Alan Ch. 14

"No, don't bother. If you see him or if he calls in from whichever bar he's wasting away the afternoon, tell him I need to talk with him." She turned and made towards her office. Alan admired the view, her tight skirt framing her butt nicely. He could only see a little of her legs under the length of her mid-calf skirt, but they looked nice.

Alan tried the bar in the city, but they told him that Arthur hadn't been in today. That finished, he took his package into the bathroom and entered a stall, locking the door. He placed the box on top of the toilet paper dispenser and sat on the seat. Before doing anything else he re-checked the packing material, looking for some sort of note or message, but found none. Examining the ring he saw that it was identical to his, and identical to the one Massimo was wearing at the time of their meeting.

Now Jack was dead.

Conclusions?

This ring before him was most likely Jack's. But why would he send it away? Did he know he was going to die? Was he missing something? Was there a message that wasn't getting through? Should he put the ring on?

He looked down at his hand, considering this. He had on occasion tried removing his own ring, but each time the blinding glow and the roaring buzzing sound prevented him from leaving it off for more than a few seconds. He had noticed that no one else could sense the glow or buzz from it; he had tried removing it once in school, and though he had been affected by the attempt, no one else even turned around. In fact, no other person but Jack had even ever noticed that he was wearing it. No one ever asked him about it, or even commented on its appearance. Should he just put the new ring on next to his own? He tried that, Nothing happened.

"Well, here goes nothing," the mumbled to himself as he took his own ring off his finger. Instantly he knew something was different. In previous attempts his ring had began to glow at once, as he was slipping it down his finger, before it was even off. This time, nothing of the sort happened. He placed it in the box, next to Jack's (at least he thought it was Jack's) ring.

He reached into the leather box with his left hand, and took the new ring between his thumb and forefinger, placing it gingerly into his right palm.

It began to glow faintly, not the blue glow he was accustomed to, but a rich scarlet red. With a healthy dose of trepidation he slipped on the ring.

Immediately he lost consciousness.

Well, not exactly. It was more like a trance. He could feel his whole body tingling, just as it had those many months ago in the hospital when the old and dying man had transferred the Seed of Hyrcanus to him.

"Alan," a disembodied voice called out to him.

"Hmmm?" he mumbled back, trough his trance. He felt drugged. He heard the voice again, calling his name. Alan concentrated, and through his haze he recognized the voice, that of Jack!

"I am here," the voice answered.

"Where?" he grunted back.

"Do not concern yourself with that just now. As you must know, I am speaking to you through the ring--"

"--But, but--"

"I'm dead, yes, but that, ahem, little fact is not so important now. I need you to listen now, and listen carefully. There is a danger present against us. Someone is targeting the Vessels. I have been sensing their presence for some time now. This is why I sought you out and came to meet you at your house."

"Who?"

"I don't know who and I don't know how. My only message to you right this moment is that you should be ever vigilant against danger. Before I 'died' I transferred my Seed into my ring. This is how you and I are communicating now. One day in the future you will pass my Seed to another vessel. Do not concern yourself about that just yet; you will know when to do it when I let you know. In the meantime, place this ring on your left middle finger, and replace your ring on this finger. I will be in communication with you later."

"So...I have two Seeds now?" Alan asked, confused.

"No, you only have your Seed, but you are wearing my ring, which had my seed within. From time to time I will contact you through it, and will give you instructions to carry out. I will, at some point, need you to retrieve my research, so you can study it and 'together' we can identify our pursuers, and then neutralize the threat. Understand?"

"Yes, some of it at least. Are you really dead?"

"My body, the vessel you are familiar with is dead, but since sensing this threat I began to take precautions, and make preparations for my death. I will instruct you later in what I need you to do, but for now, live life as you have been recently, just beware of this new danger."

Alan passed out.

* * *

An hour later, while Alan was sitting at his desk, finally able to concentrate on work, Arthur walked through the doors, coming right over to their desk. Alan told him that the boss was looking for him, and Mahoney went to see her. He returned after about a half an hour, shaking his head sadly, but opting not to share what passed between the two of them.

"Your not in any kind of trouble, are you? I mean, for being out drinking with your old newspaper buddies?" Alan asked him.

"Nah, kiddo, nothing like that," Mahoney replied, the scent of Bushmill's heavy on his breath. "We didn't discuss work. Personal stuff." He left it at that.

They picked their stories from the wire, including the one about the death of the famous archaeologist in London, an began cutting some for length, and rewriting the headlines of others. Ninety minutes later they were done, and Mahoney went out, probably, Alan thought, to another bar.

Alan stayed at his desk. Some nights there was something for him to do around the newsroom, and he was always eager to help. He also liked using the paper's computer system; its internet connection, a T1, was much faster than his dial-up at home.

He did some mindless surfing, still preoccupied by the day's events, not realizing the lateness of the hour.

* * *

Jamie McConville sat at her desk staring out of the window, not really seeing the parking lot below. A glass of white wine was in her left hand, and it wasn't her first.

"That fucking bastard," she thought to herself.

This morning as she was about to leave for the office the phone rang in her house. She was gathering up various items, putting them into her purse, and decided to let the machine take the call. Just as she was heading out the door, the caller began to leave a message.

"Hello, this call is for Mr. Rayford," the woman said. Philip Rayford was her second husband, whom she married two years after being widowed upon the death of Gordon McConville; she and Philip were married now for four years. "This is Lauren, the pharmacist at the Walgreen's on Brick Street. I'm just calling to let you know your prescription is ready. Have a nice day." Click.

Jamie sat in her car for more than five minutes debating what to do. As far as she knew her husband was not taking any prescription medicines. Did she have the right to invade his privacy and go see what the prescription was for? One factor pushed her over the edge; it was the Walgreen's calling, not their regular pharmacy, which was a mom and pop store called Roth's.

Viagra! "The son of a bitch hasn't laid a finger on me in months, and he's taking goddamn Viagra." She might have chalked it up to the possibility that Phil was getting the pills for their own lovemaking, but that balloon was deflated when the pharmacist said, "Please remind your husband that this is his last refill." His LAST refill. There had been others. Bastard!

Jamie had remained calm in the store, but by the time she reached her car, quiet tears began rolling down her cheeks. As she closed the door an settled in behind the wheel she was bawling. She wished she had never married the bastard. She wished her father was still alive so he could hold her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right. She cried some more before she was able to start the car and head to work. "Thank god I still have Uncle Art."

* * *

"Divorce the asshole," Arthur had said immediately, once she had managed to sob out her story. He hugged her, and she wiped the tears from her face on the shoulder of his shirt.

Now here she was, eleven o'clock at night, holed up in her office afraid to go home, half in the bag. "For Christ's sake! I'm some kind of pitiable cliché," she thought bitterly. She switched to coffee.

Twenty minutes and two cups of java later she locked her office and turned to go out. She walked as steadily as her fuzzy head would allow. She almost made it, too; just as she made the last turn around the end of the far row of cubicles she saw him, that summer intern kid. Just the surprise of seeing him there, because she expected that she was alone, caused her to stumble slightly. Worse still, the kid noticed. There was a pile of phone books right outside a cubicle, and her alcohol-sodden brain didn't process the fact of them in time. Coupled with the surprise of seeing Alan, she tripped, but caught herself, her hands grasping the wall of the cubicle opposite his.

"Mrs. McConville? Are you OK?" he asked, standing up and approaching her. She was still off-balance, and he helped her regain her footing.

"Thank you, young man," she said wearily. "I'm sorry about all of this." She straightened out her skirt, and when she looked up she saw him watching her. She blushed almost imperceptibly. "Oh my," she thought to herself, "Why hadn't I noticed before that he was so cute?" Because she was married to a man she thought was faithful to her, as she was faithful to him, that's why, she reasoned.

"What, what is your name again?" she asked him, returning his stare.

"I'm Alan Marshall, the summer intern."

"Right, right, now I remember. Sorry again. How -hic- are you enjoying yourself this summer? Everybody been nice?"

"Oh, yeah, everybody's been great, and I'm learning a lot. Thanks again for the opportunity."

"You're welcome." She paused, her eyes never leaving him. Could she do it? Was she really thinking about cheating on Phil with this, with this, well there was no other word for him. Was she really thinking about cheating on Phil with this *boy*? She was.

"Would it be too much of a bother if I asked you to drive me home? I've had a little too much wine, and, well, you know," she asked him coyly. She didn't think he knew she was coming on to him, and frankly, she wasn't sure herself.

Alan scanned her, finding out about her cheating husband, her plans to divorce him, and her desire to get back at him a little. From inside her mind he could see that her husband was away on a business trip, in San Francisco, and that her twelve year old daughter was away at sleep away camp up in the Adirondacks.

"Sure, uh, Mrs. McConville. No problem."

"Please, call me Jamie."

No one in the office, with the exception of Arthur Mahoney, called her by her first name. She didn't allow it.

* * *

"What can I get you? " she asked while standing next to the bar in the living room of her rather large house. Alan thought the Van Devanters had a big spread, but this place was approaching mansion status. This was her place, not Phil's. She had grown up in this house, just

her, daddy, and the servants. Her alcoholic mother had abandoned them, skipping town with her boy-toy tennis instructor for Europe when Jamie was a sophomore in high school. The irony of tonight--that she was tipsy and trying to seduce a teen boy--was not lost on her.

Alan could sense she was nervous, both in the regular way, and with his powers. He could have cracked a joke at this point, pointing out that technically he wasn't old enough to drink, but didn't want to freak her out, something his abilities told him she was close to doing.

"Whatever you're having."

She poured a finger and a half of bourbon each into two glasses, then added a single ice cube into the each one.

"So, tell me about yourself," she asked, her face visibly flushing. She coupled the question with her hand coming out to rest against his forearm. He could hear her breathing accelerate as she waited for his reply.

"Not much to tell really," he told her. She walked him over to one of the couches, the nearest one, before he continued after they were seated. He told her about editing the high school paper, among other things, and she paid rapt attention seemingly fascinated by the mundane details he was sharing with her. She licked her lips, making sure he was watching her as she did so.

She leaned into him, "Tell me more," she said softly, batting her eyelashes. Flirting she was good at, though she had never been the aggressor, never been the seducer. She was swiftly reaching her comfort limit, hoping he would pick up the hints she was dropping with her mood and body language and make a move already. "I mean, for pete's sake! A man would have figured it out by now: a good looking, semi-intoxicated woman invites a man, a handsome boy, into her house, her empty house. Make a damn move!" her mind was screaming out, hoping he would get the message.

Alan leaned into her, covering her mouth with his. Jamie groaned, all the muscles relaxing, letting him pull her into the kiss. It was as if the boy could read her mind.

"Is that what you wanted, Jamie?" he asked playfully.

"Yessssss," she hissed, her face inches from his, her whole view taken up by his nice-looking face. He kissed her again, his tongue exploring her mouth, the tip tracing the inside of her upper lip. He sucked the whole upper lip into his mouth, then released it, moving down to the lower one, biting down on it softly. She groaned in arousal, unable to think coherently.

"Is this what you want?" he put it to her again. Jamie nodded, then pressed her lips to his, this time her tongue doing the exploring. He stood, and then lifted her up, cradling her in is arms, surprising her with his strength.

"Which way?"

"Hmmmm?" she responded, lost in a haze of lust.

"The bedroom. Which way to the bedroom?"

"Up the stairs. End of the hall. Hurry, please. Let's go," she panted. She craned up her neck to kiss him, wanting more than anything else in the world to feel his mouth on her again.

Up in the master bedroom he laid her gently on her frilly canopied bed. Her breathing was fast, and she writhed about, wanting him on her, his body pressed against hers. He stood next to the bed, slowly, undressing. Jamie reached for the buttons on her blouse, but he stopped her.

"Don't do that," he ordered, his voice both commanding and soothing at the same time. As he shucked off his pants with his right hand, now naked only but for his shorts, he reached out with his right, brushing her hands away from her blouse buttons, and then opened her blouse, exposing her lacy bra. She lifted her butt off the bed to allow him to unzip her skirt and pull it off of her, than laid down next to her, drawing her in for another one of those kisses she found so dizzying. Jamie admired his body with both her hands and eyes, almost drowning in the sensuousness of his embrace. She felt his hands on her back, unclasping her bra, and groaned into his mouth. Before she knew what was happening his mouth was on her left breast, his tongue lashing her nipples.

Alan was surprised by the firmness of them for a woman so old; well, she wasn't so old. She was, by his guess, in her middle to late thirties, but that did make her the oldest woman he had been with thus far. Her breasts were small, and very firm, with pinkish-brown nipples and very small areolae; instantaneously they were erect, and Jamie gasped at the feelings of bliss shooting through her body. He reached down and felt her flesh through her panties, her secretions soaking through the thin fabric.

"Take them off," she gasped. He complied, and saw that her reddish-brown pubic hair matched that of her head. He tossed them to the floor beside the bed and reattached his lips to her breasts, slowly working a finger between her folds, his fingers lubricating with her flowing juices.

"Ah ah ah ah," she whinnied, her vagina spasming around his invading digits. "Please, I'm, oh my GOD--" she moaned throatily as he began to move his fingers in and out of her, wiggling them as he did.

"Please, I'm going, ah ah YES, crazy. I need you in meeeee!." Alan slowly slid his jockey shorts down and tossed them over the side, and her eyes bulged at the size of his erection. It was hard and an angry red.

"You want me to fuck you, to fuck you with this?" he asked as he held his dick lightly in his right hand. She was transfixed, unable to tear her eyes away from it.

"Yes," she whispered, "Right now."

"You're the boss," he quipped, lining the head up to her dripping slit. He slid in, and she shrieked, her body shaking violently as he fed his whole length into her. Her trembling continued, even when he stopped moving, resting his large cock in her buried to the hilt. She didn't orgasm just yet, but she was as turned on as she had ever been in her life.

"Fuck me, Alan, fuck me now," she pleaded, her lips quivering and dry. As he began to pull and push she responded by trying to pace her hips with his thrusting, and her tremors became even more intense and herky-jerky. After only a few minutes she came with tremendous force, her pussy walls clenching vigorously around his cock, and her screams filling the overlarge bedroom. Amazingly, or maybe not (after all he was a boy and not a Viagra-popping asshole like her soon to be ex-husband), he held back, slowing his thrusts considerably, but now using the full length of his cock to pleasure her. After she came down a bit from her climax she felt like she was floating on a cloud, relaxed to her core. It had been a long time since she had felt this way, not since the last time she and Gordon, her late husband, had been in bed. The memory brought a tear to the corner of her eye, and she shut them, just relaxing and reveling in the sensations this boy was stirring in her. He fucked her for a long time, giving her numerous orgasms, but unlike the first one, the ones which followed were small, gentle explosions. As she gasped and shuddered again--she had lost count at this point--he came inside her, and she moaned his name aloud upon feeling him deposit his seed within her.

Alan rolled onto his back and settled in beside her, and she turned onto her side and snuggled up into him. "Thank you," she sobbed quietly, her emotions run amok both from the shitty day she had just had, and the devastating impact of the lovemaking just concluded. "I needed that more than you will ever know." Her head was on his chest, and he bent his neck forward to kiss the top of her hair, sending a wave of peaceful contentment through her. She began to purr as she laid on his body, shivering slightly from the evaporation of perspiration from her overheated body in the air conditioned bedroom.

They laid together for a long time, and then Alan gently extricated himself out from under her and sat up on the edge of the bed, bending over to reach his clothes.

"Where are you going?" she asked him, her voice aquiver, as she trembled in the chill air of the semi-darkened bedroom.

He looked over his shoulder back at her. "Uh, home."

"Please, can you stay the night? I really can't be alone tonight." Alan saw that she was nearing tears, so he dropped his pants and laid down next to her, just holding her until she stopped shaking. They slept.

In the middle of the night, just before four o'clock, she woke him up, and they made love again.

Next Chapter: Danger from afar, plus, college orientation.