A Final Valentine

"How long?"

"Who knows? However long, even if it was an hour, it would be too long to make me suffer through your pain. Your joys are still my joys. Your sorrows are still my sorrows. It won't be easy. But, try to find as many of the former to balance the latter as you can. For me, if not for yourself."

"Selfish bitch," I snorted.

"When it comes to you, damn straight," Angela completed the punchline to our old joke.

"Then how can you be okay with me and her?" I asked more seriously.

"Does it matter?" Angela met my eyes for the first time since I'd sat beside her. I drew back since the emerald orbs that should have been had been replaced by darkness. "You still aren't sure that I am real. How could you possibly believe that I steered the two of you together? My time here is done. I have done all that I might. What you choose to do from here is your choice. As is only right for living mortals."

I watched, my chin against my chest, as maybe my wife or maybe not faded into nothing.

--Day Seven; Valentine's Day--

I didn't have the first idea just what that had been in my dream. The ghost of my dead wife? The Greek goddess Aphrodite? A figment of a febrile imagination that had read too many pulp paperbacks, too many pieces of occult work, both fiction and more serious, and too many textbooks including a course in Comparative Mythology in my all but forgotten college years? Personally, I was leaning towards the last.

I also wasn't sure just how long that dream might have run since I discovered when I took Bitty out that it was morning again with the spectacular sunrise decorating the few wisps of clouds scudding on the West Texas winds high above us.

It had been warm the day before. Warm enough that about half of the piled white shit was melted away. Warm enough I could smell the familiar charnel reek beginning from next door.

I wondered if Clarence had forgotten and left Bitty to supervise Little Angela committing breakfast-cide to go check.

Even as Clarence was entertaining me with his folksy fake dialect, the lights cut on in their main room. He walked over to pick up the phone and I could hear the dial tone from where he stood. When he punched in 911, however, he got a busy signal.

I asked if I could try, and once I got permission, picked my way through a litter of blankets and pillows carefully. I supposed the four of them must have bunked together in the front room for warmth.

Rather than repeat his effort, I punched in a number from memory. And when they picked up reported a scene that was marginally secured with eight dead bodies and a whole lot of guns, drugs, and money out in plain sight.

As expected, they got really excited.

However, as time wore on, and the effort of talking loudly enough to be heard wore on me, I realized that things were worse all over than I had known. Rather than sending someone out immediately, I was told it would probably be the next day before they could even get a response team to us. That the few machines available were even still cutting paths through the snow and ice, and the emergency crews from all branches were running full, and on little sleep, to try to deal with what had stacked up. And that since I could confirm that all were dead inside, and the situation was marginally contained, their priority was the living.

I shrugged it off and gave the address and hung up.

Clarence was more shocked than I'd been. Most fine, upstanding citizens would have been. They didn't want to cough up more of their hard-won money to taxes than they had to. Then, couldn't understand why what they had coughed up didn't get better emergency service when they thought it was needed. Not necessarily when it was needed. Just when they thought it was.

I'd been down that gravel road too many times, a few on my face, to be lured into his righteous indignation and bade the family wellness and warmth and made my escape while Clarence and his wife fed off each other as their carpet crawling crumb snatchers looked on with big eyes and bigger ears.

Little Angela had whipped up something I was expected to choke down with too many vegetables and too little meat involved for my liking. And the cheeky little shit had put one of those damn vitamin pills on my plate as well. I ate the food, but flatly refused that pill on the grounds it might make me sprout boobs.

And earned a slap on my shoulder when I set the second one on her plate after a thoughtful pause with a pointed look at her tits.

I don't know. Maybe if we had gone back to bed and fucked away Valentine's Day, things might have turned out differently than they did.

My fucking ear had drained again in my sleep. Heavily enough, it had soaked through the pillowcase to the pillow underneath.

Nasty.

I would have been fine with just peeling the case off and tossing it in the tub to clean and doing what I could to the pillow with a washrag and soap.

Little Angela, however, was inspired by my doing so, or maybe the light and warmth outside, and drew back the curtains and raised the blinds to get a good, long, full look at the dungeon we'd been living in.

And went into a fucking nesting frenzy even My Angela in her prime couldn't have bettered.

I got worn out just watching her and retreated to the dining room table to sit and smoke since she wouldn't listen when I tried to tell her it wasn't necessary.

It took her most of the morning (and about five of those little bags I carried groceries home in and kept around in case I needed them and then forgot to use) to finish with the bedroom where Bitty and I spent most of our time. Or at least to decide Rome wasn't built in a day and move on.

When I staged the second withdrawal, this time to the bedroom, I found she had opened the windows as well as the blinds and drapes. To air it out a little, I was informed.

I put a stop to that nonsense by shutting both windows, although I left the blinds and floor length heavy drapes aside to let her have light to see by. It was warmer, sure. But, there was still fucking snow on the ground.

And if I wanted fresh air, I would damn well take my dog outside. While I smoked to cut down the amount I took to a survivable level.

The covers had been peeled back and piled on the floor. But, other than that, I didn't see a thing out of place to my relief.

I spent the day smoking, reading a bit, and mostly dozing as Bitty followed the fucking dust devil whipping through the house like a mad woman. Crawling around on her hands and knees with her naked ass in the air as she rubbed at the carpet with her rubber glove encased hands and then putting the pet hair in another bag. Swinging a broom or the smaller brush at dust elephants gathered on surfaces or the masterpieces of arachnid art built in the corners.

Eventually, I was pressed into service as I'd half expected once she got started. I hadn't really thought she had accomplished all that much until I got told off to take thirteen of those little bags and two full thirteen-gallon trash bags off to the dumpster. Mostly dog hair, dirt, and spider webs. Although there were some oddments like the shards of mirror from behind the bathroom sink.

Obviously, the trash truck hadn't been able to run. But, no one had braved the elements to put more in the dumpster until then either. So, there was still some room. But, damn, did what was in there reek!

Rather than collapsing on the bed in exhaustion like I would have if I'd done a tenth of what she had, Little Angela set about making supper as the sun sank to touch the horizon on a field of white much diminished from what it had been.

I entertained myself, and Bitty, by running around and closing blinds, as well as a couple more windows, and pulling curtains and drapes back across against a night I knew in my bones wouldn't be even a tenth as warm as the day had been.

I felt more than a bit guilty at all the effort Little Angela had gone to despite my consistently telling her it wasn't necessary, that it would just get dirty again. To assuage my conscience, I cracked open My Angela's box of chocolates from her table and arranged the pieces, rather artfully I thought, on a smaller plate from the set Little Angela was planning to use to inflict supper on us and set it next to her place setting.

I could get My Angela another on my next trip to the store. She would understand. And Little Angela had more than earned some sort of thanks.

Bitty, that damn goofy mutt, sat there laughing at me with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth as I explained it to her.

"What's this?" Little Angela asked when she had placed our plates and taken her seat.

"Just something to say thank you," I signed. "You went to a lot of effort today and we appreciate it."

"But, those are for your wife!"

God, but the kid was every bit as sharp as the woman.

"She wants you to have them," I signed. "Says she doesn't need them anymore and you need to put some meat on your bones anyway. And they are a thank you from her as well as from Bitty and me. For taking care of us since she's not here to help out."

We both sat quietly and awkwardly toyed with our eating utensils for a moment.

"I wish I could have met her," she signed.

"Me too. I think you would have liked her as much as she likes you. She was always the more likable of the two of us."

Little Angela got quiet for a few bites and I just sat and focused on my own meal, which actually didn't taste just awful despite some colorful stuff I knew was probably supposed to be healthy, but I had always privately suspected might finish me off if I wasn't careful and approached cautiously from a lifetime of habit.

"You love her very much," she signed.

"Yes, I do."

"Do you think you could ever love me?"

I paused with my spoon in my mouth and looked at the young woman, little more than a child, who was sitting naked with me at my table, in the home we had shared for a week, where we had fucked at least twice, and couldn't believe she didn't already know the answer.

"I do love you," I signed back.

"I'm glad," she signed slowly. "Because I feel things, for the first time, that make me understand the stories that people tell, the poems that describe love. I always thought people were lying when they described this feeling."

The poor kid. Well, she would find out soon enough just what lies those stories and poems were. In time, given enough time, she, too, would work out that happily ever after endings were just stories that hadn't really reached their end yet.

Soon, probably tomorrow, the next day at the latest, she would continue her trip to La-La Land, chasing her dreams of stardom. And I would be left alone once more in her wake. There was no place for me in her dream. And, unlike her, I knew what true love was. And I loved her enough to sacrifice my selfish desire to ask her to stay and wish her well on her way rather than ask her to sacrifice her dreams and her youth to stay and watch me gradually wither and die.

No. Better to let her go and let her remember Bitty and me as something other than the dust and ashes we would both most likely be before she ever achieved her dream. The best, the absolute best I could hope would be that between us we had given her something good to remember with all the shit in her life.

And I was determined to give both of us one final good memory of our time together.

Once our dinners were done, and most of her chocolates enjoyed (the poor kid had never had any chocolate except a Hershey Bar she had stolen once that she could remember), I took her hand and led her gently, but firmly to the shower.

I wish I could say I treated her to the full spa treatment, but truthfully I never was that suave and sophisticated even when I didn't have trouble standing unaided for long periods.

I did, however, manage to wash her hair for her and give her a gentle, caressing wash that only served to excite her. As I had intended.

After toweling her dry, I led her to the bed I had shared with my wife for so many Valentine's Nights and determined that I would give Little Angela as much of the pleasures during our single one that I'd learned to give my wife over the many we had shared.

Angela would have wanted me to and I wanted to.

Poor, unsuspecting Little Angela had no idea just how long her night was about to become as I retrieved the scattered candles and lit them.

And drew an unassuming plain wooden box from the top of the closet.

"Wait," she signed as I opened the box and began checking the pieces over, re-installing batteries in what needed them, and setting the pieces acceptable within easy reach on the bed. "What is all of this?"

"Do you trust me?"

Little Angela looked at me for a long moment, working her bottom lip between her teeth before she responded. "Yes. I trust you."

"Good," I signed. "If I do anything you don't like, all you have to do is say 'stop' and I will. But, it's Valentine's. And I want to give you a special treat to show you just how much I love you."

Each piece had been painstakingly cleaned, dried, and sealed away in its own individual protection before being packed away in the box and set up on the top shelf of the closet.

I was a bit disappointed the "Rascally Rabbit" vibrator couldn't join us for the evening. But, it had been my experiences that the simpler devices held up better to the test of time, so I wasn't terribly surprised something so complex had cashed it in. And it wasn't as if I didn't have enough else to work with. Two of the three "Magic Bullet" vibrators were still fine.

And there were the seven dildos of various sizes, shapes, and materials to fall back on.

The tie down straps stayed packed away. Even if I had been able to manage the velcro fastenings, Little Angela had told me she didn't like her arms held down. I figured actually tying her down would probably make her hit the ceiling, if not run out into the snow stark raving naked.

I left the anal plug with the heart-shaped gem on the pommel as well, and for the same reason.

It bothered me that I didn't have a rose I could trail over her skin. But, I did have the feather, the strip of sandpaper, and the short length of hemp rope.

I wasn't sure but decided we could at least try the nipple clamps with bells on them. If she didn't like them, she didn't like them and we could take them back off.

And there was the pair of silk gloves I started pulling on my hands like a second skin.

Perhaps naturally, there was a knock on the door in that familiar cadence that warned somebody with a badge and a gun was on the other side just then.

Fuck!

I hadn't been sure I still had it in me to manage what I had in mind for our night. But, I had sure been looking forward to trying.

Bitty, when she had seen the box come out, had headed off to lie on the couch and wait for the screaming to be over. At the knock, she had headed to the front door and was letting everyone for three blocks know something was up.

"Door," I signed. "Probably cops. Most likely about next door. This will probably take awhile. I'm sorry."

"Should I put something on?"

"Probably," I signed as I pulled my sweats on. "And, if you would toss all this back in the box. I don't know, but they are probably going to want to see the bullet hole in the wall."

In the front room, I gave Bitty the command to lie down and wait. And opened the door to a familiar face.

"How they hanging, Jarhead?"

"Low and full since I hadn't seen your wife in a while," I shot back even as my brows tried to slide over my head to the back of my neck.

"Speaking of wives," Tom Brannon glanced down at his feet. "I was sorry as hell to hear about Angela. I would have told you myself, but couldn't figure out how to find you until your name and this address came across on this call."

I ignored the chance to take a shot at his supposed inability to find me as it was too easy. And, yeah. He probably had actually tried and couldn't figure out how without someone to point him in the right direction. Brannon was perfect if you needed someone to follow orders or training, but was pretty much lost if a situation came up that training or orders didn't cover.

"I thought you were riding the pine at the range, now," I said. "Combat shooting for dummies is the word I heard. What the shit are you doing here on this?"

"Warm body, mostly," Brannon shrugged ruefully. "Even Captain Parks is beating the streets in this shit. Granted, over in Lakeridge. But, still..."

"Damn! Is it all that?"

"Bad enough if you hadn't been out on medical and so long ago, they probably would have put you back in harness like a couple of the other old warhorses. They've got Keesee and Vandergriff riding around Overton."

"Holy shit! Did they have to dig them up at the cemetery?"

"Look who's talking, Jarhead. You look like shit," Brannon flashed me his old grin. "Anyway, I yanked the sheet with your name from the pack and swung by to do the prelim. So, what have we got?"

"Be aware, I do have a guest," I said absently as I dropped back into my memory to arrange my thoughts. "She and I were in bed two days ago, in the morning, when Bitty, the dog, alerted us something was wrong."

When I mentioned the bullet hole in the wall, Brannon asked if he might enter and flicked the light switch beside him when I gave him permission. He gave me a look when the lights didn't come on and pulled his flashlight from his belt.

I led him back to the bedroom where Little Angela was sitting on the bed, clothed in my pajama bottoms and t-shirt. With me acting as translator, Brannon got her name, the fact she had been on her way to California when I rescued her (her word, not mine), and last address when she claimed she didn't have a current one other than mine.

Brannon examined the hole in the far wall and went to the trouble of looking at the one in the closet, which I hadn't bothered to do.

The asshole tried to make me demonstrate the bear crawl I'd pulled off in the moment. I flipped a finger at his grinning face instead.

I did, however, demonstrate my method of entry to an extent. Although we didn't open the door yet.

Brannon checked the snow and verified as best he could that no one since I had come that way. He had already verified there were no marks at all in the snow in front of the door on the other side.

I briefly ran through what I could remember of what I'd seen inside.

"No idea if anyone else was in there?" Brannon asked.

"Didn't see or hear any indication," I shrugged. "Neither then nor since. But, I didn't stick around once I'd seen. Egressed the way I came, trying to disturb the scene as little as possible, and went across to check the neighbors on the other side since there was a through and through there as well. Tried to borrow their phone to call it in, but the lines were out until earlier today when I reported it. You going in?"

"Without a witness with that much drugs and cash out and loose? Get real, Kowalski. I want to hit retirement in a few years. I'm going to hit up your neighbors and head back to type up what I've got and send it over to the geek squad to come do clean up. I do, however, have two last questions for you."

"Shoot," I said, leaning heavily on my staff.

"First, their lights are on in the kitchen. Why don't your lights work?"

"Because Lubbock Power and Light thinks I should pay what I owe before they give me any more juice," I said. "Next?"

"Are you banging that piece of jailbait? 'Cause I'm sorry, Kowalski. But, you know I'm going to have to run her. And she looks about fourteen will get you twenty."

"I know," I sighed. "Believe me I know. She says she's eighteen. And she's been consistent enough I believe her. I think she would have broken some time in the last twenty-four-and-seven if it were a lie."