(Author's note: this story deals with some very gritty and harsh subject matter. This is not for those looking for a straightforward sex story. There are many themes that some people might find objectionable, but to reveal them might give away parts of the story prematurely. If you continue reading, please keep this warning in mind.)
(This is the last of an eight-part series.)
Part Eight
June sat up in the hospital bed, looking at the various tubes plugged into her arms. She hated hospitals. The last time she had been in one, she had been a teenager in need of a cast for her arm after driving – drunk – into a parked and thankfully uninhabited car. That had not been pleasant, yet the experience paled in comparison to the invasive but necessary procedure of submitting to a rape kit examination.
As if I needed someone else to confirm what happened to me.
The flatscreen TV mounted on the wall was tuned in to a local news station. There had been no end to the parade of "exclusive" stories regarding the investigation and ultimate death of the Tolomeo twins. It turned her stomach that some of the ignorant comments posted on the news show's Facebook page were in support of the dead brothers, suggesting that they should have been "properly" investigated and that "vigilante" police should not have been allowed to go after them.
Put yourselves in my shoes, June thought derisively. Show me what a 'proper' fucking investigation is.
"Detective?"
June didn't look to the young patrol officer as he pushed open the door to her room and leaned in. "What."
"Um . . . someone to see you. She's on your 'pass' list."
June snapped her head up, eyes opening wide in hope. "Sophie?"
The patrolman retreated, leaving the door open for the pretty redhead as she entered the room. She held a bouquet of flowers.
June blubbered instantly, smiling and crying at the same time. "Sophie," she sputtered, holding her arms out. "Oh, God."
Sophie smiled as well, looking past the blemishes on her lover's face, the bruises and the wounds. She rushed to the bedside, dropping the flowers to the floor before embracing the woman she loved.
Both women trembled as they hugged, with June nearly convulsing in an epileptic fit. Sophie had to push herself back.
"Don't look at me," June declared, turning away.
But Sophie caught her lover's chin in her hand. "But I want to."
June winced. "No. Not yet."
Sophie was insistent. "I don't care what happened to you. I love you. No matter what."
Tears dribbled down June's face. "Even after what they did to me?"
"Yes. Even after that."
Slowly, June turned pained eyes upon those of the woman she loved more than herself. "I'm never gonna be the same," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Yet, Sophie could only smile, looking past the bruises, past the pain. "Maybe not. But you're always going to be my wife," she declared.
* * * *
"I strongly suggest you remain for at least another day," the doctor insisted as Riaz dressed himself.
The detective shook his head with a wry smile, hiding the pain that lanced through his back and shoulder every time he moved his left arm. "Can't do that," he said. "My daughter's graduating tonight. I'll be damned if I'm going to miss it."
The doctor sighed tiredly. "It's your call," he said. "Just remember, you have a fractured scapula and two bruised ribs. No exertion for the next few weeks. No smoking, no--"
"I don't smoke."
The physician held up his hands. "I'm just saying, take it easy. Sit down the moment you feel any light-headedness. It's going to take a while to heal."
Riaz nodded as he finished draping the jacket over his shoulders. He extended his hand to the doctor. "Believe me when I say I understand," he said. "I may be stubborn, but I'm not stupid. I'll take care of myself. I always have."
The doctor managed the thinnest of smiles as he shook the detective's hand. "Guess I just have to believe you on that."
Riaz let the man go, then returned to the task of collecting his personal things. He had hated every minute of the previous seventeen hours spent in a hospital bed in a hospital gown, barely able to sleep. The haunting memories of what had happened during that final confrontation with the Tolomeo twins plagued his thoughts, but not as much as the prospect of being denied the simple fatherly pleasure of watching his only daughter walk the stage at her graduation. In twenty-two years, he had never missed a single highlight of Kitna's life. He was not about to break that streak now.
"Riaz?"
He started, then tilted his head to glance back toward the owner of the voice. She stood behind him, several feet away, keeping her distance. He almost smiled at her presence, but her expression kept him emotionally guarded.
"I, uh . . . was gonna come see you sooner," Susan said awkwardly, brushing back a lock of dark hair. Her eyes were furtive, dancing all around as they avoided meeting Riaz's gaze. "I just, um . . . couldn't get off from work, and--"
He cut her off with a placating smile and gesture. "It's okay," he said, turning fully to face her.
The young brunette shifted on her feet. She smiled sheepishly. "It's not the same, now," she said.
Riaz nodded. "No, it's not."
"I mean," she continued. "It didn't really matter what you did. Before, I mean, when we were just fooling around."
You mean, when you were the other woman,
Riaz thought bitterly. "But now it does?"
Susan grimaced, looking uncomfortable. "We had some fun," she said. "I mean, you were really hot, and I got off on you being a cop and all that, but . . . I can't be a cop's girlfriend. I can't handle this kind of shit. It's too . . . too real, you know?"
"It's life," he responded gravely. "Sometimes it gets a little . . .
'real.'
"
"I-I know," she said, then huffed in frustration, unable to articulate what she wanted to say.
Riaz looked away tiredly. "Go home, Susan," he told her. "Just . . . go home, okay?"
She started to speak, but said nothing. Feeling embarrassed and out of place, the young woman turned and made her way across the rain-spattered grass. Riaz did not watch her go. He already knew he would have nothing more to do with the comely young brunette, with whom he had thrown away his fidelity, his life, his supposedly uncompromisable fatherhood. He was left alone, but that did not bring depression into his heart. There was a strange sort of somber gladness, now. He felt nothing but calm acceptance.
* * * *
The doughty, wide-faced woman stared at the pair of figures beneath sterile white sheets in the laboratory. Harsh lights from the ceiling reflected off her glasses as she assessed her options.
"Eenie, meanie, minie, moe . . . ."
After so scientifically making her decision, she pulled back the sheet covering one of the bodies. The naked figure beneath her was in gloriously wonderful shape, aside from the fact that his head was canted at an odd angle and post-mortem bruising had made the corpse's entire neck dark and swollen.
She smirked, looking the body over. "Bet you got your share off attention when you were alive, Mr. . . ." she glanced to the report on her rolling cart. ". . . Thorne N. Tolomeo. But I'm sure you never figured you would be getting this kind of attention so soon."
With a cackle under her breath, the medical examiner reached for one of her tools, a hand-held, battery-powered circular saw. She depressed the trigger a few times, filling the air with loud, grating, mechanical screaming that made her smile.
She looked down upon Thorne Tolomeo's face. "Now, let's see how many slugs and snails and puppy dog tails we can find inside you . . . ."
As the tool screeched again, it's whine changing in pitch as it began to bite through flesh and bone, the frumpy woman did not hear the sudden gasp that came from the still-covered body behind her. And as she was so ardently focused upon the task of carving through the body before her, she could not have seen the stirring of the white sheet as breath escaped a pair of supposedly dead lips.
With a sudden flurry, Talon Tolomeo suddenly sat up, eyes wide and filled with wonder and confusion. He swayed a bit upon the metal table, slapping his hands to either side to keep from toppling to one side or the other. The sheet that had covered him danced languidly in the chilly air before settling upon his upper thighs.
Where . . . what . . . .
The cacophony of noise from the loudly-chattering saw suddenly reached his ears as his senses became abruptly and painfully re-awakened. He winced and clutched his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. Breath heaved in and out through his lungs as he coped with the sudden onslaught.
Then finally, inextricably, the world became balanced around him. He could feel his limbs, his fingers, smell through his nostrils, hear through his ears, see through his eyes. All that lingered was a dry, metallic flavor in the back of his mouth.
His gaze drifted across his body. Numerous puncture marks adorned his flesh, from his left foot to his right shoulder. More than a half a dozen in number. Each set of dark holes in his skin was surrounded by dark, hardening flesh. Looking upon them made Talon smile in wonder.
They didn't kill me. I'm immune to their venom.
Eyes and attention now focused with predatory efficiency, Talon looked to his left, to the back of the thick-bodied woman in a white lab coat as she sliced her way into his brother's body. His eyes narrowed with controlled anger.
Casting off the sheet so that it floated into the air, he slid his feet to the floor.
The screaming saw suddenly cut out. Talon froze, standing mere paces behind the woman.
"Damn it," hissed the medical examiner, jerking the gore-covered tool from the sternum of the body before her. "I'm just gonna have to go back to plug-ins . . . ." She pulled the trigger again, making the saw blade spin, which cast thick dark ichor across the lab. She let out a short laugh as she released the trigger. "Okay, maybe not--"
The sound of thick polyester fabric falling to the floor behind her made the woman freeze in place. Her brow furrowed. Slowly, she turned to look.
The woman's eyes flew open wide at the sight of the man standing behind her. She dropped the battery-operated saw and stumbled back, colliding with the table upon which Thorne's body rest.
"Holy fuck!"
Talon sneered darkly, squatting quickly to scoop up the tool from the floor. He advanced upon the woman, shooting out a hand to grasp the woman's neck. He squeezed the trigger of the small but deadly circular saw, making it spin and scream loudly above her face.
"Oh my God!" she screeched, staring in abject horror at the whirling blade.
"You can't have my brother!" cried Talon, though his words were drowned out by not only the spitting screech of the saw, but also by the mortal screams of the medical examiner as the spinning blade sliced through flesh and bone.
He let the woman's body, convulsing in the throes of death, drop to the floor, and cast aside the saw. For several moments, as the medical examiner desperately clung to her fleeting life, Talon stared down upon the body of his brother. His features twisted silently. He stroked Thorne's thick black hair.
"I'll make them pay for this," Talon whispered, scooping his arms beneath the corpse of his brother. Leaving the medical examiner to die, Talon lifted his brother's body from the table and carried him toward the door.
* * * *
