Thorny Rose Ch. 03

But before we could enter, we were intercepted by an older man drinking a cup of coffee who identified himself as Detective Bayliss. While we exchanged awkward pleasantries, a young doctor arrived, and introduced himself to Rose as Doctor Coulson. He told Rose, who introduced herself with her real name, that her mother was in pretty bad shape, and not to be surprised by her bruising and the tubes that she would see. Detective Bayliss said that he wanted to talk to Rose and me, but would wait while she saw her mother.

We went in, and even after the doctor's warning, it was a shock, and Rose's knee's buckled. Luckily, I was behind her and was able to hold her up. Mrs. Hicks—or Rowland—looked scary. Her face was various shades of red, black and purple, and swollen almost beyond recognition. She had a ventilator in her mouth and tons of tubes running from her arms into various bags and stuff.

"Can she hear me?" Rose whispered to Dr. Coulson.

"Probably not, but we don't know, really."

Rose pulled a chair over to her mother's bedside, sat down, and took her mother's hand. She just sat there for a few minutes. I was standing, still in my coat, not exactly sure what to do. After a bit, Rose, who was crying, started saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over again, ultimately resting her forehead on her mother's hand. Her mother didn't move at all. The only sounds were the ventilator, the monitors and Rose's sobbing. I just stood still, then walked over behind Rose and put my hand on her shoulder. After a bit, I started to stroke her hair, but she didn't react.

Dr. Coulson cleared his throat, and at that noise, Rose looked up. "I think it would make sense for you to get some rest and come back in the morning."

Rose nodded, and stood up, shakily. I grabbed her elbow to help support her, and she walked, unsteadily out of the room. I released her arm as she steadied, and grabbed the handles of our bags, and rolled them out behind me. Waiting was Detective Bayliss.

"Can we talk now?" he asked in a comforting tone.

Rose nodded, and he led us down the hall to an empty room that looked like a private waiting room. I followed them in, and we sat on the pale green institutional sofas. I sat next to Rose, across from the detective, and she grabbed my hand, interlacing our fingers and squeezing tightly.

"I'm sorry about your mom," he said.

"Thanks," Rose whispered.

"Um, Theresa," he began, "is it O.K. for me to call you that?"

"I prefer Rose, now, if you don't mind. I feel like Theresa is someone else at this point."

"Sure, then, Rose, let me tell you what we know. The police in Farston arrested four armed men staking out your house, Jake Young—

"And let me guess," Rose interrupted, "Tommy Costa, Alex Escudero and Maxim Sokolov." She spat the names out as if she had tasted something spoiled.

Bayliss nodded. "That's right. They were waiting for you based on information that they had beaten out of your mother."

Rose gasped and started to cry. I squeezed her hand tightly. The detective continued, "Escudero rolled on the other two. He apparently has a new baby, and wanted the chance to see her before she went to college. They have been looking for you on orders from Simon Schmidt—" Rose shivered when he said that name, which I recognized from the news stories about Rose's ordeal—"and they happened to be in Atlanta when they saw your mother at a nightclub. They abducted her, and when she refused to tell them where you were, well, you saw what happened."

I felt Rose sob violently and start crying harder.

"The good news, such as it is, I guess, is that Schmidt, and a couple of his men in L.A. have also been arrested, and will probably go away for a long, long time."

We sat there, silently except for Rose's crying, for what felt like a long time. When she stopped crying, she wiped her eyes and nose with her hands and said, "Thank you, detective."

Bayliss stood up. "I'm sure your mother will be fine. This is a great hospital. I'm sorry about all this, but I'm glad we got these bastards in custody." He tried to hand his card to Rose, but she didn't react, so I took it. "If you need anything at all while you are here, or have any questions, give me a call." And then he was gone.

I was exhausted, and I could only imagine how Rose was feeling. I realized that she needed me to take control of the situation. I stood, pulling Rose up with our clasped hands. "I think we need to find a hotel."

"I want to stay here," she whispered.

"There's nothing we can do here, Rose. Let's go somewhere, get something to eat, maybe, and get some rest so we can come back refreshed in the morning."

"I guess you are right," she reluctantly agreed.

I handed Rose her coat, which she put on, and we walked back down to the reception area. I asked at the desk where the nearest hotel was, and luckily, there was a good one a block away. We walked in the cool late night air to the hotel, checked in and went to the room. I figured I could keep using the emergency credit card.

Once we got there, I realized that I was starving. I turned to Rose and asked her if she wanted any food, but she shook her head and just sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the generic art print on the wall. I found the room service menu, but realized it was too late.

"Rose, there's a Wendy's that we passed on the way here. I'm going to get something, O.K.?" She nodded. "Can I get you anything?" She shook her head.

I grabbed my coat and room card and went back out into the night. A few minutes later, I had a sack full of questionable burgers and fries, and a couple of sodas. I figured, maybe I could get Rose to eat something.

Back at the hotel, the room was dark and quiet. When I turned on the light, I could see Rose lying under the blankets, curled up in the fetal position. I put the bag on the desk, took off my coat and sat down, removing a burger, fries and soda from the greasy bag. It smelled great—better than great, actually. I looked over at Rose, and she didn't stir, so I wolfed down the food, tossed the trash into the garbage can, found my toiletries in my bag, brushed my teeth, washed up, then undressed for bed. Still a bit unsure of things, I kept my boxers on. Memorizing the layout of the room, I turned off the light and slowly made my way to the bed without tripping or bumping into anything.

The sheets were cool, and I snuggled under the blanket. It was pitch black in the room. I felt Rose roll toward me, and she rested her head on my chest and laid her arm across my belly. I was able to rub her soft, smooth back under the blanket, and it appeared that unlike me, she had discarded her underwear. As I stroked her back, she made quiet purring noises and, under pretty much any other circumstances, I would have been horny as hell. But I was exhausted, both physically and mentally, and quickly found myself asleep.

* * *

I opened my eyes, and after I figured out where I was, I had the happy feeling of having Rose pressed against me, in the classic spoon position. My semi-erect cock was nestled in her ass crack, and as that fact slowly invaded my consciousness, it became fully erect. A few days ago, the concept that I'd be naked in bed with Rose was unimaginable, and now I was remarkably not embarrassed by having my cock pressing against her ass. And when she pressed back against it and sighed, I kissed the back of her head. Although it didn't seem possible, she pressed herself even closer, and I took the opportunity to use my free hand to stroke her curves, from her ribs, down to her waist, and up to her hip. I could tell from the way her body reacted, that I was doing something good, and began to stray toward her ample, soft breasts.

Rose reached up, and pressed my hand against her hardening nipple, then contorted her neck to kiss me. When we disengaged, she said, softly, "I like waking up like this."

"No complaints here," I replied, smiling.

"Very funny," she responded, with mock indignation, rolling away from me so that she was lying face down on the bed.

If she thought that denying me the ability to fondle her breasts was "punishment," it was certainly mitigated by the sight of her round ass and long legs. I wondered to myself if there was anything sexier than the sight of a naked woman's pink skin against white sheets.

"I guess I better do something to apologize," I said, chuckling, and rolled toward her. I began stroking and rubbing her back, kneading her muscles. As much as I enjoyed giving the massage, it was clear that Rose was really enjoying the attention, and that didn't change as I moved my focus to her butt. In fact, my work on her cheeks led to an increasing in the intensity of her moaning, and a slow spreading of her thighs.

Despite my general lack of experience with women, I thought I knew what that meant, and I reached between her legs and stroked her soft thighs, before moving toward her pussy, somewhat surprised to feel how wet she already was. I used my fingers to rub her lips, and apparently located her clit, by the way that her hips jerked upward. The more I rubbed, the more Rose lifted off the bed, until she was on her knees, ass up in the air, chest pressing against the mattress. She looked at me and smiled, her face smashed against the mattress, and I figured that it was time for me to make a move. I positioned myself so that I could stick my now throbbing cock into Rose from behind. I was able to plunge fully into her with no resistance, and Rose grunted loudly and pressed her ass back against me.

I withdrew part way, then pressed back in, feeling the smooth, wet, hotness against my cock, which caused me to lose control a bit, and I started pumping faster and faster, and Rose began to meet my thrusting. I was panting, and she was grunting. I could feel Rose's hand rubbing her clit from underneath while we fucked with abandon, and she started to make the sounds that I recently learned meant that she was close to cumming. That set me off, and I exploded inside her, and as I finished, Rose yelled out, and collapsed under me. I couldn't have asked for a better landing spot.

We lay there, catching our breath, before I rolled off her back. I was lying on the bed, on my back. Rose turned toward me, then scooted over so that she was lying perpendicular to me, on her stomach, her head on my chest. I had heard the expression that someone had a "well fucked look" on their face, and I kind of thought that was what Rose had. She just looked at me, with a half-smile on her lips, her head rising and falling as I breathed.

"Thank you," she finally said, softly.

"No, thank you," I said, smiling.

"What I mean, Dale, is thank you for making me feel safe and loved and respected, not just for the sex." She paused before saying, "Although that was pretty great, too. For someone with no experience, you're doing great," Before I could respond, she said, "For so long, sex was something I did because I was forced to, or for money, and not because I wanted to. That's why I was so hesitant. I guess I equated sex with something bad. Which, I guess, led to my fear of touching and intimacy at all. The way you've treated me since we met reminded me that not all men are horrible. And getting to see sex from your perspective, as something new and exciting again, has reminded me that it can be fun, and good, and feels great, especially when you are with someone you love."

What exactly was I supposed to say to that? I decided that the best thing to say was nothing, and just gave her a peck on the nose. I did worry to myself that I could never measure up, either in size or experience to her prior partners, but the last thing I was going to do was bring up her past.

I looked at the clock. "Rose, it is almost 9—we should probably get to the hospital."

"You're right." Rose got up, and I watched her walk, naked and unselfconscious, to the bathroom, and heard the shower start. I thought about trying to get in the shower with her, but assuming that she was O.K. with that, I didn't want to delay any more, and I figured there was plenty of time for me to check that fantasy off my long list. After much less time that I expected, considering what I thought I knew about women and showers, Rose came out, with a towel around her body, just barely covering her crotch, and another one around her head, turban style

"Your turn," she said, smiling, and I walked, naked and somewhat self-consciously, into the foggy bathroom. I turned on the shower, and after adjusting the temperature, I got in. I could hear Rose wiping off the mirror and doing stuff in the bathroom while I washed up.

"Dale, I can't believe that my mother risked her life to protect me."

I was kind of surprised by that comment, since I actually would pretty much expect my mother to do that, even considering what happened to Rose's mom. I stuck my head out of the shower. "Really?"

She turned to look at me, and her face was hard. "There's more to my relationship with my mother than meets the eye."

This was much more interesting than the shower, so I rinsed, turned off the water, and reached for a towel, wrapping it around my waist. "How?"

Rose took a deep breath. "My mother is really to blame for what happened to me. She and her husband were drug addicts and drunks, and she made it easy for him to rape me. Repeatedly from when I was 14. When I told her, she was either too fucked up, or didn't care, and when I told her I was running away, she said 'good riddance.'"

I stepped toward her and held her.

"So, I ran away, and tried to live on the street. I met this guy, and he was nice. He gave me food. A place to stay. And the next thing I knew, I was tied up, in a van, and in a house in California. Those guys, the guys who did this to my mother, beat and raped me. They degraded me until I didn't know up from down. They forced me to do horrible things, and the porn. They didn't care how old I was. When I turned 18, a more 'legitimate' producer, Paul Dampling, literally bought me from Simon Schmidt. I didn't know what else to do, so I did a couple of movies for him. It was better—I had my own room, I wasn't getting hurt or anything, and I even got paid. But I was miserable, and they watched me. I wanted revenge. I became friendly with one of my so-called bodyguards, who really was there to make sure that I didn't run away and damage Paul's investment. If by friendly, you mean that I let him fuck me. Eventually, I convinced the guy to look the other way, and I ran. Right to the police. You know the rest of the story—they arrested Schmidt and his crew, and they did some time, but got out recently and came after me."

She had told me most of the story before, in the park, except for the part about her mother, but obviously, she needed to get it out, and I listened, sickened again. "Rose, then why did you go back to your mother?"

She took a deep breath. "I wasn't sure what to do. I knew her bastard husband had died, and good riddance to him. I called her, and she said that she was in a program, and clean, and wanted to see me. I flew to Atlanta, and we met, and talked. I still resented her, but I thought that we both needed someone, I had nowhere to go, and we were family after all. And then this." She waved her hands around, as if to indicate "everything," and started to sob.

After a few seconds, she wiped her eyes, and turned to the mirror and began to put on makeup. "We should get going, I guess."

I nodded and started to leave the bathroom, before turning back. "Can I ask another question?"

"Of course, Dale. I feel like I don't need to hide anything from you."

"What about Paul Dampling—isn't he also after you?"

She smiled a little. "No, he turned out to be a relatively good guy. Not perfect, but when I got away, and told him the whole story, he was understanding. He did make me pay him a bunch of money, and sign a bunch of papers, but said we were square. He even offered me the chance to come back, whenever I wanted, and make more movies." She paused. "As if that would ever happen."

I knew probably as much as I would ever know, or at least for the time being, and it was pretty horrific. But I was happy that she was willing to confide in me, almost as much as I was happy that she was willing to sleep with me.

We dressed, grabbed a coffee in the hotel lobby and walked over to the hospital.

When we got there, Rose's mother seemed to be unchanged. Bruised, filled with tubes and silent. Rose sat next to her, holding her hand, talking to her in a quiet voice, sometimes crying. I sat in the room, basically doing nothing but watching Rose, occasionally getting coffee and snacks. Around lunchtime, though, shit started happening. Monitors beeped, and doctors and nurses came running into the room. One of the nurses closed the curtain around the bed and shooed us out of the room. She looked concerned, and Rose looked scared.

I led Rose to the lounge room where we had met with the detective, and we sat down. Rose grabbed my hand and held on for dear life.

"She's going to be O.K., right?" Rose asked hopefully.

Frankly, it didn't look good, but my medical knowledge came completely from TV and the movies, so I figured it was safe to say, "I'm sure they are taking good care of her."

Sitting there and waiting without knowing was killing me, and it was worse for Rose. Occasionally, she would sniffle, or wipe her eyes, and squeeze my hand. There was nothing to say, and nothing to do but wait.

After some time, Doctor Coulson came into the room, and he didn't look happy. "Rose, can I speak with you privately?"

She stood up. "It's O.K. for Dale to hear this."

"Are you sure?" he asked, warily. Rose nodded. "You may want to sit down." Rose sat, and I sat next to her on the couch. This was not a positive development. "Rose, I'm sorry to say that your mother has passed away." I felt Rose lurch and squeeze my hand. "Her injuries were too severe. We did everything we could....." His voice trailed off, and I could hear Rose sobbing. "I'm sorry for your loss." He stood, and we stood too, for some reason.

Through her tears, Rose asked, "Can I see her?"

"Of course. Is there anyone you would like speak with? A clergyman?"

Rose shook her head. "We really weren't religious, I guess."

We followed the doctor back to her mother's room. She looked peaceful. I realized that I had never seen a dead body before. I looked over at Rose, and she was still beautiful, even with tears pouring down her face and red puffy eyes.

A short, dark-haired woman, maybe my Mom's age, wearing a suit, came over and introduced herself to us as Sandra Callender, and told us that she was there to help us make arrangements for the body. Rose looked at her blankly, and before Ms. Callender could start detailing the options, I asked, "Can this wait until tomorrow?"

"Of course," she replied, "but if you would be interested in allowing your mother to be an organ donor and help other people, we need to get your consent now." She handed Rose a clipboard with a bunch of papers. Rose scanned them quickly, and scribbled a signature at the bottom.

"I guess it makes sense," she said, without much enthusiasm, and handed the clipboard to the woman.

"Thank you," she replied, sounding sincere, and handed me her business card. "Have Rose call me when she is ready to talk about other arrangements." She bustled out of the room.

"Rose, do you want to stay here anymore?"

She looked at me, as if surprised to see me, then shook her head, as if clearing out the fog. "No, I think I need to get some air."

We left the hospital and walked aimlessly and quietly on the unfamiliar streets, holding hands, before somehow ending up back at the hotel. I realized that I was starving, and we sat in the hotel restaurant making minimal conversation, while I ate a grilled chicken sandwich and Rose moved the lettuce around in a salad.