Like Pink Floyd said, "Hello, is there anybody in there?" I'm starting to wonder if you're out there. Maybe you are. If you are, drop me a line. I'd like to hear from you. If you're not, where the hell have you been?? Obviously I'm teasing. If you're not there, how could you tell me where you've been? Anyway, enjoy the chapter!
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Crown Vic to a Parallel World: Stolen Love The third and final installment of the ongoing adventures of Church Philips
37
Arrival, a Blow Up, and Ass Appreciation
The hotel was a typical Solum hotel, and the rooms were typical rooms. We had the entire top floor of the place reserved for our use. That gave us twelve standard double-occupancy suites arranged in a row on one side of the corridor, each with a kitchenette and a sitting room. On the other side of the corridor was a conference room with all the standard conference room technology. Neb gathered all of us in the conference room as soon as we got off the plane and waved us to silence.
Neb moved to the head of the conference table to address the group of bleary-eyed people who were not yet fully awake after their overnight flight. It was six in the morning and the sun wasn't quite up yet. The walls of the conference room were set to be clear, so we could look out across the sprawling city lit with countless colored lights. The ocean whispered in the distance to the east and the sky in that direction was turning from black to deep purple in preparation to welcome the sun. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and that told me the day was going to be oppressively hot.
Neb pushed her sleeves above her elbows and clapped her hands lightly to get the attention she needed. "The luggage will be brought to us here." She announced like a tour guide on the last leg of an overly long tour, tired and a little jaded. "As soon as it is, Cy, Vulp, and myself will begin to sweep the rooms. I don't think we'll find anything, but we're taking every precaution. There will be no talking until we are finished with the entire floor.
"We will start in here. As there is a culinarian in the corner," Neb gestured to an inside corner of the conference room where a full-sized machine took up most of the space on a built-in counter of black glass, "I recommend you all eat breakfast while you wait. We will release the individual rooms to you as we finish with them. When you receive your room, please unpack and get ready immediately. We want to begin our work in the city as soon as possible."
Neb drew her phone from the pocket of her pants and checked the time. "It's six-oh-three. It will take us thirty minutes to sweep this entire floor. That should be more than enough time for everyone to eat and collect your bags. I'll give you another thirty minutes to shower and dress. I want everyone back in this room, ready to leave by seven. Clear?"
The group answered in the affirmative, and Neb moved toward the door to have a serious-looking chat with the Dux brothers. I lunged for the culinarian and asked it for a full pot of black coffee and a big breakfast of eggs, fried meat, fried potatoes, and toast. I carried my loaded plates away with the coffee pot floating at my elbow, and almost ran into my brother.
"Hey." I acknowledged his presence and tried to sidestep him.
"Good morning." He stepped the same way I did.
I tried to go the other way, but Joe matched my steps again. I planted my feet and gritted my teeth in frustration. "Go ahead." I grunted.
Joe stood his ground. "Can we talk?"
"Not supposed to." I reminded him and hoped that gentle refusal would end his request. I didn't want to talk to Joe. Inevitably he would want me to solve his problems for him and I didn't want to. I wanted to find my husband. Having him cry out to me in my dreams had unsettled me, and I very much wanted to eat my breakfast in peace. I didn't want to deal with my brother, but my refusal was to no avail. Joe doesn't get hints and Joe also doesn't accept the direct approach when it runs counter to what he wants.
"I wasn't planning to talk about that. I wanted to get your opinion on something." He pressed. I released my plate to the air so I could rub my face with my palms. In my mind I was screaming to be left alone. My voice carried a different message. "Get your breakfast and join me." I pointed at the foot of the table. "I'll be down there. Bring your own coffee, I didn't get this pot to share." I stepped around Joe and made for the place I'd indicated. I sat down and dug into my breakfast. As I ate and waited for my brother, I noticed two people in yellow uniforms carrying bags into the room and piling them by the door.
Joe joined me a few minutes later with a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee with cream and maybe sugar. I was happy to see the oatmeal. I hoped that meant he was planning to maintain his new weight and not try to return to the vastness he'd achieved before. He took a bite of his meal and set the spoon in the bowl to stir the mess around while he chewed and swallowed. He drank a sip of coffee and asked the question that seemed to have been on his mind for a while. "Do you hate me?"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I dropped my fork and let it rattle against my plate while I stared at Joe. He was sitting across from me with his eyes on his oatmeal. I ran my greasy hands through my dirty hair and set my palms against the edge of the table. "Why?" I asked.
"Why what?" Joe asked back in typical lawyer fashion.
"Why would you think I hated you?" I clarified the question for council.
"Last night, when I was upset, you didn't...anything."
Me, me, ME!' My brain chanted as I stared at my brother. Why didn't you pat my head and tell me everything would be alright?' My mind voice asked in mocking singsong. I wanted to scream at Joe for being so selfish. I wanted to lash out verbally and physically. I wanted to punch him across the room. I gritted my teeth and swallowed a lump of rage that I almost gagged on. "Why did you come here?" I asked him through my teeth.
"You said you needed me." Joe reminded me, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like he couldn't believe I'd forgotten that I'd asked for his company.
"Yes, I did," I agreed, "but that means I need you to be here for me. It means I need your support, not the other way around. It means I need you to put your troubles aside and focus on mine. It means I need you to think about someone that isn't you. If you can't do that, then...go the fuck home, wherever you decide that is."
I got up from the table and kicked my chair aside. I floated my plate, coffee cup, and coffee pot into the air to bring with me and glanced around the room for an empty corner I could occupy to finish my meal. "Church." Joe called indignantly from his spot at the table.
The indignance in his voice was the straw that broke the camel's back. Just hearing my name in that shitty tone of his was enough to shatter my restraint. I screamed at my brother like I hoped the volume of my voice would shove him away from the table and pin him to the clear wall behind. "JESUS-FUCKING-CHRIST! IT'S NOT ABOUT YOU! I'M THE ONE IN PAIN! MY HUSBAND WAS KIDNAPPED, NOT YOURS! WHY CAN'T YOU SEE THAT?"
Paul was in front of me in an instant. His big body partially blocked my view of Joe who was hunched over his oatmeal in the deflated posture of a dog who's being yelled at for ripping open the trash. Much like the dog, Joe looked like he was upset at being reprimanded, but he didn't understand why I was angry. "NO," I bellowed around Paul, "I REFUSE TO BE PACIFIED! FUCK YOU, JOE! I DO HATE YOU! HOW'S THAT, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!"
A crowd started to form around me. The crowd chattered. All of them wanted to know what happened to set me off and who I was yelling at and why. Paul tried to shove them away but got nowhere. Paul's anger seemed to peak just after mine did. "CLEAR THE ROOM!" He shouted. "EVERYONE OUT!"
The deep, booming voice of the normally mild-mannered priest surprised everyone into action. They retreated into the corridor. Andy gathered my brother from his seat at the table and led him out last. The door closed behind them, and Paul and I were alone. "WHY IS HE LIKE THAT?" I shouted at Paul who stood barely inches away from my shouting mouth.
"He's not who you're angry with." Paul observed in his best, mild priest voice.
"THE FUCK HE'S NOT!" I spun on my heels to put a few feet between me and Paul. I took a couple steps and whirled around to yell some more. "FUCK HIM AND HIS BULLSHIT!"
"He's not who you're angry with." Paul insisted again. "The fact is, you're not even angry, you're scared and you're sad."
"I'M PISSED!" I shouted my insistence at him.
Paul shook his head slowly back and forth in wide swings like the sweep of his head should indicate a greater intensity of me being wrong. "No, you only think you're angry. You're not. You're scared and you're sad and you don't know what to do with your fear and your sadness, so you're lashing out." I let my friend's words sink in. They settled on my mind like lead weights tied to an under-inflated child's balloon. "He tried to make it about him." I explained to Paul, my volume sapped by his reason.
"And it's not about him," Paul agreed, "and it isn't even about you, is it? It's about Shawn." Paul spoke calmly, evenly, with a placid expression of parental understanding on his expressive face.
The sound of my husband's name sent a stab of melancholy slicing through my psyche. It cut through all my anger and misplaced emotion. It cut right down to the marrow of my bones and laid bare the suffering I'd been trying not to experience.
My body gave up the fight at the same time my mind did. I sank to my knees and fell to the floor in a heap of misery. I wept for him, my stolen love, in big wracking cries of self-pity and desperate grief and loneliness. Paul struggled to the floor and gathered my head into his lap. He held it and wiped my tears away, though fresh ones fell to replace them faster than he could wipe them away.
"I want...want, I want...my...my hus-husband." I wailed to Paul.
"I know you do." He whispered comfort to me. "I know. We have to go out and find him though."
"Hurts..." I gasped.
"I know it does. I know...and no one understands how much it hurts. They can't know because no one loves him like you do."
FINALLY!' My mind cried out. Someone who gets it!' I tried to talk, but my sobs wouldn't let me. I couldn't make myself understood. I knew there wasn't time to waste on weeping. I knew that the sooner I could get myself together, the sooner we could go look for him, the sooner I could have him back, but my swirling emotions conspired against me to keep me hysterical. My control failed me, and I sank into the black despair. I howled my loneliness and rage into Paul's lap.
Paul held me for what felt like a long time. At length, he decided enough was enough. Paul called to me through the depths of my despair. "Alright, young man, alright. Tears are well and good. They help us process the misery that punctuates the good times in life. Too much though, too much is too much. We can't let it consume us."
I heard Paul's words, but I didn't know how to stop my tears. I wanted Shawn. I wanted to know that he was safe. I wanted to know that he was still mine and that I was still his. I was so afraid, afraid of being without him, and afraid of finding him and discovering that he may not want me anymore. I was so afraid that I couldn't stop myself from howling out my fear.
I fought against the grief. I tried to muster my courage, but I couldn't find any to muster. All my manly bravery was missing. I suspected it had left with Shawn, left me alone and useless, not even enough of me remained to make a whole person. There wasn't even enough man to dry my tears so I could find my husband. Too much of me was missing.
Paul grew impatient with me. He moved my head out of his lap and got his legs under him. With some effort, a few grunts, and the crackling of arthritic joints, Paul changed positions from sitting to kneeling. When he was finished arranging himself, he called out to me again. "Join me, young man."
I glanced at my friend, but he'd changed. He wasn't Paul anymore, he'd become Father Miller, the kneeling priest with his hands folded in prayer. I refused his invitation with a shake of my miserable head and a gasped, "can't."
Father Miller wasn't so easily refused. "CHURCH!" He commanded me in his great, big, deep voice. "KNEEL!"
The command activated something in my brain. It was a basic instruction that I could follow without thought or reason. All I had to do was shift my position on the floor. That seemed an easy enough thing to do. I gathered my physical strength. It seemed to remain in spite of all my emotional strength having abandoned me. I got my legs under me and knelt upon them. Father Miller and I both faced the same direction, into the rising sun.
"Do as I do." He instructed me.
I blinked the flowing tears from my eyes so I could see Father Miller clearly and watched while he crossed himself. I refused to comply and let my hands hang at my sides.
Father Miller tried to reason with me. "Church, I know all the arguments you have against doing this. I submit to you that none of them mean anything just now. It's times like this when we all need help from something greater than ourselves. It's times like this, young man, times when you're lost and alone and when everything seems hopeless, that you must reach out for the Lord. Please, my friend, please try with me."
I shook my stubborn head. I was afraid of praying. I was afraid of asking for help from a God I'd deliberately not believed in. I was afraid that, if he existed, he'd be angry with me for all the blasphemy I'd spouted and the sins I'd committed and the times I'd taken his name in vain. I was afraid he'd take his anger out on me, maybe he'd take it out on Shawn.
Father Miller draped a heavy, solid arm over my shaking shoulders. He'd read me, used his power to see my thoughts and my fears. He had the answer for them. "Almighty God has no use for grudges. If you cry out to him, he will hear you. If you cry out, he will answer you. If you ask for help, he will give it to you. He will be so happy to hear from you. Church, you are the prodigal son. God always welcomes his children back. He is your father, a father like you should have had, a father full of love and acceptance. Ask him for help. Cry out to him."
I lifted my dangling arms and crossed myself. I pressed my palms together in the traditional position of prayer. I stirred my voice and asked it to help me talk to the Lord. "Lord," I said and couldn't find the words to go any further.
Father Miller encouraged me. "He knows you're unpracticed. Don't worry about formality. Just tell him what your heart needs the most. Whatever words you use, I assure you he already knows what you're trying to say."
"Lord," I said again and broke. I pressed my palms to my weeping face and prayed into them. "Please...please God let me find him. Please. Please let me find him safe and sound. Please...let me hold him. Please Lord. I can't...I can't live without him. Please help me...help me help him. Please."
Father Miller used his polished words to finish my plea. "Please, almighty and ever-living God, have mercy on Church and help him to find his husband. Watch over Shawn and keep him safe until they are reunited. We ask this, through Christ our Lord, Amen."
"Amen." I parroted into my hands.
Father Miller's left arm moved against me as he crossed himself with his right. "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen."
I forced my hands away from my face so I could cross myself as Father Miller had, though the only word I could find to match the action was the last word. "Amen." I muttered.
Father Miller and I remained on our knees, eyes lowered to the floor away from the glare of the rising sun. When my voice would work without breaking, I used it to ask the priest a question. "Now what?"
"Now," Father Miller said as he tightened his grip to hold me against him, "it's in God's hands. You've placed your faith in God and the help he will provide. Have faith that he will help you."
"So what do I do?" I asked.
"God helps those who help themselves." Father Miller quoted the cliche. "You pull yourself together and you trust the Lord to lead you to Shawn."
"Just like that?" I asked.
"Just like that." Father Miller confirmed. "Maybe you've noticed he's already helped you."
I wiped my eyes and turned them to face the priest. "What do you mean?"
"You're not crying anymore, are you? The Lord has helped to dry your tears so you can do his work. Are you ready to start?"
I had to admit that I was ready. I felt better than I did before. To my complete and utter surprise, praying to God had helped. It hadn't made a believer of me, but it got me to stop crying. I got to my feet and helped Father Miller up. As I did it, I realized that he was back to being my friend Paul. "Thanks, Paul." I said and surprised my friend with a hug.
He patted my back. "OK, young man. OK. There will be time for that later. Now, we have to get moving, don't we?"
"Yes."
Paul brushed the wrinkles out of my shirt. He chuckled when he saw that the coffee pot and my breakfast plate had stayed in the air the entire time in spite of my consuming emotion. "Listen to me," he instructed as I filled my coffee cup from the pot and drank, "you are here to find Shawn. All those other people out there are here to help. You say he's in this city. I believe you. You focus on finding him, and you leave Joe, and anyone else who seems to have the wrong priorities, to me."
"OK, Paul."
"Excellent." He patted my shoulder like we'd had a major breakthrough. "You take the next open room and get cleaned up. I'll handle the group and your brother."
"Thank you." I hugged my friend again. We separated quickly and moved toward the door. On the way, I set my plate on the counter near the culinarian. I took the coffee pot and cup with me.
I showered quickly and dressed in an outfit I found in my suitcase with a tag on it that read `search disguise.' It consisted of red, solid color shorts and a loud lightweight, buttoned-down shirt. Instead of the ubiquitous dished wedge heels, this outfit was supplied with a pair of chunky, red, strap heels that laced half-way up my toned calves.
I suspected the clothes were from Andy's informal cruising collection because the shorts hugged my hips and ass and even accentuated my bulge. The shirt was a maddening pattern-less splash of blues, reds, yellows, and purples. Its sleeves barely covered my shoulders, leaving my powerful arms on full display, while the rest of the fabric stretched taught over my muscled torso.
I eyed my reflection in the mirrored walls of the bathroom and almost convinced myself to change. A second look at the way the shorts showed off my ass made me decide to remain dressed as I was. As badly as I'd wanted Shawn before he was kidnapped, paled in comparison to how badly I wanted him in that moment. I couldn't think of a better way to greet him when we were reunited than in clothes that put my assets on bright display.
I walked out of my room to find Andy and Comet in the corridor, both were already dressed and ready to go. Both were wearing loud, beach outfits, even skimpier than my own. Instead of buttoned-downs, they paired muscle-head shredder tank-tops with short board shorts and chunky strap heels without the leg laces. Andy wolf-whistled when he saw me, and Comet fanned himself dramatically. "I think the temperature just went up, Andy." Comet stage whispered. "The only way those clothes would look better is if they were crumpled up on my bedroom floor."
Andy elbowed Comet and his face wrinkled up in revulsion. "Ewww, that's my uncle." Andy complained. "I didn't say you had to be there." Comet responded through a teasing grin. "Come on, Uncle Church," Comet prompted and twirled his index finger in the air, "do a turn so we can see everything."
I did a slow revolution for the boys and grinned as they howled and teased me. "Thanks, guys." I felt myself blush when I faced them again. I was pleased that Comet was comfortable enough around me to carry on and tease. It put me at ease with him and helped settle my mind in preparation for the search ahead of me...ahead of us. "Should we go in?" I asked the boys.
Andy crossed his arms and leaned against the corridor wall. "Not yet. We'll go in last, once Mister Paul gets here. He was the last to get a room and he asked us to wait with you."
I settled myself to wait. Standing there with the boys lightened my mood and made me feel like I should be a little silly. I leaned on the wall next to Andy and matched his posture. I flexed my biceps as I crossed my arms and even raised my right leg to put my foot flat on the wall behind me. The position of my leg stuck my thigh out and made it bulge. "What do you think, Com?" I asked Andy's boyfriend. "If you didn't know either of us, and you were just picking someone for a romp, which of us would it be?"
Comet stood back and hugged himself. He took his time to really look at each of us. He moved in front of Andy and looked him up and down. Andy grinned like he'd already won. Comet moved in front of me and even reached out to squeeze my bicep as he looked me over. To finish the bit of theater he was performing, Comet turned like he was going to walk away from me, then he swooned and fell back against me. The action forced me to uncross my arms and catch him. He twisted his head around to put his face in mine. "Why settle for a boy when I can have a MAN?" He asked and broke up laughing.
His laughter was infectious and caught us all. The three of us roared. Comet tried to step out of my arms, but I held him back. "Oh no, you're mine now." I growled and pretended to gnaw on the meaty part of his shoulder.
Comet gasped out a desperate and teasing plea for help and reached out to Andy for rescue. Andy left his arms crossed and glared disdainfully at his begging boyfriend. "You're on your own." He said and turned his face away.
The three of us broke up with fresh hysterics. I released Comet who pretended to be indignant with Andy. The three of us were still laughing when Paul exited his room, ready to go.
Of the four of us in the corridor, Paul was the most conservatively dressed by a wide margin. He wore navy blue shorts that ended below his knees. His shirt was a generously cut buttoned-down short sleeve shirt with real sleeves and a collar. The shirt was a mass of loud colors, but it covered his body. On his feet, Paul wore the Solum equivalent of low heel crocs. He carried his copy of Fidum's Bible. I assumed he had it with him as a diversion in case the search was a protracted one.
Paul looked at each of us in turn, then down at himself. "Uhm..." he hesitated and seemed to hunt for a way to express his obvious concern with our outfits. "You know what," He said with a head shake and a shrug, "never mind. Like Lenis said the other day, when you have something to flaunt, flaunt it; or words to that effect."
I laughed and pushed myself off the wall. "She'd be pleased to hear you quoting her." I teased Paul. "Yes...well...uhm...shall we?" Paul asked, embarrassed at the mention of Shawn's `very forward' mother. The boys led the way and Paul fell in step with me. He looked up at the side of my face, then down at my feet. "Are you wearing heels, young man?"
I admitted that I was.
"I am not sure I understand that cultural phenomenon." Paul rubbed his chin as he thought about it. I decided to prove the point. "Andy, Comet," I called to stop the boys. They paused and turned. "Boys, Paul here doesn't understand why everyone on Solum wears heels. Would you mind giving him a demonstration?"
Andy cocked his head in confusion. I guessed he'd read my mind and knew what I wanted him and Comet to do. In Andy's opinion, my idea had a basic flaw in it. "I thought Mister Paul was straight."
"He is," I countered, "but the point remains valid whether it's guy ass or girl ass."
Andy shrugged his vague agreement with the principle and turned his back to us. Comet did the same thing once Andy prompted him. They both kicked off their heels and put their feet flat on the floor. I pointed out both young asses for Paul and made sure he took mental note of each of them. Then the boys put their heels back on.
"I see it." Paul observed with no prompting from me. "The heels they...plump all the muscles from the calf to the...a-hem, rear end. The effect is quite pronounced. But everyone wears them for that reason?" Paul was incredulous at the idea.
"You ever meet anyone, man or woman, gay or straight, who didn't like a round ass?" I challenged.
"A fair point." Paul agreed. "A fair point indeed. You win." He gestured for us to proceed to the conference room. "By the way," he said just to me as we went, "do NOT address this morning with your brother. The matter is settled."
I made the motion of dusting my hands off and threw an arm over Paul's shoulders to squeeze the big man against me in a gesture of gratitude and friendship. "Thanks, my friend. Thank you. I owe you, big time."
Paul waved my gratitude away. "What are friends for?" He asked and let the matter drop. We entered the conference room to find Neb at the head of the table and everyone else seated around it.