on it. Petey groaned with pleasure and his hips bucked. His hand forced her head lower on his member. 

"That's it, you bitch," I said. "Suck him off! Use your tongue!" 

"Oh dear," I said. "That was fast." 

Petey had cum almost straight away into that harlot's lipsticked mouth. 

Choking, Debra was forced to swallow most of his seed, whilst a lot oozed out of her mouth. Gagging, my son's spunk ran in strings from her open mouth whilst she gasped for air. 

My pussy was by this time, very, very damp. I could feel my panties getting wet as my juices started. 

"Oh dear, what shall we do next? Did we see a vibrator over there, darling? Why don't you show us how you use a vibe, Debra?" 

Debra spent the next five minutes with her legs and pussy spread wide, and Petey amusing himself by fucking her with the pink vibrator. He seemed to enjoy it hugely, slowing the speed down and speeding it up again, pushing it in and out of her, judging by the effect on his cock. Debra lay silent and motionless, almost catatonic. I think she was in shock. 

By that then, he was hard and ready to go again and I watched with joy and love as my son eased his cock into my mortal enemy's pussy. There was no way I was going to let him fuck her missionary position, like a normal couple. Oh dear me, no. So I ordered her to kneel down and stuck her arse up, and he rode her doggy style. He came inside her as he had wanted, treating her as the whore she is. 

By this time, I had my fingers stuck down my panties and fingered myself to a massive orgasm as he climaxed. 

Debra lay supine on the bed, her breath coming in ragged gasps and sobs. 

Petey wiped his cock clean in her hair, as I suggested. 

Petey and I tidied ourselves up and ready to leave. I was a bit embarrassed to have let him see my masturbating, to tell the truth, but it had been exciting. 

I bent down by the bed and spoke quietly into Debra's ear. 

"That's all for now, bitch. I hear they've got a dungeon here and it's only an extra hundred quid if I leave stripe marks. See you next month. I'm going to give you two dozen with a cane." 

Debra wept into the bedspread as we left the room. 

It was five in the afternoon when we pulled into our drive at home. I was in the driving seat of my Porsche Cayenne and Petey was sitting beside me. We had had a very enjoyable lunch after leaving Harmony Leisure. 

I leaned back and sighed with pleasure after I switched off the engine. 

All was well. 

I put my hand on Petey's thigh. 

"A good day, darling?" 

"Oh, that was great, Mummy, thank you!" 

"What was the best bit for you?" 

"When you watched me fuck her." 

"Really?" 

"Yes, I really liked you watching, Mummy. I was fucking her for you." 

I stroked his thigh, then placed my hand on his groin and squeezed gently. 

"You've got such a lovely cock, darling... I had no idea it's so big! Would you like Mummy to touch it, maybe to suck it for you, if you're a very good boy?" 

"Oh, yes please!" 

"Do you think I'm more attractive then her?" 

"Oh, ever so much more so, Mummy. You're lovely. She's just a slut!" 

I purred with pleasure. 

"Would Petey like to help Mummy undress and see her pussy? I think this little man does," giving his hard cock another squeeze through his trousers. 

"Oh, that would be brilliant! And Mummy?" 

"Yes, my darling boy?" 

"I didn't get to see Debra go for a piss. Could you show me how a lady pees? Please?" 

"Ooh, you really are a kinky little boy!" 

"I know, I can't help it. I - I really want to watch you pee, Mummy. Please?" 

"Do you want to help Mummy pull her panties down, too? Of course you can, darling. As it is, Mummy needs to go for a wee rather badly after all that coffee, so let's hurry up and go to the loo, and you can see as much as you like." 

End