Smoke and Shadows

(Chapter 12)

"Smoke and Shadows" (circa-1976)

"Fucking Stephanie Monroe...Fucking mad woman...Fucking violent husbands," he muttered to himself, yawning into a clenched fist, keeping his eyes on the rear-view mirror, making a mental note to cross 'The Bridge Hotel' off his list of social venues.

The sudden impact of the car mounting the pavement and crashing into a row of metal railings at a bus stop woke him from an untimely sleep, the natural reaction to grab the steering wheel after the event offering little to prevent or cushion the blow from the impact.

In the claustrophobic silence he sucked in precious air, trying to calm the accelerating heart beating frantically inside his chest, his head aching with the pain of been thrown like a rag doll against the car windscreen, sleep deprived eyes staring into the mirror, trying to focus through the cobwebs of nausea, his face peppered with several cuts from the shards of glass that had showered his body on impact and an open wound spitting blood from his forehead.

Sweeping away particles of broken glass from his limp body and wiping cold beads of sweat from his forehead, breathing in short gasps of air and stepping from the car to examine the damage, cursing under his breath at his stupidity, a fleeting glance at his watch a chilling reminder that things could have been more serious.

If he had been travelling this route an hour or so later the bus stop would have been littered with people on their way to work and furthermore if he had hit the bus stop head on, he could be spending the night in a hospital ward, or even the hospital morgue.

He made a mental note to start wearing his seat belt before examining the car.

The impact of the wheels hitting the high kerb had slowed the car enough to cushion the blow just before hitting the metal railings and surprisingly the front of the car didn't appear to have sustained too much damage.

A yellow orange glow on the horizon signalled the beginning of a new day and the last thing he needed to see at this time in the morning was a police car.

Although his legs protested against the physical demands and every bone in his body ached, he managed to push the car from the footpath and back onto the road.

The journey home was painfully slow but the early morning bird-song and the welcoming cool breeze in his face and Paul Rodgers crooning 'All Right Now' from the car radio, helped to ease the pain and bring him back to reality.

The taxi drive to Newcastle Royal Victoria Hospital was only a couple of miles away from his flat. The Accident and Emergency Room was unexpectedly quiet. A plump nurse with a bloated look of someone who had a craving for carbohydrates, called Susan Owen quickly attended to the four stitches he required and he was soon on his way back to the comforts of his own flat.

After a couple of glasses of red wine and a restless night's sleep punctuated by disturbing dreams of becoming the latest statistic in a long list of road accident victims, he was shaved and showered before seven o'clock the following morning.

June Chamber's was having breakfast when the telephone rang. After giving her a brief summary of the accident and the subsequent damages to his car she said she would send a breakdown vehicle and have it brought to her garage in Newton-by-the-Sea.

Between slurps of coffee and a conversation laden with innuendo and flirtatious phone sex, followed by a description of the recent addition to her dressing-up-wardrobe and some new phallic toys, she asked him if he would like to spend the day at her flat while the mechanics worked on his car.

After a few minor body repairs, a new windscreen and radiator and a solo demonstration with her new phallic toy followed by two hours of bed rattling sweaty sex, he was heading back to Gateshead.

A peaceful evening with Caroline Spencer in his favourite Italian restaurant was a welcoming relief after the bizarre night at Stephanie Monroe's flat.

It had certainly been an anxious two weeks, constantly looking over his shoulder, staring into the eyes of faceless strangers, jumping nervously whenever someone knocked at the door or a car unexpectedly backfired in the street.

The facial wounds from the road accident had now healed so he thought it prudent not to mention his close encounter with death, in fear of a question and answer confrontation.

Caroline hummed softly to the romantic music as a waiter placed food on the table, beaming a wide smile and raising her wine glass in the way of a toast, announcing that she was giving up her job in teaching and going to work as a probation officer at HMP-Durham.

The night of celebration began with a long and uninteresting summary about her new job in the prison service. Wine glasses filled, wine glasses emptied, another bottle arriving at the table, a night of mixed emotions and flirtatious interaction, her demeanour growing in confidence, her voice lowering to surreptitious whispers, events of their intimate liaison in the swimming pool at her parents' house stimulating arousal, any further conversation about career moves melting away in the heat of passion.

If only he'd telephoned a service engineer when the pilot light kept going out on the central heating boiler, they wouldn't be going back to a cold house.

She smiled, but she looked uncomfortable. She shivered and sighed at his feeble attempts to ignite the pilot light. He feared the cold atmosphere might dampen the mood and the libido until he remembered that he still had water from the emersion heater.

He made a mental note to ring a service engineer first thing in the morning.

A bottle of wine in one hand and glasses in the other, sprinting up the stairs to the bathroom, taps turned on, wine poured into glasses, clothes quickly abandoned on the floor, two white candles on the window sill and classical music filtering through from the bedroom providing a romantic ambience for a night of insatiable passion.

Lips melted together in a smouldering kiss, a flirtatious engagement of tongues dancing and snaking inside mouths, sweeping over teeth, exploring every crevice in a persuasive interaction of oral enquiry, hands sweeping impatiently over slippery skin, touching and fondling, groping and squeezing, embracing genitalia in a mutual engagement of promise and heightening expectation, a responsive connection of sexual discovery.

A woman spinning in sensory expectation, an impatient woman craving for intimate contact, a woman overwhelmed with need and desire, a wanting woman accepting that her body was now his and he could do whatever he wanted with it.

She followed his instructions, stood up in the bath and turned to face the wall.

Brushing wet hair from her face, both hands flat against the tiled wall, bending over and opening her legs, the slippery limb sliding inside her body with relative ease, the welcoming suction of her inner walls stretching to accommodate the gruesome length and thick girth, genitalia embracing genitalia in a physical connection of carnal intimacy.

The pace quickly gathered momentum, voices growing into a heated commentary of cacophonous grunts and breathless groans, compliments chasing promises, two people groaning out their pleasure, fucking in a frenzied rhythm of give and take, pushing and pulling, grinding and banging, thrusting and pounding, hard masculine skin smacking urgently against soft feminine skin, the sloppy wet sounds of coital interaction echoing inside the room.

She panted and sighed, she moaned and groaned, she gasped and cried, she shuddered and stiffened, contractions and euphoric spasms sweeping through her body in a crescendo of orgasmic tremors, his balls tightening inside the scrotum, 'blast off' only seconds away.

A frustrated sigh wheezing between tight lips, her wet hands unable to find purchase on the tiled wall, her feet sliding unsteadily on the slippery surface underfoot, the connection of intimacy broken, the fleshy muscle slipping from her body.

"The bedroom," he snapped, with urgency in his voice.

The bed sheets were cold against their warm bodies, the welcoming embrace and curses of disapproval more of a spontaneous exchange of body heat than an intimate acquaintance of sexual expectation.

It was physical. It was merciless. It was vocal. A progressive interaction of genitalia colliding in a union of coital connection, a tireless fucking machine thrusting and grinding, moving inside her body at lightning speed, battering her vulva with brutal determination, back and forth, entering and retreating, plunging in and pulling out, moans and groans accompanying shallow gasps and breathless pants, spasms following spasms, waves of muscle contractions reaching every nerve, gripping the bed sheet with both hands, arching her back and thrusting her hips, breathing in gasps and pursing her lips, her voice growing into a choking chorus of screaming curses.

"I'M COMING...! I'M COMING! FUCK ME...! FUCK ME...! FUCK ME...! FASTER! FASTER!" she screamed, shaking and shuddering and thrashing her head from side to side, a mind numbing orgasm, thundering through her body, groaning out her pleasure through an increasing fanfare of squeaking bedsprings, her muted cries of pleasure smothered under the continuous clack-clack-clacking of the headboard banging against the party wall, another sleepless night for his elderly and religious neighbours living in the flat next door, ears pressed against the wall, speaking in furtive whispers, curiosity inviting endless speculation.

'Were they witnessing a murder? Should they ignore it? Should they call the police?

Neither of them said very much, a few breathless murmurs, waiting for their bodies to calm, his outstretched hand with a cigarette welcomed with a gasping sigh of approval.

Two breathless lovers drained of energy, staring at the bedroom ceiling through tired eyes, watching the haze of white smoke spiralling upwards in lazy circles, drifting aimlessly across the room before disappearing through a small gap in the window.

Two exhausted bodies settling into silence, giving in to sleep, draining the last of their wine, empty glasses abandoned on the bedroom floor.

He wasn't sure whether it was the panic in her voice or the claustrophobic fog of black smoke choking the room that broke his sleep.

"The fucking beds on fire," she screamed, the duvet glowing in a sea of burning embers, the tight grip on his arm a harsh reminder of the urgency as she rolled off the bed onto the floor, the deafening sound of shattering glass and her painful cries smothered under the sound of his heavy footfalls stamping franticly on the duvet, trying to put out the fire.

In the smoke and shadows of crippling uncertainty, painful cries echoed inside the room, her limp body lying motionless on the bedroom floor and a deep wound spitting blood from her side, the wine glass nothing more than small fragments of glass glistening like diamonds on the carpet.

"Are you hurt," he shouted, ignoring the ruined duvet and sprinting around the bed, cursing when a shard of glass pierced his foot, lifting her carefully from the floor and placing her gently on the bed before gathering her clothes from the floor and getting her dressed, taking her arm and helping her to his car.

He wasn't surprised to find the Accident and Emergency Room inside Newcastle Royal Victoria Hospital littered with sobering drunks but he was surprised and a little embarrassed when Susan Owen greeted him in the waiting room.

"Bring Caroline into the examination room," she invited. "Are you injured too? You seem to have a limp," she enquired.

"No...No. I'm fine," he said, forcing a smile, relieved that she hadn't recognised him.

The nurse talked and talked through a visual examination of Caroline's injury, only stopping when she had to remove particles of glass from the wound, half listening to his brief account of the unfortunate accident, smiling occasionally at his impetuous humour, scowling the next at his brazen arrogance.

The well-practiced hand of Susan Owen closed Caroline's wound in a seamless row of stitches and medical dressings before seeing them to the door.

"Thank you nurse," he smiled, placing a comforting hand around Caroline's waist, searching inside his jacket pocket for his car keys, the unexpected voice of Susan Owen following him out the door.

"Drive carefully Mr Brand."