Just My Luck

My "courtship" with Neal was not as world wind as it had been with Sean, but then again, I was around thirty years old when I met Neal, not twenty-one like when I met Sean. I also didn't fuck Neal until we had been going out about two months. While I had no expectations that he -- or anyone else I would ever run into -- would have a monster active uncut dick like Sean did, I was very pleased that Neal was as good as Paul was in the sack. I was well on my way into falling in love with Neal when after we had been going out about eight months on a Monday night he said "I've never asked you about your other relationships, and it's none of my business, but I really would like to be exclusive with you."

At that time, I was still seeing Paul about once a week and enjoying it -- but I noticed that for the first time that Paul was starting to get "serious" and wasn't thinking of our relationship as a pure friends-with-benefits one like I was and like he always had been in the past. I must have zoned out when Neal asked me to be exclusive with thoughts of both Paul and Neal flitting through my brain because Neal lightly shook my shoulder and with a smile said "Earth to Denise -- are you there?"

"Oh...sorry," was my stellar reply. Then after a pause I responded "Are you thinking that our relationship might lead to marriage and children?"

Neal paused for a few seconds then replied "Absolutely."

"Would you consider me awful if I gave you a reply to your 'exclusivity' request Saturday morning? You could come over then and we could swim and work out at my house," I retorted. Yes, with my scads of money I had purchased a mini-mansion with a pool in a sheik suburb.

"Sounds like a plan," he replied.

"You'll be rewarded," I snickered, then grabbed his hand and pulled him to my bedroom. I manipulated him into my first 63 since Sean's death. While he was a little perplexed he eventually not only got with the program but he became excited. Even though his cock was not nearly as long as Sean's (whose was?) and things were tense for a while, it did the job. I had a nice orgasm and he seemed to have an almost all-time one.

As we lay face-to-face with sweat dripping down onto my silk sheets and as I rubbed his cum into my chest and neck Neal exclaimed "WOW -- that was over-the-top, Denise. You're full of awesome surprises; I never knew that sex in that position was possible."

"I'm glad that you liked it," I chuckled. "However, it's only round #1. By tomorrow morning I intend to leave you too drained to work." With that I shinnied down and started sucking his cock back to life. By the next morning Neal was wiped out and useless -- but unfortunately, I was too and Joe Friday ribbed me unmercifully.

On Wednesday I called Paul for a liaison at his luxury condo to be scheduled Friday night. He was on board. By the time that Friday night rolled around I had thought long and hard about it and decided that what I felt for Neal was love and that I needed to break it off with Paul.

Paul and I had a light dinner, took a short shower together, and then he fucked me doggy with a vibrator up my ass, one of our favorite sexcapades. As we were laying in post-coital bliss, I broke the bad news to Paul -- this would be the last time we ever had sex. Despite the fact that I sensed that he had started to have feelings for me during the last few months I was truly surprised by his words. "Denise, I know that our relationship in the past has been casual -- but I've fallen in love with you. Please give me a chance to be your guy; I'll do anything for you."

As we discussed things for the next thirty minutes or so he seemed to go at warp speed through all the stages of grief. Finally, wiping off a few tears, he reached acceptance. "Do we have tonight together?" he finally asked with a wan smile.

"In view of your kindness to me over the years tonight you can do to me whatever you want to," I grinned.

I really wish that I hadn't said that because the bastard kept me up all night. We had never had had sex more than twice in an eight-hour period before but between him popping little blue pills, and using a variety of toys, he had me in a state of arousal most of the night. When I left his condo at seven the next morning I could barely walk and my cooch and anus were sore and red. There was no way that I could meet with Neal later that morning so I called him and told him the first lie in our relationship: "Neal, honey; I just got called in on a case. Can we meet tomorrow, Sunday, at 10 a. m. at my house; please -- pretty please. I promise to make it worthwhile."

Neal was on board and very frisky when he arrived Sunday morning. I "made" him fuck my tits twice before he could eat and fuck my pussy, so that he was worn out by 1 p. m. and my abused pussy wasn't fucked mercilessly like it had been Friday night through Saturday morning. I told Neal "yes" that I wanted to be exclusive and invited him to live with me in my mini-mansion that not only had a pool but a tennis court, indoor-outdoor workout room, archery range, eight foot by ten foot combined regular and steam shower, and a roller-skating track.

Neal moved in with me the weekend after I said "yes" to being exclusive although he kept a small apartment near the University in case he needed some "away" time from me (ha, ha) but mostly because some late nights he needed to crash rather than drive the forty-plus minutes from the University to my house.

***************

Living with Neal I didn't find anything really objectionable. His personality was not nearly as mercurial as Sean's had been, and thankfully he had no asshole friend like Rocky. As does everyone he had a few minor quirks -- including vagueness about his location and activities sometimes although there was never, ever any hint of cheating -- but they posed no real issue; plus I'm sure that I had some quirks that he wasn't fond of too, such as keeping three loaded smart pistols (that is pistols that only I could shoot) hidden but readily accessible at various locations in the house.

After six months of living together Neal and I determined that we were compatible and got married. The ceremony was before a justice of the peace, and the reception was at our house and was small, only about fifty people. Neal had no close relatives and only a few work colleagues that he wanted to invite, and I had only a few social and work friends and my mother.

Marriage and work hummed along nicely for me, including blowing past the two years and twenty-seven days mark that Sean and I had been married. A minor glitch appeared in both work and our relationship when Neal and I had been married for a little over three years when I was assigned to a task force to catch the first significant serial killer in our metropolitan area since Sean and Rocky.

This killer -- known by the code name "Dirk" -- had been operating sporadically for about six years. He (presumed to be male for several reasons) was not as prolific as Sean and Rocky had been but was more vicious. His weapon of choice was believed to be a serrated double-edged fixed blade push dagger with a 4-6-inch blade length, most likely a Bohler N690. If he had purchased that weapon it might have been easy to trace it since it is relatively rare and expensive, but our information was that the first victim he killed (likely with an eleven-inch fixed blade single-edged knife) had such a dagger and Dirk stole the dagger (and the case that it came in) and used it in six subsequent killings (three men, three women), about one a year. The damage that a properly utilized push dagger can do is extensive and cruel. Death -- at least as Dirk caused it -- was slow and painful, and indicated that sadistic pleasure was a motivating factor.

Dirk's last victim was a female member of the city council of a close-in suburb and anyone who viewed her body (except for the coroner) most likely vomited. All of the politicians and members of law enforcement in the entire metropolitan area had had enough, and all resources possible were going to be brought to bear on catching this sicko.

Neal was against me going on the task force. He gave me a variety of reasons but most revolved around the potential danger and his desire to have at least one child. I assured him that my role would be mostly cerebral and behind-the-scenes. I think that I finally convinced him that it was OK (I would have participated regardless of his objections) when I actually got approval from the task force to have him consult on what electronic surveillance would be most effective.

All members of the task force were highly motivated and we employed all human and technological resources that we could muster. We even had the FBI do a profile on the killer. In view of the fact that the killer left no DNA, fingerprints, or other useable trace evidence at his crime scenes (all except one at the residence of his victim), and obviously meticulously planned the crimes, the FBI's profile suggested a highly intelligent and educated white male having a fitness level between average and superior, with a job that gave him flexible hours, and perhaps one or more stays in a mental institution with a difficult-to-diagnose condition.

Neal was quite helpful to the task force in making suggestions for the types of electronic equipment that could be used and good locations for placement of some of the equipment, particularly state-of-the-art inconspicuous cameras. I even went with him and a couple of technicians to oversee several installations. Much to my consternation, especially since Neal had no self-defense or weapons training that I knew of or that he admitted to, he went to inspect some of the installations late at night, the time that the killer was most likely to strike. His flippant comment "I can outrun any serial killer since I jog ten kilometers every other day" didn't relieve my angst.

While the task force lacked nothing, certainly not motivation, our efforts over the next year proved futile. Even worse, the killer was clearly responsible for two more killings -- and one near miss -- during that time, indicating that he was reducing the time between his attacks. The near miss provided the only real information, indicating that Dirk was, as we had already assumed especially in view of the FBI profile, a roughly average size white male with an above average fitness level.

During the first year plus of the task force Neal started ramping up his desire to become a father. He "subtly" pointed out that I was 34 years old, and he was 37, and that we wanted to be young and spry enough to do anything with our kids even when they were in High School or college. The bastard's libido seemed to increase with his desire for kids and I do believe that he would have fucked me every day if I was in the mood. He finally did get me pregnant -- likely after a daylong fuck-fest one Sunday -- seven months into the task force. He wanted me to go on a sabbatical until the baby was six months old, but I wouldn't hear of it. Our different views on me working while pregnant "Especially since there is no financial reason to do so" (he kept reminding me) resulted in some of our first real arguments.

**************

I don't know how or why it happened but one Tuesday night when I was roughly six months pregnant I awoke in a cold sweat from a nightmare. I had dreamed that when Neal had left me two nights earlier (Sunday) to go on one of his late-night inspections of surveillance equipment that instead of inspecting equipment that he had killed a woman in a nearby suburb. I must have screamed because I woke Neal up. He comforted me and asked me what was wrong. I told him that it was a nightmare probably activated by my pregnancy. When he asked for details, I significantly lied to him for probably the only time in our married life when I said "I was falling off of a cliff into the ocean being pecked by birds as I fell, and I woke up when I hit the water." There was no way that I was going to tell him the essence of my real nightmare and hurt our relationship. Fortunately, I was able to put my disturbing nighttime vision out of my mind; in fact, I even gallows-laughed to myself before falling back to sleep "One woman marrying two serial killers is less likely than getting hit by lightning on three consecutive days."

The Thursday after my nightmare I got a call from Captain William Kurtz, the leader of the task force, asking me to come to the scene of another of Dirk's kills since I was the closest task member. When I arrived at the bloody scene, I avoided looking at the body -- since I was six months pregnant, I was sure to puke if I did. Once the coroner did his work and the body was in the coroner's wagon Kurtz and I asked the coroner about the time of death. "There are some complicating factors, but I would say that it was most likely sometime Sunday night or early Monday morning. I might know more once I do the autopsy."

A shiver ran through my body. "What's wrong?" Kurtz inquired.

"Just a preggo thing," I unconvincingly replied.

I was shaken when I got back to my car and had to sit with my eyes closed for ten minutes before I could start the vehicle.

Once on the road I was unable to shake my uneasy feeling. I suddenly had a brainstorm, causing me to make an immediate U-turn despite moderate traffic, getting me a few middle fingers and horn blasts. I drove to Neal's apartment, someplace that I had never been since I helped him move into it.

By proving that I was Neal's wife -- in addition to a cop -- I was able to talk the assistant manager of his apartment building into letting me into his apartment. I was afraid that she'd call Neal to tell him, but I knew that he had classes for the next three hours and wouldn't be able to do anything to stop me; and anyway, it couldn't be helped.

I instinctively put on a pair of nitrile gloves and began searching; I had no clear idea what I was looking for, but would know it when I saw it. After about ten minutes going over the obvious locations in the small apartment, I stared at the built-in bookcase in the room that functioned as both his study and bedroom. The room had a simple single bed, desk, and chair as the only significant items of furniture. It looked to me like the book "Electronic Surveillance Devices, 2nd Edition," and a volume on either side of it, were sticking out more than they should be. I removed them and looked behind. I got a pain that hit my throat and stomach, and even worse my heart, when I pulled out a box that said on it "Bohler N690 Push Dagger." With trepidation I opened the box -- it was empty but there was a recessed area that was definitely designed to contain a push dagger with (according to the box top) a 4.75-inch blade.

How I was able to prevent myself from vomiting I don't know. I collapsed in Neal's desk chair for a few minutes, regained my composure, and then tried to open his desk drawers. Two opened easily and had nothing of significance in them. The third was locked. I picked the lock and looked inside. I was flabbergasted. It was filled with pill bottles; all were empty except for one carefully separated on top. All of the bottles were from the same pharmacy "In-House Pharmacy, Pilgrim Psychiatric Hospital." All were for "Clozapine Alterant," whatever that is. I quickly looked through the empty pill bottles and one of the earliest that I could easily find brought clarity. The date on it was during the three-month hiatus in Neal's work history.

I knew that even though I was Neal's wife since I was in his office as a law enforcement officer that what I found likely could not be used as evidence since I didn't have a warrant. I did take photos of the dagger box (both open and closed) and a number of the pill bottles (which differed significantly only by date) including the one I located dated during the three-month hiatus in Neal's work history, and photos of where I found them in his office; then I got the hell out of there.

Once I got to my car I called Captain Willian Kurtz. "Bill -- can you tell me if there was any relevant information from the night of the latest attack in any of the surrounding surveillance devices that Neal set up?"

"I was about to access them now -- care to join me and the technician? Do you want me to call Neal too?" Kurtz replied.

"No; do not call Neal. Can you call me as soon as you look the devices over -- and do me a favor, look at the Saturday and Tuesday videos in addition to Sunday and Monday," I replied.

"Will do," he responded.

As I was pulling into my garage forty-five minutes later my cell rang -- it was Kurtz. "What did you find, Bill?" I asked as I pushed the remote to close the garage door.

"At your request we looked at the Saturday and Tuesday videos in addition to Sunday's and Monday's. What we found was that the Sunday night to Monday morning video was a repeat of the Saturday night through Sunday morning one between the hours of 10 p. m. and 2 a. m. It was easy to see because there were two very distinctive vehicles which arrived at and departed from exactly the same places at exactly the same times. We looked at the log of who signed into our facility during any time at issue and while there was access there was no identification of who accessed it -- and I thought that all individuals with access had devices which identified them," he blurted out, talking so fast that I almost didn't understand everything that he said -- almost.

After a pause long enough so that Bill asked "Denise -- are you still there?" "Yes," I mournfully replied. "Bill, I'm sure that Neal is Dirk, the serial killer."

"Neal Minton -- your husband?" he inquired with shock permeating his voice.

"Yes," I replied.

"Where are you now, Denise?"

"I just pulled into my garage."

"Get out of there -- come to the main police station."

"Will do," I responded, terminating the call. I took a deep breath and then was about to push the remote to open the garage door when I heard something outside of the garage. I got out of my car, looked through one of the transparent panels in the garage door, and saw that Neal's car had just pulled up -- blocking my exit from the garage.

"Shit, shit, shit" I swore under my breath. Then I beat it into the house, in such a hurry that I left my purse with my police-issued handgun in the car. By the time that I realized that it was too late to go back, but I wasn't worried because I had my three smart guns in the house. I went for the closest of my hidden smart pistols. It wasn't there.

I heard the front door open, followed shortly by Neal's voice only at a pitch an octave higher than normal and in a sing-song manner say "Oh, Denise -- you've been a bad girl, haven't you. Come see your loving hubby."

I immediately went to find my second hidden pistol as I heard Neal walking through the house repeating his frightening request to come see him. The second pistol wasn't there either. "Shit, shit, shit," I again mumbled to myself. While I thought that it was futile, I went looking for my third pistol.

I was trying to be as quiet as possible as I moved through the house, glad that I had had the money to buy an 8,000 square foot mini-mansion with three stairwells, making it easier to avoid Neal. I took off my shoes to minimize the noise I made and hoped that the sound of my heart beating -- which to me felt like a bass drum -- couldn't be heard by Neal -- or "Dirk" as I now thought of him.

Every time I heard Dirk's sing-song voice it enhanced my fear another order of magnitude. I was soaked with nervous perspiration by the time that I got to the spot on the third floor where my third pistol should be. No surprise, it was gone too. Obviously, Dirk had prepared for the possibility that I might find him out.

I glanced outside the room that I was in and caught a glimpse of Dirk entering another room on the same floor. He had the Bohler push dagger in his right hand and what looked like one of my smart pistols in his left hand.