'Sup With You, Dude? - The Next Step - Chapter 2
’Sup With You, Dude?
The Next Step
© 2021
by
Jonathan Longhorn
If you have not read the original story ‘Sup With You, Dude? now might be a good time to do so. While this new piece could stand on its own merits, it might make more sense if you go back and read the original so you understand what’s going on.
Copyright © 2021 by Jonathan Longhorn (jonathan_longhorn at yahoo dot com). All rights reserved. Except for the use of less than two pages in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means is forbidden without the express written permission of the author. Express permission is granted to The Nifty Erotic Stories Archive for storage, indexing, retrieval, and display of this work.
Disclaimer: The material in this work is for mature audiences only and contains graphic sexual content and language. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older. All of the characters in this work are assumed to be at least 18 years of age.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and settings are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, names, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. In the real world having sex without using a condom can be very dangerous to your health. Don’t ruin your life or your future. Slip it on before you slide it in.
All trademarks used in this work are the sole property of their owners and have been used without permission or endorsement.
Chapter 2
Deputy Cayce Foster put his F-150 in park and cut the lights. He studied the gleaming metallic black Tundra nestled in the turnaround of his driveway and smiled softly. He cut the engine and just sat for a few moments breathing deeply and trying to ‘will’ his body to move. It had been a bad day. He reckoned the worst day of his life. He leaned forward and rested his head against the steering wheel. His mind began replaying what had happened—for the zillionth time—and it all played the same way it had during every other rewind.
He had killed a woman. A deranged, hyped up on God knew what, woman. The medical examiner would have a report in a few days or so, maybe a week given the limited equipment available to a rural medical system with strained finances. It could very easily take a full week if they had to send everything to the nearest metropolitan area.
There was nothing he could do. She was screaming and cursing, chanting unrecognized phrases, and—she was holding a gun on a protective services agent while she held a butcher knife to the throat of one of her children. No one was sure where the others were at the moment, only the eight-year-old boy. So many things were running through his mind during the standoff. Through everyone’s mind.
But the one thing that was crystal clear was that this mess was not going to simply go away. She was not simply going to drop her weapons and say, ‘oops, sorry. I don’t know how this happened.’ He heard it in her voice. He saw it in her eyes. He saw the trickle of blood on the boy’s neck; she was holding the blade too tightly to his throat.
The ‘kid’ was a hell of a man. He stood tall and strong even while he faced death at the hands of his own mother. His gaze was locked on the deputy’s eyes. Cayce would never forget the boy’s eyes for the rest of his life.
And then, the boy started singing.
Cayce Foster knew the song. And he started singing along with the boy.
The woman screamed and shouted and demanded that the singing stop.
The boy sang louder. Cayce Foster sang louder.
The woman’s head tilted to the right. She pressed the gun barrel to the protective services agent’s temple and the trickle of blood on the boy’s neck flowed more freely.
That head tilt was all that the deputy needed.
Cayce Foster pulled the trigger. A single shot. The bullet went between the woman’s eyes. She dropped where she had been standing. Her gun clattered down the steps of the front porch. The butcher knife fell and the tip of the blade stuck in a pot of flowers.
The protective services agent stood stunned, gasping for breath, unmoving.
And that amazingly brave eight-year-old boy soared off the steps and into Cayce’s waiting arms. The EMTs had to pry him off of Cayce; but not right away. They could see that he needed the deputy more in the aftermath than during the standoff even while his life hung in the balance of a deranged woman. Finally, Cayce had to separate their two bodies so that the boy’s neck could be examined and treated.
Please don’t leave me.
The boy’s pleading voice still echoed in his head. His blood still stained the shoulder of Cayce’s uniform shirt where he had rested his head, nuzzling his throat as deeply as he could into the silent strength of the man who had saved his life.
The Sheriff, Cayce’s boss, told him to go with. They could take care of things.
And just like that, they were both in the back of an ambulance and the boy’s hand was in between Cayce’s and those eyes were locked.
“Baxter!”
Baxter? Cayce didn’t remember any of the children being named Baxter.
“Who is Baxter?”
The dog of course. His dog. He was probably going insane with worry. What would happen to Baxter?
Cayce looked across the front seat of his F-150 and reached out to scratch the pup behind the ears. Baxter let out a satisfied sigh and rolled onto his back.
“Of course we don’t want to forget your belly, right boy?”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Don’t worry. Your human will be home soon. They just need to be sure he’s okay.”
The thumps came harder, faster. The dog understood.
Cayce inhaled deeply and let the air drift back out wearily.
“Food?” Baxter’s head shot up. He righted himself and crawled into Cayce’s lap, sniffing all the way. He let out a soft yip as if to say yes he was okay and yes this human was safe to trust. He saved the boy, his personal human.
“Let’s go see what Uncle Reggie has for us to eat,” Cayce said as he took the Beagle in his arms and then popped open the door of the truck. “Do you need to pee?”
The dog looked at him like he was an alien but started sniffing the grass the moment Cayce set him down in the yard. He zeroed in on a spot, circled it three times and then let it flow. He finished his business and looked up at Cayce with a satisfied doggy grin.
Nailed it.
Cayce laughed and bent down to scoop up the squirming bundle of dog and headed for the door. His own stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten for more than 12 hours. He didn’t think he could eat now; the events of the day weighed heavy in his gut, his mind, his heart.
*****
“Well, who do we have here,” Reggie Cooke asked as he saw the squirming dog in Cayce’s arms. As soon as he was close enough, a very wet tongue went for his nose, cheek, nose, cheek, nose, nose, nose….
“Baxter, meet Reggie. Reggie, Baxter,” Cayce said softly.
“The kid’s dog?” Cayce nodded. Reggie scratched behind the dog’s ears for a moment, accepting more licks the whole time, and then he looked up into Cayce’s eyes. His gut clenched tightly. Cayce was on the verge of losing it. Who wouldn’t be? Who else would have held it together this long?
“Hungry Baxter?” Tail wags and more licks. “Let’s see what we can bowl up real quick and I bet you could use a gallon of water.” He pulled the dog from Cayce’s arms and examined his friend. “Dinner in thirty. Go grab a shower.” Cayce bent down and kissed the dog’s snout and then obediently turned for the hallway. “How’s the kid?”
Cayce turned back and watched the dog squiggle in Reggie’s arms and find a good spot to put his head on a pillow of muscle. Cayce longed to put his head right there too but he guessed the dog wouldn’t give it up.
“Physically? He’ll be fine. Mentally, he’ll need counseling. His mother tried to kill him and that protective services agent. Nearly succeeded. She died right beside him. She…. We… We can’t find the siblings.”
Reggie nodded and frowned. That wasn’t good. She could have done something to the other kids before anyone was the wiser. Maybe they got away. Maybe they were still on the run. Maybe….
A strong hand landed on the deputy’s shoulder and slowly massaged it. Soon, it drifted upward to grasp the back of his neck and pull Cayce into a tight hug. They just stood there for a few seconds in silence—the dog squirmed between them, enjoying the human blanket that surrounded him. Cayce inhaled his best friend’s scent, relishing in it, letting it absorb into his soul.
“You did good, Cayce. You know that, right?”
Cayce shrugged and slowly shook his head.
“I don’t know. Maybe I could have got there faster. Maybe I could have diffused it to a better outcome. Maybe….”
Reggie pulled away and stared into his eyes for a moment and then turned to put a bowl of water on the floor and set the dog down. Vigorous lapping ensued.
“You saved that little boy’s life, Cayce,” Reggie reprimanded softly. “You saved that agent’s life. You kept it from getting any worse than it already was.” He looked down at the dog that was still thirstily going after the bottle of water. “And you kept Baxter here from getting lost in the woods or being run over while he searched for his human buddy.”
Cayce smiled. The dog looked up at the sound of his name, wagged his tail, and let out a soft woof.
“See? He agrees,” Reggie said with a tight smile. “You did good, buddy. Go. Now. Get that shower.”
Cayce nodded. Yeah. He did all that. Like Reggie said. But he wondered if he did enough. Where were the other kids? What the hell was she on? Why did she go off like that? Of course, she was dead now; they might never know what pushed her buttons. He turned and headed for his bedroom. First, lock up his gun. Then strip. Then long, hot, steaming shower. His stomach rumbled again. Whatever Reggie was cooking was pushing buttons as well.
“Reg,” Cayce said over his shoulder.
“’sup, bud?”
“Thanks for being here.”
“Nowhere else I would be, bud,” Reggie said matter-of-factly. He pointed down the hallway. “Shower. Now.”
“Yes, Sir,” Cayce said with a halfhearted salute.
“Good boy.” Reggie stared after his friend until he disappeared around the corner into the master suite and then looked down. Baxter was staring up at him his tail sweeping back and forth across the floor. “Okay, Baxter. Let’s get you some dinner.”
Happy little yips followed him around the kitchen island.
END of Chapter 2
To be continued . . .
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