Sorrel's Long Journey to Love Ch. 05

She was trembling, "I'm innocent. I really am."

Fletcher sat down and started fumbling with the newspaper again. He refused to look at her, but grumbled, "Just stay away from my children."

Sorrel looked back, keeping her eyes back on the pulp at the bottom of her glass. Tears were dripping out of over wet eyes, "May I be excused now?" He rattled the paper, looking up, he unkindly rasped, "Do what you want. You don't have to ask me."

Sorrel got up, ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and back to her room. She stumbled and fell on the way. Running into her room she dove on the bed, stuffed her head in the pillows and wept.

Fletcher heard the rustling of her feet, heard her fall. He growled to himself. "Shit." He yanked and flipped his way back through the Sports Section.

Sorrel lay there on the bed; Fletcher's the big cold lonely bed. Even the silky soft sheets felt cold and unwelcoming.

What she could do? She considered her hapless, hopeless situation. There had to be a way; a way she could solve everybody's problems.

Fletcher hated her, wouldn't even let her near his children let alone talk to them. Marion was so pure, so innocent. She couldn't conceive of doing or saying anything to hurt her.

He'd been nice, even kind from time to time, but deep down, really deep down, he saw her as some kind of pariah, an unclean thing, something completely beneath contempt. She couldn't go on like this. They were intent on destroying her, breaking her, but she was still at least partially in control of her own destiny.

Sorrel cried big salty tears; there was a way, one way, she could fix things. She could give them their revenge, protect her babies, solve their problems, protect their business, and she'd find peace. She could do it too. She wasn't afraid to do it.

She looked around the room. There was the bathroom, her bathrobe and it's long terry cloth belt. It would be soft around her neck. The big frame to the shower doors were sturdy. She could dot it. It would be over in twenty minutes. They'd find her, and be glad.

Sorrel got off the bed. She thought about the toys on the steps, happy childhoods, and nice kids like Marion. She knelt down beside the bed. She began to pray, "Please don't be too mad at me. I'm so sorry. Tell me what to do. Don't let it hurt."

She burrowed her head in the soft coverlets, "Please help me. I'm afraid." She knew there were no angels, not for her. Fletcher was wrong. Some people didn't deserve angels. Not her anyway. She deserved everything she got.

Fletcher sat in his big comfortable chair in the kitchen. He thought he could clean the kitchen floors, wipe down the cupboards, maybe clean behind the oven and refrigerator. Let her stay upstairs in her room. Let her cry. She had it coming.

He sat in his big chair, holding the paper, not reading, not moving, and not doing anything. Tears started bulged up in his eyes. "Diana." he said.

He sniffed. It occurred to him he didn't care whether the woman upstairs was guilty or not. He would never be able to carry out the plan they'd concocted.

Sorrel was kneeling against the bed half praying for a miracle; half reconciling her spirit to what she felt she had to do. She heard a light tap on her door. It was nothing.

She heard it again, a little fainter the second time. Not wanting to be rude she went to the door; she opened it.

Standing at the doorway in his customary jeans, white socks, black tennis shoes, and faded Tee-shirt was Fletcher. Looking down at his shoes he said, "I bought some flowers the other day; thought maybe you'd like to help me plant some of them."

Some Gardening:

Sorrel burst into tears of joy, "I'd love to. Let me slip something on."

Fletcher gave her a half smile, "I'll be in the kitchen."

He added, "Making coffee. Want some?"

Wiping away her tears she laughed, "I'd love some!"

As Fletcher walked away she ran to the closet, but before she got there she ran back to the bed and knelt down again, "Oh thank you, thank you."

She jumped back up and ran back to the closet. Five minutes later Sorrel was downstairs. She'd slipped into a lightweight overall shorty dungaree jumper set with a white Tee-shirt underneath and white tennis shoes with matching white knee high socks.

She walked over close to Fletcher and said. "I'm something of a novice when it comes to flowers, so you'll have to be patient."

Fletcher ogled her again. He blurted out, "Why do you always have t be so damned pretty?" Putting aside the real purpose of her presence he offered his most generous and he hoped most genuine smile, "You're as pretty as the flowers we're going to plant."

Sorrel beamed! Just a few moments ago she was thinking about ending everything, now her main tormentor was her salvation. She thought, 'This couldn't be the same man who was so cruel the other day.'

They walked out back and down a narrow dirt lane toward a section of the backyard Sorrel hadn't seen before. As they reached the bottom of a low hill she espied a small pond, and some cardboard boxes filled with flowers.

Fletcher pointed to the boxes, "I stopped by the garden store the other evening and picked up a few flowers. I thought we could use them to edge part of the pond."

Sorrel wasn't very familiar with flowers, and even less familiar with where to buy things like that. She asked. "What? Is there some special, like herbarium, where you get your stuff?"

Fletcher didn't correct her mistake, but he laughed, "Yeah. I go to a very exclusive place that specializes in just the kinds of plants I want." He added, "They call it Lowe's."

Sorrel giggled. Nothing could spoil her day now, "What kind of flowers are we planting?"

Fletcher knelt on the thick grass and started pointing to the different boxes. "Here we have some Black Eyed Susan's. These over here are Hostas. Over there we have some Irises. I got some yellow and some purple ones. They'll look great in couple weeks. Last I thought I'd try some Hibiscus. They tell me they're tricky, but I thought I'd get a couple anyway. So, have you ever done anything like this before?"

Sorrel felt silly and happy too. "No, but I'm dying to learn."

Fletcher made a pretense of seriousness, "Good. We'll start close to the edge of the water. You can start. The dirt's a little softer there and it'll be easier for you. Just take this trowel and scoop out a little hole. I'll hand you the plant. Push it gently into the hole, then use your hands and press some dirt in around each plant."

He paused realizing her short trousers and white socks weren't appropriate, "Here," he pulled out a small blanket he normally used to cover the ground when he planted, spreading it out, "kneel on this."

She accepted the gift of the ground cloth, and knelt on it.

He handed her the first plant, "Now take your time. These are all hardy plants, but, like anything new, they need a gentle hand at the start."

Sorrel took the trowel, dug a little hole, and placed the first plant. She looked over, "How's that?"

Fletcher grinned, "You're already an expert. Just be careful when you're near the water. I don't want Rupert to get you."

Sorrel leaned back, well away from the water, "Who's Rupert?"

Fletcher gave her a knowledgeable expression, much like someone about to share some profound piece of especially important information, "Rupert is a snapping turtle who lives in the pond. He's about two feet long and weighs." Fletcher paused a second or two for effect, "Oh, probably twelve, maybe fifteen, pounds. We have to be alert. Ole Rupert could bite a finger off, if we're not..." He didn't get the sentence finished.

Sorrel leaned way away, as far from the water as she could get.

Fletcher gave her a sheepish grin, "Don't worry. He seldom travels up to this end of the pond. He likes the deeper water down the other end."

Sorrel wasn't mollified, "Maybe you should do the planting, and I'll do the handing out."

Fletcher still grinning. He was having fun, "No. You're doing fine. I'll keep an eye out for Ole Rupert. You keep planting, and I'll keep handing."

Sorrel wasn't having quite as much fun, but she was determined to do a good job. Together they slowly inched their way around the pond. The water was clear, and she could see to the bottom. There wasn't any Ole Rupert here. She relaxed and kept digging and planting. Then, suddenly something long and green slithered across her trowel and into the water. A snake! She leapt back! She flew backward falling ass over tin cup right into Fletcher's outstretched, plant bearing, arms, "Oh!" she exclaimed, "A big snake!"

She'd pivoted back into Fletcher. It was so unexpected he didn't have a chance to maneuver. He dropped the plants, and found himself with two beautiful breasts cupped in his hands. He made a quick adjustment, but the event had unfolded so quickly he couldn't escape.

As quickly as he could he let go; repositioning his hands around her chest just below her armpits. For a second he had been holding her in a deliciously tight embrace; her breasts in his hands, her back pressed against his chest, her head beneath his chin, and her hair rubbing his cheek.

'Jeez' he thought, 'it had been a long time since he'd held a woman so closely.' He'd smelled her perfume; it was something soft and feminine. Her skin felt so dry and warm. Her hair was so soft. It was in a tight braid, like her personality, wound too tightly, but it still pressed gently, languorously, sensuously, against his cheek.

Her breasts were small, but even through the rough denim he could feel their supple, lissome, crushable fragility, their welcoming warmth. He hadn't realized how much he missed the pleasurable softness of a woman. She felt good!

With his hands under her arms he lifted her and turned her around. Her eyes were wide and dark. She'd felt it too, "What happened?"

She looked at him incredulously, "Didn't you see that big snake?"

He laughed, "Oh. You mean that giant King Cobra?"

Sorrel didn't think it was funny. She was flustered, a little confused, and more than a little out of sorts. He was holding her much too closely. He was making her nervous and tingly all over. Then there was that big snake. Never in her whole life had she ever been that close to a real snake; a real live snake in the wild, "That wasn't funny. I could have been bitten."

Fletcher realized she'd been traumatized. He gentled his look, "It scared you didn't it?"

She answered, "Yes it did." She felt quite odd. His arms and hands were comforting. She felt warm inside, and soft. She made no effort to pull away.

He kept holding her under her in his arms just under her breasts, "I suppose it was frightening there for a moment. They come out of nowhere, just when you least expect them. But then, things always seem to happen like that. Unexpectedly, I mean."

Sorrel wasn't afraid of the snake anymore. The moment had passed. She was thinking about a larger predator. She squirmed, "You can let me go now. I think the snake is gone."

Fletcher lifted her around and carefully placed her on the dryer ground well away from the edge of the pond, "That's enough flower planting for one day. What do you say? Want to go for a walk?

Sorrel was glad for the change of venue, "No wild animals?"

Fletcher replied, "None we can't handle." He stood up and reached out a hand.

She felt awkward and self-conscious. Sorrel accepted his hand and rose from the grass as gracefully as she could under the circumstances. She straightened her jumper, unconsciously feeling her breasts as she readjusted her bra. She made an attempt at realigning her braid, but it was in too much disarray to resume its original platted discipline. She brushed her pants and repositioned her stockings.

She glanced sideways at her would be rescuer. She reminded herself this was the man who peed on her. He was still dangerous, and she needed to be careful. Then again, this was the man who'd gotten her out of her room. She didn't know what to think.

Fletcher proffered his right arm, "Let's do a circuit around the pond. We can check out the lilies, and, who knows? We might even see Old Rupert."

Sorrel accepted his right arm with her left hand. Together they walked around the perimeter of the pond. It wasn't an especially large body of water. And in less than ten minutes they were back at the place where they'd been planting. To Fletcher it didn't seem like a long time since they'd come down to plant, but he saw the sun was beginning to set. He looked down at Sorrel. "The evening air is starting to get cool. Maybe we should get back."

She didn't want to but nodded her head in agreement.

They worked their way back to the house without saying anything. Once they reached the back door Fletcher asked, "Did you have a good time?"

Inwardly she felt exuberant, but she controlled her response, "I didn't get to see Old Rupert."

Fletcher, holding the back door smiled wistfully, "Maybe next time." He looked at his watch. "Crap!" He said in disgust. "You've got to go to the Vasquels's. I'll call him and explain that you had an accident and can't come."

Sorrel interjected, "No. I should go. I can't put these things off."

Fletcher looked at her. Thinking, for himself, he'd rather keep her home for the evening. They could play that dumb game some more. He only knew he was really glad he'd gone up and asked her to help plant flowers. It was like that whole episode turned things around. He didn't say any of that, "OK. You're right."

Mary watched the two people from the barn. She knew there weren't going to be any shopping trips with Sorrel today. She wondered how much longer it was going to take before something happened.

She fixed some grilled cheese sandwiches for Fletcher, herself, and for Sorrel. Fetcher wolfed down two, but Sorrel only pickled at hers. She watched Sorrel watch Fletcher; something was going on. She suspected Sorrel was softening. They'd find out some things pretty soon.

The Vasquals's

The drive to Pearce's and Collette's wasn't long and conversation was held to a minimum. Reaching the front of their spacious house Fletcher advised her, as agreed upon earlier with the Vasquals, he would return to pick her up not later than midnight. Before driving off Fletcher admonished her to be careful with Flail. Pulling away Fletcher checked his transmitters. He wouldn't go home tonight. He would pull off at the little diner down the road have a coffee, and listen in.

Sorrel got out of the car and rang the doorbell. Pearce's wife, Collette, was soon there.

Collette opened the door and ushered Sorrel in, "I'm glad we have you to do this. Pearce and I want an evening out. You know I'm sure, just a few hours away, a little dinner, maybe a few drinks, and we'll be back close to midnight. Pearce says he has a meeting tomorrow."

Collette's vindictiveness got the better of her, "Oh yes; a meeting you would have attended too, "Oh well; your loss seems to be our gain." She chuckled at her attempt to be witty. She had no idea the meeting was the one called by Fletcher for just himself, Pearce, and Charles aimed at unraveling the web of suspicion that surrounded Sorrel. Of course, Sorrel didn't know anything.

Her husband arrived and handed Collette a light wrap. Speaking authoritatively he told Sorrel. "Flail's already eaten. He has some homework to finish, but he should have it done by nine. It's off to bed for him not later than 11:00. There's a television in the den, and the refrigerator's well stocked. Holding the door for his wife he smiled and whispered, "Try to stay out of trouble."

As they went down the walk to their car Sorrel wondered what he meant by that. She looked around and didn't see Flail anywhere. Guessing he was in is room doing homework; she headed for the den thinking she'd watch some of the cable news shows.

She knew well about Flail's so called reputation. She'd wondered earlier when she was dressing just how much trouble a seventeen-year old boy could be, then she remembered her husband. He was just seventeen when they'd met, and he turned out to be more than a handful, so just in case, Sorrel had dressed for any exigency. She'd worn a firm full fitting bra, and a white blouse that she covered with a comfortable V-necked sweater; certainly nothing provocative. She finished things off with a pair of heavy denim jeans, socks and tennis shoes. Feeling well protected she plopped down on the sofa and started flicking through the channels.

She watched first this show, then that show. Like always everything fit the pattern, some shows wanted to lynch the president, while others wanted him deified. Bored she drifted into the kitchen to get a soda. Flicking on the switch she opened the refrigerator door. Then, like an explosion, Ka Pow! Something hit her. She hit the floor like a rock. Before she could move Flail was on top of her. With one hand he grabbed both of her wrists and ratcheted her in handcuffs. While she struggled to get to her feet he was already locking another set of cuffs around her ankles. "What are you doing she yelled?"

Flailed gave her an evil grin, "I'm the police. You're under arrest! You're mine baby. Now I'm going to rape you." Even as he spoke he was already working on her belt buckle.

She shouted, "Are you out of your mind?"

Sorrel had managed to lean up, but he pushed her back. Unable to get her belt undone he sat astride her prone body, "All right. Let's see what you've got. First we'll get this sweater and blouse off." He started to clumsily try to work her sweater over her head.

Sorrel was no martial artist, but she was no limp dishrag either. He couldn't get anything off without her cooperation, and pretty soon he'd find that out.

Flail kept wrestling with her sweater, trying to get it off, while Sorrel kept wrestling with Flail, trying to get him off her. Neither side seemed to be able to get the upper hand. Flail sat back. "Look I've got you. That's why my father arranged to go out. Why don't you just give up? I'm going to win in the end anyway."

Sorrel was already breathing heavy. She knew she couldn't hold him off much longer, but she was bound and determined to fight him off as long as she could. As he started his second attack, she shouted up at him, "If you don't let me go I'll rip your penis off!"

Her threat angered the foolish boy. With his right arm he swung around and slapped her hard on the cheek. He yelled, "You're mine tonight. I'm going to have it you thieving bitch!"

From out of nowhere, even more unexpected than Flail's original attack, and certainly more violent; two powerful hands gripped Flail's shoulders and flung him halfway across the kitchen. It was Fletcher!

Sorrel had never heard such a disturbingly deep voice. It frightened her more than Flail's attack! The voice bellowed, "You little shit bird! You didn't think I'd leave her alone with a squirrelly little turd like you did you?

Fletcher half ran half leaped across the kitchen. Lifting the miscreant by the scruff of his neck he smashed him, none too tenderly, against the wall, "Where's the key to those cuffs you little shit twerp?" Fletcher was really furious.

Sorrel was afraid he was out of control. She called out, "Fletcher! Put him down!" Holding up the two sets of cuffs she exclaimed, "Look they're not real. They're only plastic!"

Fletcher let the rascal slide down the side of the wall. Red faced, chest heaving, arms akimbo he backed away, "Are you crazy? You little shit! I ought to knock you into the middle of next week!" Fletcher made as if he was going to grab the boy again.

Sorrel got up and ran to the stupid boy's aid, interposing herself between Flail and Fletcher. She pushed her hands against Fletcher's chest, "Stop it, he's just a boy!"

Flail cringed back, and then scampered away into the far corner. He didn't look any the worse for wear, just scared shitless. "I was only kidding around. I wasn't going to do anything. Honest Mr. Hanson. I was just playing a game."