Second Thoughts and Last Chances
By
Latikia
Edited by
The Old Fart
Copyright © 2007,
2008
Chapter 29
As expected, the kids had experienced a gradual relapse; their energy faded, they felt weaker, had difficulty breathing, increased fever and coughing.
Their mothers had taken an unoccupied room nearby and crashed. I checked in on them before returning to the children’s room and resuming my watch over them. But this time, no link. My presence might help them in some way, but I’d decided not to directly feed them. They’d have to fight off the infection as much on their own as possible.
I’d been sitting quietly, thinking about the AG, when a faint little voice broke my concentration.
“Daddy?”
I blinked, peered into the dimly lit room and saw Tink watching me.
“How’re you feeling sweetie?” I asked softly.
“Hot.” she said.
I nodded. “It won’t last much longer. You want a drink?”
She shook her head weakly. “Tell me another story.”
“You should try and sleep.” I told her.
“Please? I like to hear you talk.”
“Yeah?”
She gave me a gap toothed smile. “Yeah.”
I shrugged and started talking. The first story that popped into my head was the story of Gilgamesh, Enkidu and Shamhat, which took about thirty five minutes to tell. By the time I finished, Tink had gone back to sleep, a faint smile on her lips, but Rosie was awake by then and she urged me to keep talking, so I told her about Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. She dozed off just as Arthur and Mordred were beating the snot out of one another, at which point AJ woke up. He liked the battles, so I continued in that vein with Beowulf. AJ drifted off half-way thru the story which gave me a chance to take a piss and get a drink of water. My mouth and throat were incredibly dry after talking for so long. Then Belle woke up and she wanted a story.
Surprisingly, my tough little fighter wanted to hear a love story. But she had some very definite ideas about what kind; nothing cutesy, sappy or pinkish for her.
Have you ever heard of a love story that wasn’t cutesy, sappy or reeking of pinkish-ness? Aren’t those the defining characteristics of a love story?
Not in Belle’s mind they weren’t.
Lilly, though she’d deny it from creation till hell froze over, has a weakness for romance novels. All the throbbing, heaving, pulsating and similarly related adjectives, give her some sort of vicarious thrill. Peggy won’t admit it either, but I’d caught her sneaking a peak in Lilly’s books when she thought no one was looking. Izzy, on the other hand, prefers more hard-core reading, and isn’t the least bit reticent about sharing it with me.
That didn’t surprise me one little bit. I knew she got her wilder ideas from somewhere, but after I discovered the collection she kept in her personal room, and glanced thru some of them, I was more amazed by the restraint she’d obviously shown. There was some weird shit in those books. Made the Marquis de Sade look positively prudish.
Well, there was no way I was going to tell my daughter a story from one of Izzy’s books.
The best I could come up with was Taming of the Shrew.
Curiously, I’ve never read that particular play. In High School we had to read Macbeth, Hamlet, Richard III and Othello, and when I went to college the
first time I had a Lit class where we performed literary autopsies on Henry V and Romeo and Juliet, but Shrew never
made it on my reading list.
However…about five months after I started officially working at the CIA,
I got my hands on some tickets for a production of Shrew that was being performed at the
I’d gotten into a rhythm by then and just kept going. When I finished with Shakespeare, I started with Joel Chandler Harris’ tales of Br’er Rabbit, which led me to Anansi the Spider, tales my Granddad had told me of Coyote and Raven, then Greek and eventually Norse mythology.
It was early in the morning by then and all four of the children were wide awake, sitting up in their beds watching me closely as I told them the story of how Odin traded one eye so he could see the future, how he nailed himself to Yggdrasill, the World Tree, with his own spear, hanging there in agony for nine days in order to gain the secret knowledge of runes.
“ ‘I trow I hung on that windy
Tree
nine whole days and nights,
stabbed with a spear, offered to Odin,
myself to mine own self given,
high on that Tree of which none hath heard
from what roots it rises to heaven.
None refreshed me ever with food or drink,
I peered right down in the deep;
crying aloud I lifted the Runes
then back I fell from thence.
Nine mighty songs I learned from the great
son of Bale-thorn, Bestla's sire;
I drank a measure of the wondrous Mead,
with the Soulstirrer's drops I was showered.
Ere long I bare fruit, and throve full well,
I grew and waxed in wisdom;
word following word, I found me words,
deed following deed, I wrought deeds.
Hidden Runes shalt thou seek and interpreted signs,
many symbols of might and power,
by the great Singer painted, by the high Powers fashioned,
graved by the Utterer of gods.
For gods graved Odin, for elves graved Daïn,
Dvalin the Dallier for dwarfs,
All-wise for Jötuns, and I, of myself,
graved some for the sons of men.
Dost know how to write, dost know how to read,
dost know how to paint, dost know how to prove,
dost know how to ask, dost know how to offer,
dost know how to send, dost know how to spend?
Better ask for too little than offer too much,
like the gift should be the boon;
better not to send than to overspend.
........
Thus Odin graved ere the world began;
Then he rose from the deep, and came again.’ ”
“What makes a god a God?”
Anyone? Anyone at all?
No?
I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s not what most modern philosophers or theologians consider a subject urgently in need of extended debate.
The thing is though, while the majority of Americans claim to believe in a Supreme Being or Higher Power, very few could, if pressed, define that entity in clear, unambiguous and exacting terms. Faith is funny that way. Belief solely for the sake of believing.
What is a god anyway? Do you know? Would you know God if you met him? Or her? Or It?
The last thing I read defining the word went like this: any of various beings conceived of as supernatural, immortal, and having special powers over the lives and affairs of people and the course of nature; deity, esp. a male deity: typically considered objects of worship.
This definition has always bothered me, because it’s a little too close to my personal reality.
Supernatural? Existing or occurring outside the normal experience or knowledge of man; not explainable by the known forces or laws of nature; specifically of, involving, or attributed to God or a god; exceeding normal bounds; extreme.
Again, much too close for comfortable consideration.
Immortal? Deathless; living or lasting forever.
Who the hell knows? I mean honestly…lasting forever? Forever is a long damn time, and who, beside the immortal is gonna be able to keep track? If I were to tell you that I’d been alive for ten thousand years, is there anyone around who could definitively say I was lying? Were you there?
What
about omnipotent? Now there’s word with
some weight behind it. Having unlimited power or authority.
Well, that ain’t me. Not long after I got back from LA I went down
to the executive gym at
What about omnipresent? I’ve heard that word used in conjunction with omnipotent so many times that apparently, as far as modern believers are concerned, they’ve become a paired requirement. Present in all places at the same time.
Can’t do that either. In the past I’ve had trouble just being in one place at the same time.
All-knowing and/or all-seeing? This one is flaky, because in theory I could be, depending on which hairs you want to split. With my ability to remember I could, theoretically, sit down and memorize every bit of knowledge human beings have acquired throughout the span of our cultural existence.
Though why anyone would want to escapes me, because (let’s face it) some of our knowledge is pretty fucking useless. Interesting, but useless.
All-seeing…well, I can see, or sense, one hell of a lot, but not all, so there’s another one where I only get fifty percent.
“What makes a god a God?”
Lucy Fan asked me that question
once, and I couldn’t give her an answer.
Each one of my girls has posed similar questions to me in the years
since my West Coast trip. I couldn’t
answer them either. I just don’t know.
I don’t have an answer. I think you’d have to be more than a little
nutty to even think about supplying one, particularly if you’re the god they’ve got in mind.
Think about it. If you’re not and you say you’re not, no big
deal, right? If you’re not and you say
you are, large men in white are going to strap you into a canvas tux and toss
your ass into a padded room where you can rule over your delusional little
universe in peaceful solitude.
But what if you were? What if you could prove that you were? And what if the rest of the world believed
you? What if you could actually convince
the world’s pre-existing religions, and their associated institutions, that
they’d been wrong and that you were
the real deal? What if…?
What then?
I’ll tell you what I think…any one
with the slightest claim to godhood, with even the tiniest little hint of the
all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerfulness required to qualify, would have to be
a complete and utter imbecile to
actually come out and admit it. Look at
the historical precedents…not a great career choice.
Yeah, the adoration, worshipping,
blood sacrifices and bacchanalias might be fun for a while, but then what? I’ll tell you what; people, being the
indolent fucks they are, would just up and dump the world, with all its
associated problems, in your lap and then stand by expectantly waiting for you
to make everything right…whatever the
hell that means.
Let me tell you, it’s hard enough
being the father of four children…do a little basic extrapolating and imagine
having billions of whiney children
wanting their collective boo-boos kissed.
Fuck that!
Still, there’ve been times when I
just couldn’t help but wonder.
What if…?
“Why did he do that Daddy?” AJ’s question broke thru my brief reverie and brought me back to the there and then.
“Why did he do what?”
“Stick himself with a spear.”
I smiled at my boy. “That’s a very good question. There are a lot of different opinions, but I think it’s a metaphor.”
“What’s a meda-for?” Rose asked.
“It’s a way of comparing different things using the same words or expression. Like, oh…the curtain of night. Night is like a curtain because it blocks our view of things, just like a curtain blocks the view from a window or a stage.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“So the spear is a meda-for?” AJ asked?
I nodded. “I think so. Actually, I think the whole story is a metaphor. Most scholars do. But what the spear represents, or the tree, or the runes…there’s a few different opinions.”
“What do you think they mean Daddy?” Tink chimed in.
I sat back and crossed my legs. “I think the tree represents the path of our lives, from the day we’re born until the day we die. The runes, the great mystical secret that Odin wants so very much, I think they represent knowledge or wisdom; the difference between truth and lies. And the spear, well I think it represents the pain and struggle we go thru during our lives in order to gain that knowledge. Life isn’t always fun and games; sometimes it can be very scary. For instance, you guys were out playing in the snow the other day, and having a pretty good time too I bet, but then you got sick. That wasn’t much fun, was it?”
All four of them cast cautious glances at one another and then looked down at their bed sheets, refusing to meet my eyes.
“Was it?” I asked gently.
“No Daddy.” Tink mumbled faintly.
“Nuh-uh.” AJ confirmed, a frown on his little face.
“No.” Rose and Belle said in unison.
“No. Not much fun at all. Not for you, not for you moms, not for me either. But hopefully, you all learned an important lesson. Getting sick, that’s the spear you guys stuck in yourselves. It hurt, didn’t it?”
I got a round of reluctant nods.
“People, young and old, only seem to learn the hard lessons of life if they hurt. The important thing is that you learn not to make the same mistake again”
“Like what happened to my mommy?” Belle asked suddenly.
I nodded gravely. “Like that. Your mommy learned her lesson, have you?”
There was a comical flurry of earnest head bobbing, followed by a cacophony of “Yes, Daddy”, “I have”, “Me too”, and one faintly defiant “I guess.”
I’ve been reliably informed by several graduates of the child rearing fraternity, and a great many books on child psychology, that the sort of aggressive defiance I sensed from my son should have stopped around age three, not to return again until he reached puberty. How did I get so lucky?
I shifted my eyes to AJ and stared intently. He stared back, dark brown eyes narrowed by their lowered lashes. If it weren’t for the underlying baby fat in his cheeks, it would have been like looking at my brother Ivan when he was a boy. I felt a heated flash of anger ripple across my face. AJ’s eyes widened and his lips thinned.
“Maybe you’d rather spend a few more days pinned to the tree?” I asked quietly. Ominously.
AJ’s sisters heads swiveled back and forth between the two of us, watching our expressions closely.
“You said Odin and Zeus killed their fathers…why did they do that?” my son asked, ignoring my question to him.
“Another metaphor. Zeus and Odin killing their fathers is another way of explaining how the world came to exist from chaos.” This was not a subject I ever expected to be discussing with my son, not at this point in his life. “Look guys, the one constant in the universe is change; things are always changing and no matter how much you might want them to stay the same, they won’t. I fought with my father the same way he fought with his father; the way you guys will one day fight me and your children will fight you. Young animals fight older ones for dominance, for the right to lead the herd or pack or pride, for a change. Each generation has to fight to take control from the one that came before it, because no one willingly gives up power…not once they’ve got it. In some ancient human cultures a boy wasn’t considered a man until he physically defeated his father in a fight, proving that he was ready to be a full member of the clan or tribe.”
The girls were afraid and worried. Fear shimmered from them like heat waves from a stove top. To be honest, I wasn’t feeling all that calm myself. Why the hell was I having this discussion with my five year old son?
AJ nodded in understanding, his face an immobile mask, his feelings calm and relaxed. There was that completely unflappable and unshakable self-assurance again…tightly focused at the emotional center of my little son.
“You’re five AJ.” I reminded him. He nodded once more, giving me an appraising, thoughtful look. I uncrossed my legs, got up and stepped over to his bed. I leaned down, bringing our faces close together. “Maybe you should wait a few more years before you try to kill me.” I suggested.
The aura of absolute assurance shattered as AJ broke into a fit of childish laughter.
My little boy was back, and his sisters gave a collective sigh of relief. I reached down with both hands and tickled my son’s ribs. He squirmed and squealed happily, struggling to fight off my playful attack while his sisters cheered him on with words and squeaks of encouragement.
“I give!” he gasped, squirming beneath my hands, curling up into a tight ball, trying to trap my fingers. “You win Daddy, you win…uncle!” he yelped.
I sat down next to him on the bed, laid back and put my arm around my son, pulling him against my ribs.
“No fair, you’re bigger’n
“For now.” I agreed. “But who knows, one day maybe you’ll be bigger than me.”
“That’d be cool. Then I’ll tickle you!” he warned.
“Guess I’ll have to grow eyes in the back of my head then.” I said.
“Can you do that Daddy?” Belle asked eagerly.
I nodded and put on my most serious fatherly expression.
“I know when you’ve been good or bad, just like Santa Claus.”
The girls grew thoughtful, while AJ simply giggled for a moment or two and then started singing:
“You’d better watch out
better not cry
be nice to your brother
I’m tellin’ ya why…
Daddy Claus has got two more eyes.”
Admittedly the lyrics weren’t going to win him a Grammy; still, for a five year old, they weren’t bad. But his voice…
My son could sing. His voice was a little higher pitched than a male tenor and as clear and resonant as a bell. For such a small boy, one still recovering from pneumonia, he had some impressive lung power. Hearing AJ sing was, for me, like seeing one of his sister’s drawings.
I stared down at my son for a second or two then burst out laughing and hugged him. The girls beamed at their little brother and clapped their hands, while AJ blushed and giggled in response.
“Wow,” I said, “I wish I could sing as well as you do.”
AJ smiled up at me. “You mean I can do something you can’t?”
I grinned and nodded at the small figure tucked under my arm. “You sure can. When your sisters were very young your moms made me promise never to sing, except in the shower, ‘cause I was so bad it made the babies cry.”
I heard the door on my left open gently. Speak of the devils. I didn’t even have to look; I could feel/taste their specific emotional states. I’d know them anywhere and I was becoming more and more certain that I could pick each one of them out of any sized crowd without a second thought.
I raised my voice in a loud whisper. “Don’t tell your mothers, they want you to think I’m perfect.”
The door eased open and the three of them came in, eyes wide, hair wild and unkempt, clothing wrinkled and disheveled and looking as lovely as any sight I’d ever seen.
I gave AJ a quick hug then got up and walked quickly towards the door, and the three women standing before it.
“Have you been in here all night?” Izzy asked me as I headed directly for her.
“Daddy’s been telling us stories.” Tink offered.
“Has he?” Lilly asked rhetorically.
“Yeah!” AJ crowed. “Lots of blood and guts and monsters and heroes and…”
“…and knights and kings and queens…” Tink continued.
“…and spiders and ravens…” Rosie added.
“…and love.” Belle said wistfully.
I spread my arms wide and the girls slipped in close, Lilly on my left, Izzy on my right and Peggy in the middle. Their arms closed around me, their faces pressed against my torso and their love flowed over, around and thru me.
I linked and filled each woman with as much love as their fragile bodies could hold.
They shivered, quivered, moaned, groaned, whimpered and sighed. Their arms clutched and clenched, their fingers formed fists, then extended, nearly going perpendicular to the backs of their hands, then curled again into grasping claws that raked my shirt. Their knees went weak and buckled, then steadied and locked, their nipples grew hard and hyper-sensitive, between their legs they heated up; became molten, moist and needy.
But the one thing they didn’t do was pass out.
I found that very interesting. Lilly hadn’t passed out when I’d sparked her on the plane either. Every other time I’d given one or more of them so much as a taste of my love they’d cum and passed out. But not since LA.
I was stronger than I’d ever been before, so I knew it wasn’t a matter of my emotions not being as powerful as they had been. And since the girls were tied to me I had a really good idea of what that love was doing to them physically, even without the link. They loved it, craved and desired it, but it wasn’t having the same kind of effect that it had in the past.
Had they become desensitized? Blasé? Jaded? Had I?
So much to think about…and not nearly enough time.
Peggy’s hands slipped down over my hips, grabbed hold of my ass, groaned into my belly and slowly performed a bump and grind with her hips. Izzy buried her face under my arm, rubbed the side of her face in small circles, nuzzling, sighing and whimpering as her belly ground against my hip. Lilly growled faintly, her fingers rubbed up and down my chest, her head tilted back, exposing her pale, delicate throat; while her lips puckered and nipped at the cotton covering my left nipple.
I grinned to myself, closed my arms around them, drawing them closer. I cut the links, brought my hand up, grabbed a handful of Lilly’s hair and yanked her head back gently. I looked down into her glowing, star specked, seething brown eyes…and smiled.
A loving, knowing, understanding, accepting smile. A wanting, needing, hungry smile.
Lilly’s eyes locked on mine and I watched the dark pupils grow wide, expanding until they were just barely outlined by a thin band of green flecked brown.
“Good morning lover.” I rasped, bent my neck and ran the tip of my tongue lightly over her lips, outlining and delineating my little flower’s sweet petals.
Lilly’s lips parted, convulsed briefly and then she let out a barely audible squeak then thrust herself roughly against my side.
I rolled my head to the right and looked into Izzy’s pleading, brilliantly blue eyes. I gave her a wicked, leering grin, ran my right hand down her back, grabbed hold of one luscious butt cheek and squeezed. Izzy grunted loudly as I forced her belly firmly against my hip.
“Good morning, sweet-cheeks.” I growled, then took her upper lip between my teeth and bit down just hard enough to hurt, but not enough to draw blood.
Izzy shuddered and melted inside, happy and relieved.
Peggy whined, furiously rocking her hips from side to side.
I released my hold on Lilly and Izzy, gave them both a light slap on the ass and allowed them to back away, albeit reluctantly.
“Later.” I mouthed silently. They nodded, eyelids lowered, smoldering smoky smiles on their lips. “I think the kids are ready for breakfast. And then we’re all going home.” I said out loud.
I reached down, pried Peggy’s hands off my ass, dropped to one knee, hooked an arm around her waist, one hand over her bottom and lifted her up as I got to my feet. Peggy’s arms went around my neck, her legs locked around my waist and she buried her face under my chin, mewling faintly and grinding her rock hard nipples against my chest.
“What’s wrong Mommy?” Tink cried out.
I turned around, looking over at my tiny daughter. “Mommy’s okay, honey. She just needs a hug.” I told her.
“…need more than a hug.” Peggy’s muffled voice disagreed.
“I know, half-pint. I know.” I whispered into her hair. “We’ll see you after breakfast.” I told the children, turned back around and headed for the door. Izzy rushed ahead, opened the door and held it as Peggy and I exited the room.
“You’d better save some for later.” she warned me.
I wiggled my eyebrows. “Stay squishy, sweet cheeks. You and I have some catching up to do.”
Izzy blushed and shut the door behind us.
“Which room?” I asked the top of Peggy’s head. One small arm let loose of my neck and pointed to a door three rooms to the left.
I moved quickly towards the one she’d indicated, shoved the door open with my foot and stepped inside. I kicked the door shut behind us, set Peggy down, locked the door and then began removing my clothes. Peggy wasted no time, stripping in record time, never taking her lust filled eyes off of me.
“Fuck me Daddy.” she begged, backing up and hoisting herself onto the bed.
I stepped out of my pants, tossed them over the lone chair, rolled my head and shoulders and advanced on her inviting nudity.
I smiled, linked and flooded her tiny body with flaming passion and inexorable desire.
“No…I want you to fuck me.”
I put my hands around her waist, lifted her off the bed and sat myself down on the mattress. Then I brought her down onto my lap; her taut, muscled legs slipped to either side of my hips. Peggy spread herself wide, wincing and groaning as I slowly impaled her on my aching erection.
I shifted to one side, slid into the middle of the bed and lay back. Peggy moaned faintly as I stretched out. I flexed my hips and legs, getting comfortable then reached up and put both hands over her small breasts and began rubbing and teasing her engorged nipples.
“Come on half-pint…fuck your Daddy.” I said, and pinched her nipples tight between my finger tips.
Peggy grinned, her eyes lit up, rolled back into her head and then she went absolutely berserk.
Later that morning, after receiving a clean bill of health from the astonished hospital staff, my girls, our children and our personal Praetorian guard checked out and went home.
The ride back was mildly chaotic. The kids were feeling better, which meant they were loud and rambunctious, the girls were clingy, which meant they were horny, and I was tired, not having slept for close to two days.
But there were decisions to be made, things to be done, civil servants to be pacified.
“I want to move back to the ranch.” I announced fifteen minutes into the trip home.
Lilly was driving, Peggy was in the back with the kids, and I was in the passenger seat with Izzy sitting on my lap.
“Why the ranch?” Izzy asked.
“I like the ranch. It’s bigger than where we are now; it’s got a hot tub in the master bedroom…”
“…don’t forget the horses.” Peggy chimed in from behind.
“…there are horses for the kid to play with, lots of open space for them to run around in…” I continued.
“…and you’ve already set up a security perimeter there.” Izzy added quietly.
Lilly winced faintly and nodded. “Yeah, that too.” I agreed.
“It’s better than moving out of state.” Lilly suggested.
“I suppose, but what about school?” Izzy asked.
“The girls are only in the first grade. Leaving at this point won’t be all that traumatic.”
“They’ll be leaving their friends, everything they’ve ever known.”
“They’ll make new friends. You three will make new friends. It’ll be a fresh start for all of us.” I said firmly.
Izzy stiffened a little and went silent. Lilly focused on the road and I could feel Peggy fidgeting behind me as the kids chattered on, oblivious to our discussion.
“You’ve made up your mind about this, haven’t you?” Lilly asked several seconds later.
“Yes, I have.”
She nodded. “Alright. When?”
“Tonight.”
So we got home, the girls made lunch for the children and our bodyguards then began to pack what clothing and essentials they deemed necessary for the trip. I went off into my study and put in a call to Eric at Langley, arranged for two helicopters, checked on the status of my rapidly growing department, phoned the private number of the farmhouse in Spotsylvania and explained as much of my plans as I could to David and Anya and then spent the next three hours sitting alone, trying to convince myself that I was doing the right thing.
After dark we loaded all the bags and boxes into our little
caravan and drove to
In the morning, while the girls and kids unpacked and cleaned, Mr. Harmon and his men familiarized themselves with the boundaries of our property. (I made Lilly promise that after lunch she and the family would show their new bodyguards their new homes --- a failed townhouse development about seven miles southwest of our property. Lilly had learned of it three years before, suggested it would make a decent investment, and the four of us had decided to buy it. Turned out to be one of the best investments we ever made.)
Just after nine, one of the helicopters returned to pick me
up and take me back to
Eric met me in the hallway as I was getting off the elevator.
“Doctor, Mr. Battaglia called about thirty five minutes ago. He asked me to inform you that the paperwork will be completed and in the system first thing tomorrow morning.”
I smiled and clapped my administrative assistant on the shoulder.
“Outstanding. Best news I’ve had in days. Thank you Eric.”
“Should I add five new names to the department roster sir?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“We do appear to be growing at a phenomenal rate.”
“Yeah…you might want to think about getting yourself an assistant. We’re likely to be very busy in the near future.”
“I’m sure I can locate someone suitable among our new arrivals.”
I gripped the man’s shoulder for an instant, let go and made for my office and then stopped.
“Oh, Eric? One more thing. Call Director Donner in Operations and tell
him I’d like a few minutes of his time this afternoon.
“Of course sir. Will you be in your office?”
“Only for a short time. I’m going across the river to the DOJ.”