Beck Takes Her Clothes Off

"It is- what?" Beck asked.

"It's from the storage unit..."

"Wait, all the way outside?" she asked, and I nodded.

I picked the box up, then headed out the door, and Beck quickly followed me.

We had to walk around the driveway to the little path that ran alongside the garage, and raised deck to the shed which was at the back of the house.

As I got there, I stared at the mechanical door to the storage room in shock.

It was open... and as I examined the keypad, I noted that the correct code had been entered, and the spare keycard I kept in my study had was inserted in the slot.

"Beck... how did you-?"

I stopped short, as I saw the expression of pure bewilderment on her face.

"I- I don't know, daddy... please, don't be mad at me."

"I'm not. I just; I don't understand. You did all of this while you were asleep?"

"I don't even remember," she answered.

I placed down the box down on the floor, then taking the key card, I made a forced cut along the brown package tape that had sealed it shut, and as I opened up the box, I gasped.

"What is that?" Beck asked, and I shook my head.

"Old manuscripts," I answered.

I handed one to her, and she examined it.

"What's it about?" she asked, and I shrugged.

"If it's in here, then probably nothing good," I answered. "These are the ones that not even my kind of publishers would touch."

"Really? Mom always says there's people out there who'll read anything," she countered, flipping through the folder, and I shrugged.

"You can keep it if you like... maybe we should, if that's what your sleepwalking brought you here after."

Beck nodded, scooping up the old papers, and stuffing it back into the box, and I closed up the storage space, then hauled the thing back up to the house.

As soon as we got inside, however, she took the box to the couch and immediately began pouring through them.

"Did you really write all of this?" she asked, and I nodded.

"I write a lot, but most of it ends up somewhere like this," I explained.

Even the ones that sell, I added in my head, with some dismay, but she shook her head, gesturing to the house.

"It got you all this, didn't it? Who cares what anyone thinks?"

"Your mom cared," I answered, and she frowned.

"She left you five years ago; you know? Does it still matter what she thinks?"

I let out a sigh, then picked up one of the manuscripts, flipping through to one of the usual scenes, then cleared my throat before reading:

"The Goblin warlord stroked his axe suggestively, as he stood over the terrified Elven princess. Her ceremonial dress had been torn down the front, and as she tried to shield herself from his lecherous stare, her sizeable breasts spilled out of her hands, enticing the already aroused creature."

"Oo, rape scene. Bookmarked," Beck said, as she reached for the manuscript, and I shook my head at her as I pulled it just out of her grasp.

"I've been allowing you to read my books since you were sixteen."

"I know," she said, and I studied her.

"So, why do you want to see my rejected stuff?"

She shrugged.

"I have no clue, but usually when I do something while sleepwalking, it means it was floating around somewhere in my subconscious, right? Maybe I'll figure it out. Besides, that wasn't half bad."

I let out a sigh, before surrendering the embarrassing manuscript.

If you wanted to see these, I would have just shown them to you, I thought.

But... even so, why did she undress when she went sleepwalking?

"Beck..."

"Hm?"

I shook my head, realizing that to ask that would mean to acknowledge that her nudity had stood out in my mind, and I wasn't prepared to go there.

"It's nothing. I have a call to make," I said, as I got up, and headed for the stairs.

As I left the room, however, I cast a tentative look back, and noted that Beck was really going through the manuscripts with a curious kind of interest, and I shook my head again, before heading off.

I pulled up the contact that Bell had sent to me, then shook my head.

If she was friends with Bell, then it couldn't be her.

What if she went back to her, and told her whatever I confided?

It was a good idea, though; a therapist.

I don't know why I didn't think about that in the first place.

I headed for my room, then got my phone, and looked up the contact, 'Mark', then hit the call button, and after one ring, he answered.

"Finnnn! My man, tell me you have something for me."

"I'm on vacation, Mark. My daughter's here still, remember?"

"Right, right. I forgot about that, although..."

"Although?"

"You remember that story you were writing, what was it, December last year?"

"Fucking hell, Mark. I never sent you that."

"Eh, if you don't secure your networks, then you deserve to be hacked. Anyway, I was actually hoping this time alone with little Beck would spur you into something like that. I mean, that was wicked hot man."

"No."

"What? Why not? It would sell like fire. It's the bestselling genre across Eastern Asia."

"I'm not publishing anything like that. Beck reads everything I write, and Bell would lose her shit."

"So what? They're just stories, Finn. Beck actually understands that, and what's the worst that can happen? Bell's your ex-wife, it's not like if she can leave you again."

I massaged my temples agitatedly.

Maybe Mark was the wrong person to talk to, here.

"Look, we can discuss this another time, but can you arrange something for me?"

"Sure man. Your wish is literally my job," he said, laughing.

"I need to see a therapist. ASAP. I don't care if they're good, just somewhere close by, and with no links to anyone I know."

Mark went silent.

"What's this about? Are you going into a depressive phase again, man? Because you know I don't fuck around with that. I'll come out there tomorrow if you need me."

"No, no. I mean, maybe I think something's happening, but it's not serious. Not yet."

"Alright, I'll see what I can do. But look at you, getting help before it becomes completely debilitating and shit. I think I'm actually proud!"

I rolled my eyes, and shook my head.

"Thanks, really. Don't put it off, okay?"

"Yeah, I got ya. I'll call you later with something."

I thanked Mark again, then hung up, but as I looked at the contact still sitting there in my messages from Bell, an idea occurred to me, and I quickly tapped the call option.

It rang a few times, before a voice spoke through the phone.

"H-hello," the woman said, clearing her throat as she spoke.

"Hi, this is Finn. Uh, Finnegan Bloom. I uh-"

"Yes, Finn, I know who you are. Belladonna already spoke to me. Do you want to come in for this chat?"

"If it's alright, I don't mind speaking like this," I said.

"Yes, this is fine. So, what seems to be bothering you?"

"Uh, did Bell keep seeing you, like after-?"

"I can't answer questions about Bella's personal life, Finn."

"No, of course. I meant, uh- did she ever see you; I mean... are you familiar with Beck's sleepwalking problem?"

"Yes, I am; wait, is Beck sleepwalking again?"

"Yeah. Is that bad?" I asked.

"Um, maybe. I mean, sleepwalking is much more common in kids and teenagers than adults. Have you noticed anything different about Beck recently?"

"Different, like what?"

"Like, has she been doing drugs, or drinking?"

"No."

"... are you sure?"

"Yes. She hasn't gone out, or even had a friend over since coming over here."

"And has there been any conflicts since she began staying with you? It's been, what, a week already, hasn't it?"

Jeez, how much does Bell tell this woman?

"Almost a week, and no. Everything's been quiet, until the sleepwalking."

"Has she seemed unhappy about being there with you?"

"No. She wanted to come here," I countered, a little defensively.

"I know, Finn. I'm just trying to get the picture here. So, what did she do while sleepwalking? Did she try to go outside?"

"Well, she did, but not to leave the house."

"Then why?"

"She went to a storage shed around the back, and got a box of my old unpublished manuscripts."

"Hmm... she's still allowed to read your work, isn't she?"

"Yeah."

"And did you let her read these manuscripts?"

"Yes."

"Well, for now, just keep an eye on her. Your swimming pool isn't accessible from outside the house, is it?"

"No, there's a gate which is usually locked," I said, but for fuck's sake, the swimming pool was such a recent addition.

Just how much did this woman know about my life?

"Well, just be aware of hazards like that. Drowning is one of the most common contributors to somnambulism-related deaths."

"Okay," I replied.

"Is there anything else that has been bothering you, Finn?"

"No, that's it," I lied.

Just that, and the intense arousal caused by sight of my daughter's naked body...

"Well, feel free to call me if there are any problems, okay?"

"Okay."

"And Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"Try to make this work, okay? Beck wants you to be a part of her life again, and Bella really, really needed this vacation."

"Got it," I said, as I pulled the phone away from my ear, and hung up.

I took a deep breath, then got up and headed back downstairs where Beck had now begun to separate my manuscripts into two piles, and I shot her a questioning look.

"What is this?" I asked.

"This is the definitely read pile. This one is the maybes. The others go back in the box," she explained.

I headed over to the read pile, then picked up the first folder and flipped through the pages.

"Ugh, the unicorn story?" I asked.

"You wrote a unicorn sex story and expected me to not read it?"

I shook my head at her, as of all of my embarrassing experiments, this was probably the worst...

Well, excluding what I wrote in December last year, maybe.

"Hey, dad. Did you ever name a character after me?"

I was on my way to the kitchen, and I turned around to study her.

"What?"

"A character, named Beck?"

I shook my head.

"Ninety percent of my female characters are basically just fodder for vile male fantasy, and the other ten percent are just shrewish old wives. Why would I name my daughter after any of those things?"

She shrugged.

"I dunno. Didn't you ever have a favorite, or just thought, 'this one really reminds me of Beck'?" she asked, and again, I shook my head.

"Your mother might have had me arrested if I did that," I said.

Or used it to take custody away completely, at the very least.

"Why don't you write one, then?" she asked, moving to the little counter that stood between the living room and kitchen, and I shook my head at her, as I got out some cereal.

"You want me to write a story about you?"

My eyes went wide, and the cereal slipped out of my hand as soon as I said the words, and it spilled all over the floor.

"Fuck," I cursed, and Beck giggled at me, as she moved in and began to scoop up the mess.

"I'll get it," she said, and I continued to study her.

There's no way.

She couldn't know about that.

There was no fucking way...

As she cleaned up the mess, she shot me a teasing look.

"You're such a klutz. How do you survive when I'm not here?"

I frowned, then sat down at the kitchen counter with my cereal, and began to eat, my thoughts racing all over the place.

Mark had seen the story... but he wouldn't send it to her, would he?

"So that story about me," she said, as she sat down across from me, and my heart skipped a beat, as I studied her.

"What story?"

"Writing one with a character named after me, silly. What do you think?"

"Your mom wouldn't like that."

"I didn't ask you what mom would think. I asked you what you think."

"You know how my stories go, Beck. I don't think it's a good idea," I said, as I shoved a spoonful of cereal into my mouth.

"Well, maybe it doesn't have to be like the normal stuff. Like, she could be this cute girl; bookish type, who likes to go to the library and read, or some romantic shit like that. And there's this older librarian who notices her, and she asks him for recommendations all the time, and they bond as they read the same books? Then one day, the library is all empty and quiet, and they just happen to be reading some steamy romance stuff, and... you know?"

She winks at the end, and I stare at her.

"That sounds pretty good, actually."

"So, you'll write it?" she asked, perking up, but as I shake my head at her, she pouted again.

"What? Why? You said it was a good idea!"

"Yeah, and maybe you should write it," I offered. "You never know, maybe you might be good at it? And I've already got the connections to get you through the door of publishing."

She shook her head.

"No, I mean. Maybe, but... the character. Don't you want to immortalize me in your work?"

I chuckled at the thought.

"Most of my work ends up being paperweights and makeshift doorstops," I said, and she frowned.

"Your sales figures would beg to differ," she said. "Do you really believe those things? I know mom says it all the time, but do you?"

I shrugged.

"I was just kidding," I said, as I finished up my breakfast, then headed to the sink.

"Let me get that," she said, as I started washing the bowl, and I shot her a questioning look.

"It's just a bowl," I said, and she shrugged.

"I don't wanna live here for free."

"You're on vacation, Beck. And if you wanted to live here for free, you could."

"I might take you up on that," she said, and as I studied her carefully, she shrugged. "I meant the live here part, not the for free," she clarified, and I shook my head at her.

"Your mom-"

"I don't care what she would think," she answered, and I bit my lip as I studied her.

We'll talk about it later, I thought, though I knew if I said that out loud, we'd have that conversation now, and I wasn't prepared for it yet.

But as she finished up washing the bowl, my eyes traveled down her body again, and while the same wretched thoughts were there, I marveled again at the difference that her skimpy pajamas made.

I mean, she was still a remarkable specimen of feminine beauty, but as long as those long expanses of flawless, silky smooth skin remained hidden, even just a little, from the wandering gaze of my eyes, I could at least manage to fake a sense of composure.

As I studied her, however, she looked over her shoulder at me, and I noted with interest that she was done with the wares.

Why hadn't she just turned around.

The thought circled in my head as she just stood there, looking back at me.

"What're you doing?" I finally asked, and she shrugged.

"I dunno. For a second, I felt like if you were gonna come over here and hug me, and I thought that it would have felt kind of nice."

I tilted my head at her.

"So, you were just gonna wait there to see if I'd come hug you?"

She was biting her lip again, and then I saw it.

She was standing on her toes, her butt pushed out just subtly, and her shoulder shifted a bit as she spoke.

That... I wrote it like that, didn't I?

Word for word.

"I- need to check, the uh," I trailed off, waving my hand vaguely as I fled the room, and headed upstairs.

I swept past my room as I did, however, and went straight for the study, locking the door as soon as I was in.

I typed in my password, and logged into my account, then checked the log for everything accessed in the past week.

Nothing.

There's nothing odd...

I quickly navigated to the folders where I'd kept the darker stuff, and did a quick search for 'Daddy's little girl', then breathed a sigh of relief as the search turned up no results.

Deleted, and not just by hitting empty on my recycle bin, but purged from existence, rather, using the software equivalent of potassium hydroxide.

Then could that have been co-incidence?

I glanced at my phone, then quickly dialed Mark.

"Finn, man, you need to give me just a little more time, I know I work miracles, but-"

"Did you send my fucking story to my daughter?" I spat.

"What? What story."

"The one from December."

"What? No, I would never-"

"Mark, I swear to fucking God, you need to tell me right now. No fucking around. Did you do it?"

"No, dude. Listen, I check on your stuff all the time, it's my job; but if I ever made a physical copy of something, or there's even a log of it leaving your system, they can do much, much worse than just fire me."

"Does anyone else have access to my stuff?"

"No, not at all. And we monitor your traffic to make sure no-one else does either... what's going on, man?"

I ran my hands through my hair.

"She knows. I don't know how, but she knows..."

"Finn, take a breath, calm down, and tell me exactly what's going on."

"She did something... the same way I wrote it. And she asked me if I ever wrote a story about her."

"Fuck," he breathed. "Was she ever in the house while you were writing it?"

"No..."

"Then it's just not possible, man."

The line went silent for a little bit.

"Finn... why did you write that story?"

I shook my head uncertainly.

"What do you mean? That's the kind of stuff I write..."

"No, I mean- using her name, specifically..."

"What are you getting at?" I asked, a little defensively now.

"I'm not the type to judge anything man, you know what I do for a living. But maybe you need to ask yourself those questions, because, maybe Beck's not really doing anything here..."

I shook my head again.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"Look, maybe those things were just co-incidences. But... let's say she really did do something just like you wrote it, I mean- if you wrote the character just like her, then wouldn't it be probable that they might do some things the same way?"

"Are you saying I wrote my actual daughter into that story?"

"No, just- you were writing about a dad, and a daughter. Obviously, as a dad, you drew on your own relationship for a reference on making that relationship seem believable, right?"

"I guess..."

"Then, maybe you just put more of her into it than you thought. I mean, the name alone is enough for me to think that that's possible, right?"

I didn't respond, and I could hear some rustling, as Mark adjusted the phone in his hand.

"Look, I'll get you that therapist, and make an appointment. Tomorrow, alright? Just... try to keep it together until then, and if you need to talk about anything, and I mean anything. Call me. There is nothing that you can do that I would judge you for, or not help get you out of, whether its murder, or... whatever the fuck else."

"I know..."

"I'm serious, man. Don't hesitate. Call me, no matter what it is."

"Okay..."

As I ended the call, I took a deep breath, then focused on my memory of the story.

//

It was the night after our first romp, and I awoke to the sight of Beck standing at the kitchen sink, completely nude, and absently washing some stray dish.

"Do you have any idea how delicious you look?" I ask, as I slip behind her, and wrap my arms around her waist.

"Mmh," she responds, as I plant a kiss on her neck, and let my hand slip to those full breasts, giving them a little squeeze.

As I step back and admire the sight, she stands on tip toe, the swell of her ass accentuated by the pose, and looks over her shoulder at me, seductively biting her lip.

"If I look that good, then why don't you come over here and eat me up," she teased, and I smiled, slipping my silken night robe over my muscly shoulders as I move in to oblige.

//

Think about it, Finn.

Maybe it's a co-incidence, like Mark says...

But would she just stand there like that ordinarily?

I shook my head.

That was weird, I knew it was weird...