Adelaide Upset (23 page)

The shovel passed
overhead, delivering a wave of dirt. It crashed down on me,
stinging my eyes. He was trying to bury me! I struggled to stand,
getting my feet beneath me. But the moment I stood, the moment my
head cleared the brim, he brought the shovel down. I ducked, but
the metal struck, glancing off my scalp.

I fell back, dazed and blinking. “Smith,” I
cried, the sound weak, barely trickling from my lips. I wanted to
sleep, my eyes were heavy and I hurt. Something was pressing me
down, weighing me under, and stealing my breath.

A loud metal twang
startled me awake, my eyes blinking open. Thump. Bill’s thick arm
came down, hanging over the lip of my hole, his face too, peering
in, eyes dull and sightless.

“Smith?” I croaked, confused by the
quiet.

He dropped down into my
intended grave, looking tired but driven. I was covered in dirt,
the earthy smell smothering and strong, bring back memories of my
time in the well. Smith brushed me off and turned me around,
ripping the tape from my wrists. The freedom hurt, pain and blood
rushing into my weak, white fingers.

“Get me out,” I said, voice toneless and
empty.

We were both drained. I
waited limply as he clambered out, reaching down to pluck me up.
But at the last minute I stopped him saying, “Wait.” It was
something I saw, the smallest hint of white. Stooping over, I
pushed away the dirt. Then I fell to my knees, digging like a
madwoman, fingers clawing at the earth.

I pulled up a femur first,
then little pieces. A vertebrae. Some ribs. My hands scratched at
the soil, unearthing a pelvis, and finally the thing that would
haunt me forever. A skull. I stared down at the gaping hole of a
nose, empty eyes sockets, and a jaw. The teeth were still there,
pulled into a rictus, the grim smile of death staring back up at
me.

Slowly I drew back,
curling into the corner, my whole body shivering. “It’s you,” I
whispered. “It’s you.”

I don’t know what happened
after that. Smith must have gotten me out of the ground and away
from his bones. I don’t remember it. Not any of it. I hope to never
feel that way again, the shock and loss. It was as if he’d died
before my eyes. I mean, he’d been a ghost all along, but at the
same time he was also a vital part of my life, very real in a way.
But scratching the dirt from his bones, I saw what he’d lost, and
what I’d never had, and it made me ache.

I don’t remember seeing Bill Shrader after
that first glimpse. I don’t remember seeing Ed Marks at all. The
first thing I remember after surfacing from Smith’s grave was
running. I was running and he was with me, pushing me along. I hurt
everywhere, my body dirt and blood-crusted. I would slow, gasping
for breath, but Smith would drag me forward again, unremitting.

At one point the trees
cleared, a swath of stumps, pine by the look of it. That was when
it occurred to me that I was on SL&S property. Bill, or maybe
Marks, had brought me here, to be buried alongside Smith in the
acres of untouched company property. I would’ve never been found.
Smith would’ve never been found.

My mind started to clear.
I could think, reason, and I knew that Smith was right. I needed to
get away. I needed help. He led me, seeming to know the way, but
eventually I got too tired to run, too tired to jog, and too tired
to walk. I slogged forward, and just as daylight was slipping, the
brush gave way, revealing a road. Not more than fifteen yards down
was a gas station, and front and center was a phone booth, the damn
thing miraculously intact.

“Smith,” I breathed in relief, turning to
thank him. But he wasn’t behind me. “Smith!” He didn’t appear, and
I began to worry, uncertain of when he had slipped from my side. I
waited for a few minutes, but eventually gave up, thinking he was
just tired. I would find him at home, needing a recharge.

Picking my way across the street, I made for
the phone. I had no choice but to call Francesca collect. She was
not happy.

“
What the hell!” she
blasted. Threatening, “This had better be good.”

“
I need you to come get
me.”

“Where are you this time?” she asked, a
little put out. “Fort Frederica again?”

“
No, I’m not on St.
Simons. I’m not sure where I am,” I admitted, scanning the gas
station for a sign. Despite my best effort to be calm, my voice was
skittering and high. Francesca, sensing my upset, caved right away.
It was just a matter of waiting after that.

I gave the gas station a
wide berth, not wanting to be seen. I was incapable of interaction
just then anyway. So I lurked along the tree line, watching for her
arrival. I was cold, inexplicably cold, sweating even as I
shivered. But the despondency was worse, the feeling that
everything was gray and fruitless. Seeing my friend’s headlights
flash through the dark didn’t ease my depression either, I wasn’t
sure anything could.

I waved for her to wait and ran back to the
phone booth, dialing one last number.

“911, what is your emergency?” the
dispatcher asked.

“
The remains of a body and
the two men responsible can be found somewhere on Southeastern
Logging and Sawmill property.”

I hung up, not giving her a chance to ask me
more.

Francesca went ballistic
the moment I ducked down into her car, the dome light giving her a
glimpse of my injuries. “Are you alright!” she screeched, reaching
out to gingerly touch my shoulder.

“
We have to get my
car.”

“
We’ll worry about your
car tomorrow,” Francesca said. “Let’s just go home for
now.”

She was worried about me,
almost to the point of fear. I half expected her to drive to the
nearest hospital, but when I insisted about my car, she followed my
directions.

“
Whose house is this?” she
asked, reaching Bill’s driveway. I was relieved to see my Chevy
unmoved, just as I had left it.

I shook my head to avoid
the question, unwilling to draw her in.

“
You could spend the night
at my place,” Francesca suggested. “Let me take you back to the
island, you shouldn’t be driving.”

“
I can drive,” I insisted,
though my voice lacked all animation. “I’ll go straight home,” I
said, trying to mollify her apprehension. “But, Francesca, will you
do me another favor?”

She nodded, gladdened by
my question. She wanted to help.

“Call Sterling’s and tell Ben that I’m not
well, and that I’m sorry for missing my shift.”

“
Alright,” she agreed. “No
problem. But I’m checking on you tomorrow and that’s
non-negotiable.”

I tried to smile, failed,
and left, transferring from her car to mine. It was only then,
seeing my purse and its contents spilled across the floorboard,
that it occurred to me I was without it. I was lucky Bill hadn’t
tried to bury us together. But as I searched for my keys I couldn’t
help but notice the tape recorder was gone. It was past mattering,
bigger things had been set in motion.

The second I started my
car Francesca left, her anxiety dissipating with space. I put my
car in reverse and rolled out after her, pleased by the blot of
black I left behind. Bill Shrader might never get to see it, and
that didn’t bother me one bit.

I didn’t care if he was dead.

I followed that thought
throughout the car ride back. I wanted to know what had happened to
Smith, and now I did. Greed had killed him, and Bill Shrader had
been its guiding force. How had he convinced Marks to bury his
friend? Had he lied then too? Had Smith been buried alive? I
wrenched out a dry sob at the thought, my tears long
spent.

Despite my assurance to
Francesca, I didn’t go home. I drove right to Luke’s, seeking more
than comfort. Needing... something, some nameless thing I hoped he
could provide. I was almost violent in my rush to see him, throwing
open the car door, my protesting joints propelling me forward. I
slammed through the front door, shutting it roughly behind me as I
dropped my purse to the floor.

Lucas came out from the
kitchen in nothing but a pair of shorts, and they were drifting off
his well-cut hips. He had a car part in one hand, a grease rag in
the other. “Are you hurt?” he asked, eyes roving over every part of
me.

It hit me then, as if I
had known it all along, my intentions masked in the back of my
brain. I wanted him, needing it to be now more than ever. And just
like that, I knew I was ready.

I strode forward and
grabbed Lucas, pulling him to me by the shoulders. My lips crashed
against his, much like our first kiss, awkward in its intensity,
and with very little finesse. My fingers curled into his skin,
nails biting as I ran my hands along his back and chest.

Together we tumbled to the
couch, Lucas dropping the mechanical device along the way. I
pressed him back into the cushions, straddling his lap without
breaking the kiss. His movements were controlled, sophisticated,
and every time his tongue slipped into my mouth I felt heat pool
between my legs. I was not so experienced, more or less eating his
face as I tried to rush things along, tugging at the button of his
shorts.

“Upstairs,” he breathed, rubbing my
thighs.

“
Here,” I declared,
growing impatient. I gave up on the button and shoved my hand into
his pants. He was already hard, and with confidence I gripped him,
curling my fingers around the base as I pulled up and
down.

“
What are you doing,” he
strained to ask, extracting my hand, “trying to break it
off?”

“
No!” I said, rearing
back. I was too wound up to be embarrassed, but really, had I been
that bad?

Lucas sat forward,
lurching up off the couch and carrying me with him. My knees were
hugging his hips and I squeezed them tighter, looping an arm around
his neck. He hitched me higher, one hand on the small of my back,
pressing us chest to chest, the other gripped under my thigh,
supporting my weight as he made for the stairs.

I kissed his neck, more
gentle than before. His hand slithered higher up my leg, slipping
under my shorts to palm my ass. I moaned into his skin, shifting
restlessly in his arms, flexing my fingers into his flesh, wanting
to encourage him. He squeezed me in response, his hand diving lower
as his fingers curved around, teasing between my legs.

I cried out, twisting my
hips to force him deeper. I wanted the friction, wanted him inside
me. His blunt fingertips became slick, skimming and grazing as he
carried me across the loft.

He stopped abruptly,
pulling his hand back before tossing me onto the bed. I flopped
onto my back, bouncing once before sinking into the mattress. I
grew immediately frustrated, lunging for his arm and yanking him
down next to me.

“
Don’t stop,” I breathed,
frantically pulling open my own shorts. Lucas dipped his hand under
the fabric. His knuckles stretching the cloth as his fingers began
to glide inside me. Fisting the sheets around me, I rolled my hips
as I watched his wrist rub against my waistband. I was so far gone
I didn’t care about the racket I made, senseless to anything but
the growing heat.

And then it stopped again.
Lucas climbed out of bed, preoccupied with the
nightstand.

“Stop stopping!” I growled at his back,
feeling thwarted.

He returned, but this time
he didn’t lay next to me, rather kneeling between my legs as he
pulled off the foil wrapper. Later I would be ashamed that I hadn’t
even considered protection, but as I was learning, with sex, there
was little thinking involved.

He shoved his shorts down,
freeing himself. Like the rest of him, it was perfect. He ripped my
shorts down too, leaving them to ring around one ankle. His hands
slid up my legs, firm and calloused rough, coasting along my inner
thigh until he hooked a finger under my panties and pushed them
aside.

For the first time I was a
little uncomfortable, the both of us on display. He rocked forward,
pressing into me. I sort of a panicked a little, pulling him down
to crush me with my arms wrapped around his waist.

“
Alright?” he asked. The
question required a great deal of effort, his body taut and shaking
from the disruption, as if it took everything he had to hold
back.

“Keep going,” I assured, kissing his
shoulder. I opened my legs, wrapping them alongside his hips.

He pressed into me, the
friction nice at first. But soon I began to tense, body cinching
tight against the burning pressure. I bit him, jaw crunching shut,
muscles cringing as he pushed deeper. He kept it slow, movements
smooth and lazy, but I was a bit rigid beneath him.

“Here,” he said, sensing it. His armed
turned at an odd angle, guiding my own hand down between our
bodies. I was a little embarrassed, knowing what he wanted me to
do. But as I grazed myself the pleasure was instant, and when he
let go I continued, falling into distraction.

The pace picked up,
turning frenzied. Lucas pushed up my shirt and jerked down my bra.
He pressed his face into my chest, and I arched up when his mouth
closed over my sensitive skin. He pulled away too soon, staying
fused inside me as he sat back, kneeling upright.