Warming the IcePrincess Pt. 05

I pulled myself upright using the end of the sturdy cart and looked down into his wild bulging eyes. His mouth opened spastically trying to draw in a breath but I heard no air moving in either direction. His chest heaved as he tried using the strength in his diaphragm alone to force air past his collapsed throat. After a few minutes, his frenzied motions slowed, his lips began turning blue and as the elevator came to a stop, his skin was already assuming an unhealthy pallor. I knew from some long forgotten anatomy class exactly what I had done to his throat.

My foot had crushed the thyroid cartilage making up the body of his larynx and had likely shattered the Hyoid bone as well. Fragments of the bone and cartilidge had been driven deep into the muscles on both sides leaving them so damaged they were unable to pull his vocal cords apart allowing lifegiving air to pass between. I was fully aware that without immediate medical intervention the former deputy director of the FBI might never draw another breath. I went to college and studied hard to become the best damned accountant I possibly could be. Unfortunately for Ashton Walcott III what he really needed was someone who'd attended medical school instead.

(Epilogue)

My release from the hospital a few days later, allowed Claire and I to fly with Sue's remains in the company jet to her family's home in Spencer Idaho. Sue's family was warm and understanding with us throughout our stay. But there was a definite undertone we could both feel whenever we were with them. Their affection for Sue and sense of loss seemed completely genuine, but I got the distinct impression they didn't approve of some of the choices she'd made in her life. We stayed on for both the funeral and the burial before leaving to join Bart and Liz on the ranch.

They had postponed their wedding plans to spend the time helping the two of us get through the worst of the aftermath of Walcott's vicious attack. Both Claire and I insisted that they didn't have to do that but it was like trying to argue with the weather once that pair made up their mind. The doctors wanted me to stay off my injured leg as much as possible, which was simple enough considering the black pall that settled over my spirit. I didn't want to do anything so my physical debility provided a convenient excuse.

I stayed indoors with Liz's ancient bulldog Winston. He found life in the great outdoors a little too large and fast moving to adapt to at his age. The two of us nursed our aches and pains protecting the homestead from rustlers while never venturing further than the porch rail. Claire seemed to bounce back quickly enough in light of the severe concussion she suffered at Walcott's hands. She was able to keep busy around the ranch and both Bart and Liz did their best to help each of us through the ordeal. A few times when we were in bed at night and tried to talk about what happened. Neither of us lasted long before the tears overwhelmed our attempts at sort out our feelings and we ended up sobbing in each other's arms.

On the third week at the ranch, we had a visitor. Special agent Gibbons drove up the long dusty lane to the ranch house with an agent from the local FBI field office as a guide. I greeted him on the porch with the help of a gnarled willow cane Bart carved for me one rainy afternoon that kept all of us sequestered indoors. Keith seemed more relaxed than I had ever seen him before. He told me he needed to conduct a final interview with each of us so that he could close the case file on Walcott. Talking with him that afternoon had an odd effect on me. For the first time since Sue was killed, I was able to recount the events of that morning without tears. I just recited what I remembered setting the emotions aside and focusing on the details analytically. Describing for the two agents how Walcott met his own end had some sort of cathartic effect on me I wasn't expecting. When Keith said he was finished with me I actually smiled for the first time in many days.

It would be many more months before the gruesome memories of my friend being murdered before my eyes stopped being a nightly visitor for me. However, from that afternoon forward I felt as though I'd turned a corner and my life was my own again. Claire noticed the change in me right away but never pressed me to find out what made it possible. That night was the first time since the Walcott's attack that we were able to make love.

It was tender and urgent and in some odd wonderful way, it signaled to both of us that it was time to return to the life where we belonged, together. We returned home the next day and to work one day after. There was an odd subdued atmosphere in the office that first morning. Later on near lunchtime, Claire and I both were deluged with concerned emails and supportive calls, everyone in the building it seemed wanted to welcome us back.

Early the next April with the new buds popping and the worst of the winters ravages fading, we returned to the ranch for a long overdue wedding. My old friend Winston greeted me at the porch rail still reluctant to leave the safety of the house. It surprised me how strong my attachment was to the old mutt, but his trust, friendship, and immediate recognition almost started me crying. Physically I was fully healed but there were still times when I felt hollow inside and that was very slow to fade away.

Beside the incongruous guard dog, there was no one else around when the cab dropped us off in front of the house. Claire quickly recalled that one of Bart's prized Tobiano Paint mares had given birth the night before and the barn was the most likely place to find the others. We stacked our luggage on the porch and turned up the path to the barn with an astonishing escort following along. Winston had apparently screwed up his courage enough to make the bold leap and trailed us up the path as fast as his short arthritic legs would allow.

When I stepped inside the barn and saw what everyone was gawking at, I understood immediately why the dark smelly place was the focus of attention on this fine sunny day. Standing in the stall under the watchful eye of her mother was the most adorable spotted foal I had ever seen. She was small and almost pure white except for a small brown spot by one corner of her mouth and a larger spot beginning at the poll and flowing partway down her crest making her look as though she had a slightly lopsided but adorable haircut. She pranced around the pen testing her legs while we all watched her. She stopped near the protection of her proud mothers legs staring between the rails back at all of us. Her little head titled for a few seconds as though she were deciding something important and then she sprang about the stall in a display of youthful enthusiasm that had everyone in the barn laughing.

My eyes never left the foals playful antics when I knelt at the rail of the little stall holding out my hand. Her mother nickered softly as the little filly bravely sniffed and nuzzled my palm.

Claire asked her dad smiling, "She is such a cutie, does she have a name yet?"

Bart cleared his throat theatrically while glancing over to Liz and then answered, "Ah, well, we were just discussing that but haven't come to any agreeme..."

Liz unceremoniously cut him off announcing, "Her name is McKenzie, but you can call her Sue for short."

Tears tumbled down my cheeks as the filly's soft muzzle and warm breath tickled my palm. When I turned to face the others I saw both Liz and Claire where similarly affected. Bart had a wide grin curling the corners of his moustache and said softly, "You're right honey that is a damn fine name. One that'll let her carry her head high anywhere she decides to go."

End note:

Before anything else I'd like to say, If you are lesbian and you have taken offense with my story, I do apologize. For me it was all in good fun and never intended to accurately portray your lifestyle. If you did manage to enjoy it, I'll consider myself very lucky indeed.

Now I'd like to answer a few questions that I hope were not too obviously revealed in my writing. I am not an accountant, and don't play one on TV. I absolutely detest insurance companies and most of what they stand for. I still can't even explain to myself why I chose one for the setting here. I also know virtually nothing about Shotokan Karate, Italian cuisine and perhaps even less about Women's fashion. I will only confess to doing some cursory research on these subjects on-line. The internet is an awesome tool for assisting a writer in search of even the smallest scraps of credibility.

I began writing this missive solely as a distraction when I returned home from vacation a year ago and found that some silly ass had forgotten to pay the annual ISP bill. He consequently had to wait almost a week before it was turned back on. Once started and the main characters began to take shape I found myself setting a few objectives while I continued writing and the story began unfolding.

The first was to write and edit a complete novel-length story, start to finish without any other writing distractions.

The second was to write an interesting story with likable fully developed characters entirely in the first person. (That proved more difficult than I thought.) When it evolved into a love story between the two women it seemed a disservice to the reader not to pay significant attention to the emotional aspects of their relationship. As well as doing so with a certain sensitivity that is atypical of many male writers. I worked hard paying attention to what each character might be thinking and feeling. However, as a man there is no way for me to honestly judge if I was at all successful.

Third, I wanted to avoid fixed stereotypical roles in their relationship or their love making. I have always found that human beings and their interactions are far too dynamic to fit well within any rigid categories, so I didn't try. I did however attempt to provide a great deal of variety allowing their sexual interplay to change and evolve as their emotional attachment deepened. The brief two week time-line forced me to include a range of sexual escapades that may take a lifetime for a real human to experience.

Obviously, I will only know how well I was able to achieve any of these goals through the generosity of your feedback.

Thank you for reading,

J-Stroke