For The Rest of Your Life

Forward:

For those that dislike stories that involve anything supernatural, move on now. If you were a "Twilight Zone" fan, maybe this one is for you. The nature of the subject requires that the reader be a little tolerant applying Math and Physics to the plot line. It is difficult to keep a story 100% accurate when describing events that could not possibly happen in our world as we understand it. As for the existence of a world that we do not currently understand, well, I'll leave that to your interpretation. There is very little sex in this one, sorry.

I do hope you enjoy. fritz51

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Sandy O'Brian was hopeful that Hank, the guy that picked her up at the pub, was going to give her a fulfilling pounding. It had been a while, quite a while, and her body longed for a man to caress, taste, and then finally take her. Maybe tonight was the night.

They entered the motel room, each anxious to ravish the other. As clothes flew off amid passionate kissing and fondling, she was thinking, "Maybe, maybe this time I'll be allowed to have some brief pleasure."

There was reason to hope, they had got this far and nothing had happened. Hank was down to his boxers, she had been faster, having dispatched every stitch of clothing, and was impatiently waiting for him to begin that lovely process that brings humans so much satisfaction. Hank bent forward on the bed, guiding his throbbing prick into her beckoning cunt. Then, just as he shoved his prick home, two loud thuds were heard.

"What the hell?" said Hank.

"Fuck," was Sandy's reply.

Then two more thuds, louder, sounding as if somebody was hitting the wall behind the bed with a baseball bat.

"Fucking kids," Hank said, as he jumped in his jeans. He opened the door and ran around to the back of the motel, but no one was there.

When he came back inside, he observed Sandy having a conversation, but he could neither see nor hear another person. Hank decided that this alcohol saturated woman was no longer as appealing as she had been in the pub. She seemed totally nuts to him. "Why hadn't he seen this earlier?" he asked himself. "Too much booze?" Hank quickly finished dressing and disappeared.

Sandy was saying, "Damn it, you're not done with me yet? Years ago, I did what I thought you wanted; I told his wife. She slapped me, then took him to the cleaners in a divorce. It's been fifteen years, please stop. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I know you'll never forgive me, but please leave me to my misery."

She then collapsed on the bed, and passed out.

******* Fifteen years earlier ********

Sandy's husband, Mike O'Brian, was a police sergeant. He had been in an accident, striking his head severely, as the result of a high-speed chase of a robbery suspect. An unusual side-effect of his injury, that no one acknowledged, was that Mike had visions, or sometimes heard voices, of criminals as they committed crimes.

At first, Mike wondered whether he was having delusions but, after testing the validity of his new insight, he became confident that his new ability would lead to arrests. Despite the accuracy of these manifestations, when he tried to explain his ability to colleagues, he was practically laughed out of the precinct. Even Sandy doubted him, so he stopped talking about it and simply accepted the paranormal help and tried to ascertain enough from the images and sounds that he could bring perpetrators to justice.

Since they began, the mysterious clues were never wrong. Sometimes they did not contain enough detail to lead to an arrest, but if he could connect the dots, the unexplainable assistance was spot on.

One day, he was near his own home, rushing to assist other officers make a substantial drug bust at a warehouse about twenty minutes from his current location. A call came over the radio that an illegal entry had just occurred, on his home street, so Mike decided to divert slightly and cruise by his house, just to make sure everything was ok.

His wife Sandy was at work, so he was sure she was safe. The drive by was just to satisfy his inner voice, then proceed to the warehouse and lend assistance. Nearing his driveway, he saw Sandy's car, which was unusual for the time of day and, what was more unusual, there was another car also. One that he didn't recognize.

Mike decided that the bust would have to wait until he investigated the circumstances at his own home. Upon entry, he could hear voices of passion. Quietly, Mike made his way upstairs, and found his wife in bed with Art, her boss, having a nooner.

The door to their bedroom was open slightly and the rutting couple hadn't noticed him. To announce his presence, Mike pounded the door with his fist hard, then once again to cause it to fully open. Sandy screamed, Art grabbed his clothes and hurriedly attempted to get dressed.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Mike shouted, rage filling his voice.

Art replied, throwing Sandy under the bus, "Sorry man, she came on to me, I couldn't help myself."

"You fucking bastard," Sandy screamed at Art.

Then to her husband, "Please let me explain. I know that it looks bad, but I love you."

Mike moved toward the bed, he spoke as his anger built, "Sandy, you are fucking right about that, it looks like shit. How could you do this to me?"

While Mike was momentarily distracted with his naked wife, Art seized the opportunity to escape, He grabbed the rest of his clothing, moved for the bedroom door, ran down the stairs and out of the house.

Seeing Art bolt, Mike went after him as far as the top of the stairs and hollered, "You fuckin' coward. You'll get yours, you can't hide forever."

When Mike went back into the bedroom, Sandy hadn't moved. She tried pleading, "Please Mike, I'm begging for another chance."

"I can't live with your treachery," Mike replied.

Seeing Mike about to leave, Sandy made her final plea, "Please believe me, I am so sorry. I will make this up to you. Please Mike."

"I feel dead inside, an empty shell, a ghost of what I used to be. I would never again be able to trust you. I will be watching you for the rest of your life," he replied, as if pronouncing a judgment. Mike walked out leaving her lying on the bed, naked and sobbing.

Fifteen minutes later a squad car pulled up to Mike and Sandy's family home. Detectives Dave Branson and Cindy White got out and came to the door. Sandy recognized the detectives and opened the door when they knocked. Although she was wearing only a robe, Sandy invited them inside. She could tell from their expressions that something was wrong and asked, "Dave, why are you here? Did Mike send you?"

Detective Branson said, "Sandy, I'm afraid that I have very bad news. Mike was killed at a drug bust."

She replied aggressively, "That's not possible; he was just here 15 minutes ago. You are mistaken."

"I'm afraid that there is no mistake, Sandy. I was there. Mike died in my arms, at about 12:15," Dave said, with tears forming.

"No... no... no... Dave. He was here, in this house with me, not more than 15 or 20 minutes ago, I remember looking at the time, wondering why he was here," she said, becoming hysterical.

"Mrs. O'Brian, please come with us. Let us help you, Sandy," Detective Cindy White said.

"I want to see Mike. Cindy, I need to see my husband," she said.

"Come on, I'll help you get dressed. Then we'll take you to him," Cindy added.

The distraught, disoriented wife was accompanied to Lakeside General Hospital, and taken to the room where her deceased husband's body was waiting for the coroner. As she looked at his body in disbelief, Dave came over and Sandy said, "This can't be happening. He was there. He caught us."

"I don't understand Sandy. Caught who? What do you mean?" Dave asked, confused by her claims.

"Art and me. Dave, he caught us cheating in his bed," she answered with guilt tearing at her new state of bereavement.

"Sandy, I'm so sorry, you must have been dreaming. He couldn't have caught you, or anyone else, doing anything at your home 15 minutes before Detective White and I arrived. I'm so very sorry, Sandy, Mike was already gone at least a half hour before we got to your home," Dave said, trying to calm and reassure Sandy that she must have been dreaming.

"I don't understand. Why is my husband dead, Dave?" Sandy asked.

Dave gave her the short version, "Those dealers decided to put up a hell of a fight. They had a couple of cops pinned down, and it looked like our boys were going to be killed.

"Mike got out of his cruiser and did something strange as the police radio was broadcasting a report of an illegal entry. When Mike heard the call, he hung his head down, paused for several moments, finally saying, 'There's nothing left in this life for me now.' Then he drew his side arm, walked toward the perpetrators, and sent a hail of bullets their way. He diverted their attention from the two desperate cops, allowing them to scramble to cover and, almost certainly, saving their lives. Unfortunately, by drawing the attention away from the officers in distress, the drug dealers concentrated their fire on Mike. Unfortunately, even though he was wearing his Kevlar vest, Mike received three wounds, two of them were serious, together they were fatal.

"He killed one and wounded another of the perps, enabling the rest of us to kill two more and take the remaining three into custody. Sandy, Mike was a hero. He sacrificed himself for his fellow officers."

"His last words were, 'Tell my wife that I'll be watching her for the rest of her life.' I don't understand why he put it like that, but that's what he said. Maybe you understand what he meant."

At first, Sandy tried to convince herself that she must have been dreaming, the alternative was too fantastic to believe. She arranged Mike's funeral, aided by emergency response personnel and their spouses from all over several states. Mike was given a hero's send off, with all of the deserved pageantry that accompanies such a tragedy.

Wanting to show respect for the fallen police officer, by supporting his family, Sandy's employer gave her two weeks of paid leave. On returning to work, Sandy discovered that Art, her boss, had taken a week of vacation leave timed to begin the day that she returned. Sandy had wanted to confront Art, but waiting another week would not really make a difference. Like Mike had told him, he couldn't hide forever.

The day Art returned back to work, Sandy was in his office before he had a chance to sit down. She jumped right in his face, "You fucking bastard. You ran like a coward and left me holding the bag. Fucking lying, telling Mike that it was all me, that I was the one coming on to you! You snake!"

"Come on baby, he was a cop, had a gun and caught me having sex with his wife. Yes, I panicked. He was bigger than me, and had the look of murder in his eyes. I'll never forget that look, I thought he was going to pull that gun out and blow me away," Art whined.

"Don't you 'baby' me. You let me face everything, alone."

"Sandy, honey, I know that I let you down. I was scared to death. Surely you can acknowledge my position at the time. I was in a husband's bedroom, fucking his wife. I'm really good at talking my way around things, but there was no way in hell that I was going to be able to schmooze my way out of that. I still can't believe that I'm alive," he admitted.

"Yes, for a moment I thought that he was going to kill us both. I guess if I told the whole truth, I would have thrown you to the dogs, too, if I thought that Mike would turn all of his anger onto you and forgive me. I guess that makes me as bad as you. What I did know in those moments, was that I had lost the only man that I had ever loved," she professed while tearing up.

"What happened then, Sandy? He asked, "He must have left you and went straight to that shootout."

"We need to talk. I need to talk about that. There's something about that whole thing that I can't get straight in my mind," she said.

Just then, there was a knock at the office door, the two adulterers had to break off their discussion and get back to work. Art motioned with his hand, indicating that he would call, to which she nodded consent.

That night after work, Art phoned her as promised, "Sandy, my wife is out at her sister's house for the evening. May I come over so that we could have that talk?"

"All you want is to get me naked again," she scoffed.

"I won't deny that I want to make love to you again, and I think that you still have desire for me. But I agree that we should discuss limitations to impose on ourselves," he said with the smoothness of a used car salesman.

"That's not what I want to talk about," she stated firmly.

"Ok, we can talk about whatever you want. Is it alright to come on over?" he inquired.

"Oh, alright, but no sex. Just talk," she interjected.

"Whatever you want sweetheart. I'll be right over," he said and left for her house, fully expecting to be able to bed her before the night was over.

Sandy showed Art to the family room and provided a cup of coffee. She had him sit in a chair, rather than the sofa, so that she could maintain a distance.

"Alright Sandy, you seem intent on getting the discussion started. I'm listening," he offered.

"That day, the day Mike died, I need to go over it in detail. Either there is something really wrong with how it occurred, timewise or maybe I'm losing my mind," she began.

"Well, you aren't crazy. What do you mean about the time?" he asked.

"Are you aware of the exact time when Mike died?" she inquired.

"No, but it must have been very close to when he left here, right? I mean about one something in the afternoon, right?" he answered.

"Detectives Branson and White have assured me that Mike died at 12:15 pm," she stated.

"That's not possible. We got here at about 12, give or take a few minutes, because it was our lunch break. We were in your bedroom doing it, within five to ten minutes after we got there," he related.

"I know, that's the way that I remember it also. I was so sure of the timing that I argued with the cops for a while, saying that it couldn't have been Mike, because he was here at 12:15," Sandy said.

"They must have made a mistake; I know for certain what time it was. Just as I parked my car, the news show was coming on. It starts at 12pm sharp, every day," he assured her.

"I'm certain also, but I have the death certificate, and I've seen the police report. They both say the same thing: time of death is 12:15pm. And that's not all, I know Detective Branson. They were friends, Mike always said how thorough he was," she added.

"Ok, so he's thorough, so what?" he responded, becoming uneasy.

"So, I don't think he would have made a mistake, not on a report detailing Mike's death. What bothers me even more are the last words my husband spoke to Dave. He said, 'Tell my wife that I'll be watching her for the rest of her life.' Art, that is word for word EXACTLY what Mike said to me, after you ran away."

"Are you sure? You could have been in shock and the memories are running together," he suggested.

"No, Mike said that to me, right after you left. It was the last thing that he said to me; and the last thing he said to Dave, as he died. There was another odd thing Dave told me about. Dave said that, just before Mike walked to his certain death, there was a radio call about an illegal entry somewhere. He said Mike heard the call, hung his head and said, 'There's nothing left in this life for me now, so this job is mine.' That call would have coincided with when you shoved your dick into me," she said and began to sob.

"That's crazy. Are you saying that we were confronted by a ghost?" he replied, but his certainty that she was mistaken about the events surrounding her husband's death was unravelling.

"All I know is that, in a logical world, Mike could not have been in two places at the same time and yet, at approximately 12:15 that day, that's exactly what happened. I believe that Mike had one of his visions, or a premonition of what we were doing, and intentionally put himself in harm's way. He couldn't physically face my infidelity, but his spirit needed to confront us.

"I believe that I am now damned for the rest of my life," Sandy declared.

"I don't believe in that bullshit. There has to be another explanation," he responded, believing his own proclamation less with each passing tick of the clock.

"Then you explain it," she challenged.

"I can't, but that CAN NOT be the answer," he said.

"Ok then, you came over here hoping to bed me... let's go up to the bedroom, get naked and see what happens," she said, feeling certain that Mike would make his presence known.

Art was hesitant, but his little head took over decision-making and followed her up to the bedroom, which was noticeably colder than the rest of the house.

"Fuck, it's freezing in here," he said as they entered the bed chamber.

"Strip," she commanded, as she peeled off her own clothing.

Sandy felt that this was going to either prove her theory or establish that she was insane. If Mike didn't make himself known, she would just let Art screw her, perhaps for the last time. If he did appear, she would have confirmed that at least she, was damned.

Art finished undressing, and began feeling braver since nothing had happened. He approached Sandy, had her lie back on the bed, and laid next to her as he began to kiss and fondle her. The exchanges became more heated and, as he sucked her tits, he moved between her spreading legs.

The moment of entry was at hand. As he positioned himself, he hesitated and Sandy said, "Stick it in me if you dare."

Art smiled weakly at her, then thrust forward, his cock entering her. Just as he bottomed out, deep in her cunt, two loud thuds shattered the silence, as if a club had smashed the wall right above the head board. The sudden disturbance scared the crap out of Art, causing him to pull out and jump from the bed saying, "Jesus Christ, this can't be real."

Two more thumps rocked the room, showing the entity's displeasure with Art's response.

"Is that you Mike?" Sandy asked, trembling.

A single, softer thump was given as her answer.

"I'm sorry for repeating my treachery, but I had to know the truth. I knew if I did this with him, if you were watching me, you would show your contempt," she said.

Another soft thud, seemed to indicate a "yes" response.

"Make him leave," Art said, prompting two more loud raps against the wall, shaking the floor as well.

Scared shitless, Art ran from the house, again.

"You must want something from me. Do you want me to do something, Mike?" she asked, still shaking with fear.

A single, "Rap," followed.

"What is it? Everyone at the office knows now that I'm a cheating whore. Is there something else, is there someone else?"

A single "Rap."

"What thing?"

"Rap, rap," followed in quick secession.

"Someone, then. You want me to confess to someone. But who? Your family?"

"Rap."

"Please Mike, don't make me tell your mother and father what a slut I am."

A single louder "rap."

"Alright Mike, I'll do it, if it will help you to rest easier. I know I don't deserve any pity. They'll hate me forever, but I'll do it. Is there anyone else?"

"Rap," firm enough to preclude misunderstanding.

"Who else? My mother already knows. The only other person that this involved is Art's wife. They have kids, Mike, surely you don't want me to destroy another marriage?"

"RAP." Single, distinct, and clearly understood.

"Alright, you win. I'll confess to all of them tomorrow."

Silence, confirmed that the entity's message had been understood correctly. Sandy got dressed, went downstairs, opened the liquor cabinet, and removed a bottle of Jack. She would need its assistance to get to sleep that the liquid could provide.