September 11th, 2016. 7:50PM
Burlwood, Indiana
The midway was alive and bustling with action, as though someone had forgotten to tell the residents of modern-day Burlwoood that their town was once again under siege. Carnival barkers working a host of crooked games challenged them to test their luck with the promise of taking home oversized stuffed animals should they find a way to accomplish tasks that were barely possible to achieve. If they could put a basketball through a hoop that wasn't quite wide enough to accept it, or land a softball inside of a wicker tub that was spring loaded to eject it upon impact, or hit a bullseye with a pellet rifle equipped with intentionally misaligned sights, or some other ridiculous thing, they would reign victorious and go home as champions with trophies that weren't worth the price of playing to win them
Jake could feel their plight, because he was engaged in a lopsided affair of his own and felt he was facing similar odds. Solving a murder with only a skeletal outline of the facts seemed much like trying to knock three jugs off of a table when one of them is firmly bolted in place, and victory for him didn't even offer the prize of a giant purple octopus to show for his efforts. Perhaps in recognition of this principle, he felt entirely disconnected and detached as he strolled along the path of dirt and gravel between the games and concession stands while diesel powered generators screamed in tandem with people riding shoddily constructed and brightly illuminated rides in the distance. If it wasn't the daunting task ahead of him that was causing this familiar sensation, it was likely the memories that the sensory assault of the fair brought to the surface in swirling, swirling... swirling faces, swirling voices, swirling rides, swirling lights and oh God, that's Timmy in that fucking car!
The episode of depersonalization, which a head shrinker had once explained was the word to describe the feeling that a person has left his or her body, had taken hold of him before he started this round of reconnaissance, though. Therefore, it was probably unrelated to the flashbacks triggered by the smell of funnel cakes, grilled onions and polish sausage. The return of this uncanny phenomenon, of seeming to be watching himself interact with the world from a vantage point outside of his body, set in when he parked the Malibu along Violet Street at around four PM, having made his way back to the church from Bumfuck Burlwood in a haze of confusion.
Actually, he could almost pinpoint the exact moment at which what he considered to be his astral self had separated from his eyes and moved to a place about ten feet diagonally from -- and a greater distance vertically above -- his physical body. From that position he watched himself, as though his spirit had activated the ejection seat and was now working him with a controller as a character in a third person adventure game. In top-down fashion, he could see his car, could see himself seated behind the wheel, could see the world happening all around him as he tried to piece together the meaning of a new fact that he'd uncovered. It happened quickly and abruptly, like a flash of lightning, when he placed the key he took from Rusty's house atop the one Father Lovett had given him earlier in the day.
Of course, the two were identical... the trouble was he just couldn't figure out exactly what that meant and how it changed the playing field. The firing of neurons that brought a thousand potential explanations to mind also set off this strange disjointed sensation, and the derealization didn't resolve itself at all while he sat mulling over the possibilities for nearly an hour.
There were many logical answers to explain the key -- and more than a few illogical ones -- that he considered as he held the pair together, running his fingers along every peak and valley in the steel repeatedly to convince himself beyond a doubt that they were, in fact, just the same. Rusty had been employed by Our Mother for a very long time, he'd driven the now missing Dodge Ram many times, and was therefore just as likely to have a spare key as Chucky was. Acknowledging that fact didn't mean there was no chance it had been used in the commission of a revivalist murder, but there were many hurdles to jump in explaining exactly how the old man could've managed to pull that off.
He'd made no solid conclusions or judgments about it when he tucked the keys into his center console, setting them aside for the moment and moving on to exploring Rusty's link with the mysterious company called FGSI Services. When the Cadillac at The Downs sped by him the night before, Jake had assumed the enterprise was a small outfit that served as an event management organization or had something to do with the track itself. His curiosity was initially limited to whether or not the Fleetwood Brougham leading the pack of horses was somehow the modified vehicle of Evander Hughes. It was a shot in the dark, a totally random and likely ridiculous notion that didn't seem to merit the exertion of much effort in investigating it. Finding a letter from them at Rusty's turned the dial of intrigue up just a bit, but there was still no concrete foundation to build suspicions upon... until he actually opened the letter.
Inside the envelope he'd stolen from Rusty's table was a statement which led him to believe that the concern was a much more prominent and prolific conglomerate than the modest old gate car that introduced him to the company would otherwise imply. What's more, there were shady details on the papers that were inexplicable, at least on the surface, and begged a thousand additional questions and most certainly did merit further investigation. That fact, coupled with the level of Rusty's involvement with the business as it was described, put FGSI Services in a very near circle on his radar.
Not intending to sneak the letter back into the old man's house in an effort to conceal his theft, he ripped the envelope open briskly and crudely instead of taking a more discreet approach like steaming the adhesive. There were two sheets of paper inside, each of them titled Statement of Stockholders' Equity, and each of them detailing the benefits due to Russell Parker.
The first page declared that the report was for the quarter ending July 31st, and the numbers associated with the operation were far too grandiose for the entity to be classified as some mom-and-pop style cottage industry. Whatever their business was, it was big and it was thriving. Top line income for the quarter was over a half a million dollars, and the year to date figure showed as nearly one-point-three million. There were many deductions from those numbers for things like cost of goods produced and legacy expenses, but the bottom line still showed a hefty profit of better than eight-hundred-thousand for the first six months of 2016. Numbers to the side explained that their profit margin was sixty-two percent and change, which would be considered incredible by any business standard.
The second page was related to Rusty's particular share of the windfall, showing that he owned twenty-four percent of the LLC and listing the cash value of his equity at a staggering five million bucks. The bottom third of the page was a check stub for a direct deposit made to his bank in the amount of nine-thousand nine-hundred and ninety-nine dollars, which was an odd figure to Jake's mind.
Surprisingly, there didn't seem to be any taxes deducted from either the operating figures or Rusty's individual payout. That was obviously cause to be suspicious, and was also plenty of reason for him to promptly Google this mysterious company for any further insight that the deep abyss of information known as the World Wide Web might offer.
Not surprisingly, given the fact that FGSI apparently didn't pay any taxes, there was no official website or any other indication that they had a digital footprint to speak of whatsoever. Querying the Internet with the phrase identify owners of LLC in Indiana took him to the Secretary of State website, which allowed him to search a database containing the records of companies registered with the Department of Revenue and Workforce Development. As he somewhat expected, there was no listing under the name FGSI to be found. That was a profound fact to consider, because it meant that so far as the State of Indiana was concerned, the multi-million dollar corporation that was apparently supporting Russell Parker in his convalescence simply did not exist.
Faced with that information, Jake's astral self moved further yet from his physi
cal body in recognition of the revelation that things were getting deep, and that he was in it up to his knees. He was so far removed from himself that it was difficult to continue controlling his disconnected chassis, which was a totally surreal and largely terrifying experience. He'd felt this way before, of course, but never had it been so intense, never had he wandered such a distance from himself.
Checking the other two letters he'd taken, he realized that one of them was junk mail advising Rusty that he could save up to fifteen percent by changing his insurance company. The second, however, was from Safe & Secure Self Storage. Inside the envelope was a bill, which explained that the man was renting a ten-by-twenty unit for eighty-four dollars a month. Calculating in his head, he tried to figure out whether a particular Cadillac or Dodge vehicle could possibly fit into a room of that size. He was pretty confident that both could fit in there, but it was something he was going to have to check out. Either being there opened up more questions about how Rusty would've gotten them to their hiding spot, but it didn't mean it wasn't possible.
Uncomfortable and disturbed by the degree of separation he was feeling at that discovery, he sat in his car doing absolutely nothing for an additional hour as the carnival started to fill in with people and the sun retreated from the sky to its resting place in the west. It was almost six-thirty before he felt he'd regained enough control to step out of the Malibu and join the crowd, and doing so was still awkward because he wasn't squarely back between his eyes.
Just as at The Downs, though, there were no tremendous surprises to be found among the customers of the carnival. There were no suspicious faces, no mustache twirling villains, no sign of any Cadillac Brougham nor of any Dodge Ram van. All in all, the time he spent wandering the lot was a complete and total bust, which meant he was wasting his efforts and would be better off sleeping until his essence returned to his body. Still, he diligently walked the mile and scanned the mass of humanity for anything that seemed even remotely out of sorts. There was nothing, and that only added to the frustration he was already feeling deeply and intrusively.
Stepping over a threshold of metal plating that covered temporary electrical cords, he crossed from the midway area to the space in which the rides were constructed. There was rock music in the air, but it was the modern whiny pussy rock that he couldn't identify with, so he paid it no mind. As he took in all the sights and sounds and strolled passed a ticket booth, a familiar voice sounded out and stopped him dead in his tracks.
"So, what?" it asked softly, femininely. "Are you following me or something?"
Swiveling around, he saw little Miss Nikki clutching that obscenely small purse and a handful of ride tickets, staring at him seductively once again. He met her eyes, locking into their customary osmotic symbiosis with less turbulence at the coupling than they'd experienced in encounters past. Still a bit detached, he had no words to volley back at her, but she didn't seem to mind. Smiling bewitchingly, she took a few steps toward him with her hips swiveling captivatingly.
"Has anybody ever told you," she said as she sauntered, "that you fight like a hockey player?"
This unexpected and seeming clairvoyant insight jostled him, and it somehow managed to pull his escapist astral self back entirely into his own head and skin. A smile escaped outside of his control, his lips spreading to reveal more of his teeth than he generally liked to show. Nikki seemed to appreciate it, as it turned her own grin up to eleven and cocked her head to the side at a curious angle.
"Oh, that's not fair!" he objected to her statement. "What did you do? Google me?"
"Maybe," she replied craftily.
"How the hell did you do that?" he chuckled subconsciously. "I never told you my last name!"
"Well I knew it wasn't Ob," she countered. "But I figured it was the name I saw on your car's registration, so I punched it up and checked it out!"
"And?" he wondered as she stopped just in front of him, close enough to be in violation of what would typically be considered his personal space.
She shrugged, staring up at him in her shortness. "And you should smile more often," she said, "because you have perfect teeth! Are they real?"
"What?" he asked in a full on laugh. "Of course they're real! What kind of question is that?"
"I dunno," she giggled in response. "I guess I figured that somebody who played hockey for The Burlwood High Varsity Team wasn't likely to have all of his own teeth left to show!"
"I actually didn't fight much," he explained. "The league frowned on that sort of thing. It could lead to lots of trouble, so I avoided it."
Nikki lifted her eyes as though she was searching her memory for a list she'd committed to it, then proceeded to recite every fight of his career while butchering his last name phonetically. "Jacob Gig-whera versus Kevin Largent, Jacob Gig-whera versus Mason Swigert, Jacob Gig-whera versus Alvin Kimbler, Jacob Gig-whera versus Junior Kendricks, Jacob --"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he interrupted with a smile and out turned palms before she could finish. "First of all, you're murdering my name! It's pronounced Zhig-gair! Zhi, kind of like you're saying shit but with a z. Jacob Zhig-gair, but I prefer just Jake. Secondly, I didn't start all of those fights, so they don't all count!"
"Yes they do, dork!" she snickered as she gently pushed him with her petit little hands.
Her touch made his smile widen even further, exposing nearly all of his bleached white choppers and starting things to stirring. There was an energy about her that was palpable, and it was working his desire like an expert spider works its web. She had a warmth that was contagious, and he was immediately afflicted with her disease. He felt the butterflies dancing in his heart, a fluttering he'd forgotten could occur in the days since Tracy's touch stopped inspiring it in him. It was wonderful and it was terrible, a bittersweet combination he'd similarly lost to time and the repetitive nature of life experience.
"If you say so," he grinned, staring deeply into her smoky eyes.
Grateful to her in the moment for reigniting a spark he hadn't felt in years, he wanted to take her on the spot. The encounter played out in explicit detail in his mind, featuring him ripping her skinny jeans from her body and clutching her ass cheeks with his comparatively massive hands. He lifted her clean off the ground in his fantasy, pulling himself out of his fly and filling her body promptly and savagely. Engaged, he carried her to the ticket booth and pressed her hard against the flimsy aluminum wall. His hands squeezing and pulling her tightly to him, he thrusted with unbridled passion while she squealed in pleasure and pain at taking in his swollen sex, the side of the ticket booth bending and warping until it took on the rough shape of her form under pressure. He pumped and pulled and swiveled and ravaged until he couldn't take it any longer, until a part of him that wasn't his astral self came spurting out of his body in transcendent pulses of pleasure.
He couldn't do that, though... he wouldn't do that.
Tracy Swete was the sole heir to that throne. She was the reigning, defending, and undisputed queen of being fucked by Jacob Garrett Gigu?re. His penis belonged to her, whether she was receptive to it or not, and it was not his to do with what he would... to do with what he desired. That's the way it'd been for nearly nineteen years, and that's the way it would likely remain forever, as it applied to him.
As he looked upon Nikki in the shadow of his fantasy, he realized that she couldn't be a fuck buddy, and that he was a fool for having thought for a moment that he could subject her to something like that. He was ashamed of having thought she could be when he dropped her off from the track last night, and he was disgusted with himself for thinking about unleashing himself sexually on her as they stood.
He didn't know exactly how old she was, but he could tell she was way too young for him. She was practically a child compared to him in terms of life experience and self awareness. In his mind, she had no idea what she was doing in being so flirtatious toward him. She had no idea tha
t she was playing with fire. She was unaware that she was dancing with a pyromancer, who was himself covered in the scars of burns and blisters suffered when he lost hold of the flame. He was toxic, and she was a nymphoid minx with some masochistic radar that pulled her to dark people with the desire to have them use her up.
Involving herself with him would only serve to harm her, and involving himself with her would only poison him further. To fuck her would be to cross a line that he had no desire to cross. Under the best case scenario, it would make him feel like a creep and a traitorous piece of shit. Under the worst case, it could hamper his chances should he find that there really is a place called Heaven, where some overzealous God is waiting to judge him once double indemnity came to pass. If the fairy tales were real, adultery is a sin. If the good book was truly filled with lies, he would feel the sting of the scarlet letter on his soul because it would be yet another example of how he failed to live up to the promises he made before saying I do to the woman that was the love of his life.
Perhaps seeing these things playing out in his eyes, Nikki keyed in to his wavelength somehow and seemed to be reading the story playing out in his head. As though she could see his manhandling of her and wanted to share in the experience, she asked a question that he could never answer in decent company.
"What are you thinking about?" she said, nearly in a whisper.
At that, Jake flipped an internal switch to turn off his lust and fantasy. If she was picking up on it, if she was seeing it within him, that was unacceptable. This desire to have her was too personal, too explicit and too inappropriate for sharing. Similarly, the revulsion he felt at his own mind for conjuring such imagery was a matter of shame for him. She didn't need to know what he was doing to her in his head, and she wasn't entitled to know why it could never come to be a reality.
"Nothing," he lied poorly, unable to formulate a more articulate response.
"Right," she giggled, seeing plainly through his rampart.
He tried to keep his thoughts in check as she surveyed the carnival around them, looking at the variety of rides and attractions for something that suited her fancy. Apparently finding what she was looking for, she grabbed his left hand and pulled him along behind her toward it. Completely confused and still trying to control his thoughts, Jake didn't have any idea what was happening until they were half way to a ride.
"Um," he began as they approached a machine called The Scrambler which was just finishing up a cycle. "What the hell are we doing?"
She looked back at him and smiled, still moving along at her lively pace and tugging him in the direction of the queue. "We're going on a ride!" she explained with an enthusiasm that bordered on glee.
"Wait, what?" he asked, flummoxed. "I'm not here for --"
"Don't tell me you're scared!" she joshed, interrupting him and still smiling. "Especially not of The Scrambler!"
"Well, no," he stammered as people started to get off of the ride. "But I was --"
"You were wandering around like a lost puppy!" she broke in again. "You're at a carnival Jake Ob, you're supposed to be having fun!"
Before he could say anything else, the last of the departing Scrambler riders spilled out of the exit gate on the far side of the fence built around it. With every car empty, a shady looking carny opened up the entrance and started collecting tickets from those who wished to ride next. Nikki was still dragging Jake along, pulling him by the arm excitedly until it was her turn to hand over ten tickets to pay their fare. Within mere moments, she was opening the swing arm of a red gondola and climbing inside. Unable to protest given the haste with which she moved, he shook the entirety of the ride arm with his weight as he boarded the car.
Nikki pulled the swing arm closed, causing a metal bar and ripped pleather pad to sink into Jake's stomach with a bit more impact than he would've liked as the restraint clicked into place. The greasy roving carny made spot checks of everyone's safety locks as Nikki glowed and her largely unwitting partner wondered how the hell he'd ended up on this contraption. He was still confused as a loud buzz sounded out and the ride began to move, with theirs and three other cars starting to twirl around an overhead axis that made up one arm of the machine. There were two other similar arms to the ride, each of which was mounted to a giant pylon at the center. All three arms were carrying four gondolas each and were at work spinning them when the entirety of the interconnected web of steel started spinning and swirling around the swiveling mast at the center.
When the amusement was at full speed, Jake felt like slave to inertia and centrifugal force as he was whisked around like a bug stuck to a tri-headed egg beater being cranked along mechanically by a mad chef with reckless abandon. It was dizzying at his age, a sensation not at all like what he remembered feeling when he'd ridden similar rides in his childhood. He felt compelled to puke and pass out, but not necessarily in that order. Every time their car would be flung out towards the metal gate that surrounded the ride, his brain physically stopped there to take a breather before being yanked out in the opposite direction. That was a wholly unpleasant experience that he didn't expect or appreciate whatsoever.
In antithesis, Nikki seemed to be loving it, which was something he couldn't quite relate to in the moment. She laughed, smiled and screamed with each forceful change in direction they made, giggling like a school girl peeping through a hole in the boy's restroom wall each time she was yanked askew. Physics caused her petit body to repeatedly shift and slide around in the seat, sending her toward the center of the axis for a moment before slamming her hips into Jacob's on the rebound.
At first, he was indifferent to this in his vertigo and lingering confusion at how he'd ended up in this position. All of that changed, though, once his body started becoming accustomed to the stimulation, and he eventually started to enjoy feeling her soft flesh and dainty bones grinding into his thigh. Occasionally her entire torso would collide with his, jamming his gun into his ribs in a manner that wasn't entirely pleasurable, but even that started to seem okay as they continued to twirl and twirl.
As though powered by the frenetic rotation of the machine, his blood started to pump and pulse yet again to places that should've made him feel self conscious. Enamoured and enraptured with her contagious joy, he felt no shame in the fact that his dick was standing nearly perpendicular to the padded seat of the gondola as they spun. On the contrary, he was almost pleased at what was happening as they swirled and swirled and swirled. Swirled like memories of incredible sex with Tracy Swete, swirled like memories of the first time and how incredible it was to feel her small, warm hand touching him in places that no one had ever touched him before. Swirled like her hips as she mounted him and took him in, swirled like overwhelming feelings of love and intimacy that were to last forevermore. Swirled like the death of affection and the departure of physical love, swirled like double indemnity and let's get this over with.
By the time the ride had started to slow, he realized that -- at some point, without any willful action on his part -- he'd put his right arm around the girl riding next to him and rested his hand on her shoulder. The diminishing force of artificially amplified gravity made it apparent that his arm wasn't just resting on her, it was actively pulling her closer to his body, which is where his inner self apparently desired her to be. With the discovery of this came a question; was he pulling at an imaginary Tracy in the swirling, or was he conciously aware that this was a new young woman at his side? Was he acting out on memories and a desire to hold his wife, or was he knowingly violating the oaths he'd taken to have no other besides her for all the days of his life?
She seemed to realize that he was pulling her closer at the exact moment he did, and she looked to him with her sparkling smokey eyes. Finding him looking back to her, she could almost see in his eyes the moment at which he finally started feeling that self consciousness that had eluded him before. The smile she gave him in recognition of what he was doing
only doubled his self awareness, so he promptly retracted his arm and looked away toward the other rides and flashing lights working nearby.
His withdrawal was disheartening to Nikki, as she had truly enjoyed making even the most superficial of connections with him. It was probably the ring, she figured, that caused him to pull back so arubptly. He still wasn't wearing it, but it was obviously a factor nonetheless. She wanted to ask him why, she wanted to hear from his lips what was going on in his life, with his wife, and why he'd come home to Burlwood after so many years away.
Her Googling of him had exposed just about the entirety of his life, from his time as a star of The Burlwood Bees Varsity team to his seemingly troubled private investigation business based in Michigan, the website of which was mysteriously inactive and the domain for sale. She'd even seen a Facebook page created for the Gigu?re family, presumably by his wife, featuring pictures of this man Jacob with a beautiful woman named Tracy draped around him. They looked happy in most of the pictures, even the ones in which he wasn't smiling and seemed to be hiding tremendous pain behind his eyes. There was also an album composed entirely of shots of a somewhat off looking boy named Garrett, who was the product of their union.
She knew a lot about what his life had been until just recently, but she had no idea why it seemed to be in such disarray now as the toothless carny came by to unlock their restraints. The Facebook page showed recent pictures of him hugging and holding his wife, and it featured sweet comments from one to the other that would otherwise indicate that all was well in their wedded bliss. If that were the case, why was he so far away and wearing no wedding band, looking like a dejected and demoralized shell of a once proud man? Why was he wandering a shitty little town like Burlwood, and why was he so hesitant to let her in as a friend?
She wanted to fuck him, sure... because he was gorgeous, charming, mysterious and beguiling. If that was out of the question, though, she was still willing to hold his hand and help guide him through the darkness that she had already figured out he was lost in. She would be a paramour, a girlfriend, an affectionate plutonic friend, or a private therapist -- anything and everything that he wanted or needed her to be. Perhaps she could even help him find a way to reconnect with his wife, but for any of that to happen, he needed to drop the shields and let her near him, which he was obviously very reluctant to do.
Jake was still refusing to look at her, and the arm he'd taken from around her shoulder was now positioned over his lap to serve as a modesty guard. That was pointless, because she knew very well what was under it. She'd already seen it and noted that it was impressive, so she wondered why it seemed to shame him so badly. Shit, if anything he should've been proud based on what she could make out.
Given the fact that he was here, that he was no longer wearing his wedding band, and that he had a massive errection for her meant that something had obviously gone terribly wrong since the last update on the Gigu?re family Facebook page. She wanted to know what it was, she wanted to know why it happened, and she wanted to know how she could help. It was clear, however, that the man was too proud and stubborn to explain any of it to her as he stepped out of the gondola and the arm of the ride rose with the departure of his weight. It was more than just his physical body, the man was carrying around a lot of baggage with him and refusing a very clear offer of assistance, which she couldn't understand for the life of her. To make it even more obvious that she wanted in, she would have to probe deeper, she would have to stimulate him harder... and that's exactly what she intended to do before the night was over.
Grabbing hold of his wrist like a parent would grab an insolent child in a toy store, she pulled him through the exit gate of The Scrambler and led him directly to the next ride over, which happened to be The Witches' Wheel. Their timing was impeccable, because that ride was finishing up a sequence and the operator was taking tickets for the next round. There would be no time for him to object.
Jake was silent and like Jello being towed behind her as she handed over another stack of tickets and approached gondola number thirteen. That had always been a lucky number for her, so she was pleased to find it empty. The gate that would make the car a cage was up, so she directed her escort to sit first so that he would be riding behind her. With a look of numbness and disconnection on his face, he climbed into the car. Seated on his behind, he pressed his back against a pad at the rear and spread his outstretched legs to allow her room to join him. Getting in meant squeezing her small behind into the area directly between his crotch, with his legs engulfing the entirety of her lower half. Resting her elbows gently on the tops of his thighs, she could feel what he wanted to hide from her digging into her buttocks as she pushed back into him. Enjoying being close to him, she relaxed the upper half of her body against his firm stomach and chest, feeling his energy pulsating through her with the heat of his flesh and pumping of his heart.
After everyone else was settled in their cars, the side gate of their cage lowered mechanically and locked them in their intimate posture. There was another buzzing sound, and the Witches' Wheel began to spin.
The design of this particular ride consisted of a large wheel which started out parallel to the ground, hanging around the circumference of which were free-swinging cars. As the giant circle started to turn, the forces at work on the gondolas caused them to lift so that they too became parallel to the ground. When full speed was achieved, the giant wheel itself started to rise on one side until, at the peak of its operation, it was standing at a ninety-degree angle to the ground. As a result, the riders were moving at incredible speed in a circuit that saw them right-side-up as they swung just above the gravel lot, then promptly had their backs facing the ground as climbed vertically like an F-16 fighter jet. They moved with haste around the turning center of the wheel, and at its apex they were fully upside down for a moment before starting a harrowing dive towards the Earth. Near the bottom of their swoop, they leveled out again and started the ascent once more, the car shaking and swaying from side to side with their speed and frenetic motion.
The g-forces required to keep them from flopping about the gondola while upside down also forced her rear end to slide deep into his crotch, and she could plainly feel the head of his erection digging into the very top of her ass crack. Occasionally, a slight change in their speed would force it lower down towards her anus, which tightened with desire each time. It felt as though it wanted to reach out and pull him into her, which would've been just fine by her should it happen magically through their clothes. The slight undulations were incredibly erotic, and she noticed a change in her breathing as she tried to absorb as much of the feeling as she possibly could.
Smelling his cologne, smelling whatever he put in his hair, smelling his shaving balm and deodorant mixed together with the natural musk of a powerful man made the experience a pseudo-sexual encounter, and she was loving it. As they spun and spun, their feet racing toward heaven on the upswing and toward the bowels of hell after the crest, she started to feel guilty for using him to unwillingly bring her pleasure. She was treating him like a dildo or full sized sex doll, manipulating herself around him for her own enjoyment despite what he might think of such action. Before her regret could turn to shame, though, she realized that he had his powerful hands wrapped around her tiny waist. Pausing, she felt for a sign of where he was at with this escapade.
Jake was feeling everything happening just as well as she was, and to his surprise he found himself getting into it. His cock throbbed harder than it had in a long time as he squeezed her hips and felt it digging into the crevice of her backside. Fully involved, he began to share the experience actively with no reservations about what it meant, with no concern for the repercussions it could have for him or for her.
In the meantime, Nikki surrendered herself to feel what he was doing instead of what she wanted to do. When she did so, she quickly realized that he was slowly alternating between pulling her botto
m closer to his crotch and subsequently pushing her away. Whether he was doing it conciously or not, he was thrusting the head of his dick into her ass crack, which was amazing.
Stunned and overcome with lust, she rolled her waist in time with his movements and squealed every time he pulled her to him. He answered her vocalizations with primal grunts and a tighter squeeze until they were fully engaged in an unfettered and wanton session of passionate dry sex as the blaring notes of Sex Type Thing by STP set the mood perfectly. They were each in heaven as the world spun around them in high speed swirling, swirling. Swirling desires and fantasies, swirling pheromones and hormones on the loose and flowing freely, swirling pleasure and intimate connection. Swirling and I know you want what's on my mind. I know you like what's on my mind. I know it eats you up inside, I know you know, you know, you know, and she did know... both of them did.
On the upstroke of the ride, he pulled in time with the gravity to drive himself further down between her buttocks, his sheathed sword nearly slipping into her through their clothing. When fully inverted the beginning of the drop pulled her off of him slightly, and he pushed her away in concert as they plunged down toward the ground. When they swung parallel with the Earth he thrusted again, and the power with which his penis dug into her hurt so good that she almost wanted to come. This cycle repeated over, and over, and over until she was approaching a full orgasm with the action. Just before it came, which would've been incredible given the fact that she'd never had one without direct clitoral stimulation, The Witches' Wheel started to slow and lower, decreasing the gravitationally assisted bump and grind until he suddenly released his grasp on her with no warning or explanation.
Planting his sweaty hands on his own thighs, he subjected her to an incredible wave of feelings comprised mostly of rejection and shame that she could feel as a hollow in her chest. Apparently, he was all-in if he could simu-fuck her while no one could see it happening, but he wasn't down for letting the world at large behold what he was doing when the darkness of the gondola was exposed to the lights of the midway.
That pissed her off, but it did little to change how incredible it had been while it lasted. Similarly, it did little to change the fact that she wanted to try it wet. She wanted to feel every inch of him, not just the tip through underwear, panties and two sets of pants. She wanted to envelop every ridge and every curve of him inside of her, and she wanted him to claim his prize with as much neanderthalic carnality as he could possibly muster. She wanted him to channel his inner beast, the one that he evidently did have hidden somewhere inside of him, the one that broke through his shield of decency when he grunted and growled with the pleasure of their sanitary fucking as the Witches' Wheel spun.
As the cars came to a stop, Jake was feeling his own wave of unpleasant emotions. He was disgusted with himself for having let his darker half overwhelm him, for letting his lust overpower his greater reason and allowing it to use Nikki for the sake of getting off. The sensation was nothing new, in fact it was becoming all too familiar as of late. Ashamed of what he'd done, embarrassed at having done it, he urged Nikki quickly out of the gondola quickly when the safety gate opened up. Jumping out behind her, he felt he needed a long, hot shower to wash the indiscretion from his body. Rolling his eyes behind their lids and swallowing hard, he tried to wipe the incident from his mind and memory. Never had he done such a thing with a woman other than his wife, and never had he considered doing it with a girl that had to be at least thirteen years his junior. Christ, how could he have objectified her like that? How could he have given in to his shameful desires? How could he have betrayed Tracy with such a lewd and adulterous act?
Nikki wasn't fully in tune with what he was thinking, but she could sense some of the emotions he was feeling based upon the deep shade of red his face had turned. She wanted to tell him that it was okay, she wanted to let him know that she liked it, but it looked as though he was in no mood to discuss what had transpired between the two of them. Deciding to let it lie, to act as though it hadn't happened, she spoke her next desire instead of simply grabbing him and dragging him along as she had done before.
"I'd like to have a beer," she said cautiously. "Will you come with me?"
Satisfied that her presentation left him an adequate out, that she had left the ball fully in his court as related to what would happen next, she waited eagerly for his reply.
Considering his loathing for beer and his desire to never drink a drop of liquor again, his initial reaction was to say no and simply walk away. Besides, she didn't look old enough to buy a beer for herself, and he certainly wasn't looking to get into that kind of trouble. What he'd done to her was wrong, though, and to just leave her on that note would've been cold and heartless. Choking back his anger with himself, he tried to put on a kind face and speak in a civilized manner that was more befitting of what he had always believed was his greater character.
"I don't drink," he said, "but I am a bit hungry."
"Fair enough," she replied with a half-hearted smile. "Follow me, then?"
Without laying a hand on him, she made her way through the ride's exit and moved towards the concession area. She was tempted to look behind her at times to see if he had split in secrecy, but that was his decision to make and she would have no recourse if he decided to go that route anyway. She did peek when she approached the stand marked Ice Cold Beer, and she was pleased to see that he was still behind her.
Watching the transaction with curiosity, Jake waited to see if the booth attendant would ask her for her identification or simply sell to her blindly. He had seen that happen many times in bars, usually when a horny minimum wage creep was faced with the possibility of landing a hot piece of ass by looking the other way. As it happened, the man in the poorly lit trailer did ask to see her license, and she provided it to him. He looked awfully hard at it, which made Jake wonder, but he eventually handed it back and accepted cash from her before producing a massive paper cup of Budweiser. Thanking him and turning away from the booth, Nikki sipped at the brew as though it were a fine glass of wine, which reminded him of Tracy and her nightly dose of Franzia. Impressed that she was indeed old enough to drink and amused at her Emily Post approved mannerisms, he smiled at her when she looked up to him.
She froze for a moment at the gesture, seeing a sparkle in his eye that he'd never shown to her before. It was sweet, and it was endearing. Standing there with a beer pressed to her lips in a gleeful stupor, she realized that she was falling in love with this mysterious stranger named Jacob Gigu?re. That was nothing new, she was always quick on the draw when it came to love... and love was generally even faster than her when it came to firing the first shot. She'd been left to die in pools of sorrow many times in her past, having taken that master marksman Cupid's arrow straight through the heart. Occasionally, the death blow came with a firm slap across the face for her efforts. She was an expert in picking assholes, but this one seemed different. Only time would tell... time and vulnerability.
Jake took the lead once Nikki was back on Earth, marching off towards a booth marked Polish Sausage. She followed, still sipping at her beer, and waited as he ordered a sausage, a Coke and a side of fries. Two-hundred and thirty-nine dollars, that's all he had left after dropping fifteen bucks on overpriced food yet again.
Once he had the goods in hand, the two of them walked over to a picnic table not far from the concessions area and took a seat. Nikki parked across from him instead of next to him, which he appreciated, if only for familiarity's sake. They were silent briefly as Jake started to eat his food, but his date for the evening felt this was a good time to continue to her probing, so she broke the quiet with her naturally sultry and seductive tone.
"So," she began, "what brings you back to Burlwood?"
Washing down a hunk of sausage with his Coke, Jake replied succinctly before shoveling a bunch of fries in his mouth. "Business." he said plainly.
"A
h," Nikki replied with a nod. "You're working a case?"
He took pause at that, wondering for a moment how she knew what kind of work he did before remembering that she had Googled him. "You could say that," he replied, not bothering to clear his mouth of fry debris.
Nikki nodded again and waited for him to swallow before asking anything else. Half-eaten French fries weren't at all attractive. "Does it have anything to do with that Marsh kid?" she asked intuitively.
That brought more surprise, brought an even longer pause and more wondering. Taking a sip of his drink, he turned his attention away from eating to determine what she knew and how she knew it. "If it did, what would you know about it?" he asked.
"Absolutely nothing," she replied.
"So what would make you jump to that conclusion? Why would you go right to that?"
"Simple math," she said with a shrug.
"Show your work," he requested sharply.
"Well," she started snidely, "Burlwood on its own equals quiet and boring. Burlwood minus Billy Marsh equals major crime, like what happened here in the nineties."
"You weren't here in the nineties, what do you know about what happened here?" he countered.
"No, I wasn't" she snarked, "but that doesn't mean I'm an idiot! I know what happened! Believe it or not, I can read! I can even use a computer, if I really put my backwoods mind to it!"
Sensing her insult, Jake put up his hands to calm her. "I didn't mean it like that!"
"You said it like that!" she smiled. "But chill, I was just playing with you. I also know that you were friends with that Charles guy, the one they arrested. I saw him in the background of one of your old hockey pictures online. Private eye plus friend in trouble equals you come home, right?"
"Very deductive of you," he said, taking another bite of sausage. "Maybe you should be doing this instead of me, because I'm not getting very far at all myself."
Nikki nodded again, sensing his frustration and an air of vanquished pride. Deciding that this condition was ideal for further piercing his defenses, she was preparing to ask about his wife when his head suddenly spun as violently as Linda Blair's toward the sound of a new song coming from one of the nearby rides.
"Holy shit," he said heavily, as though it pained him. He sighed after, and it seemed that more air came spilling out of him than his body should've been able to hold to begin with.
Listening for what he was hearing, Nikki could barely make out the music over the sounds of the people all around them. Eventually, she picked up on a few lyrics, but they were foreign to her. She'd never heard this song before, and she didn't know why it seemed to disturb Jake so badly.
Baby, here I am, I'm the man on your scene. I can give you what you want, but you've got to come home with me.
What the fuck did that mean, besides the obvious?
Why did it seem so devastating to her date?
Watching him, she noticed that his chest was rising and falling rapidly. The color had run out of his face, and a bead of sweat appeared on his brow. He was having a panic attack... she was sure of it.
"What's going on?" she asked, legitimately concerned for him.
"This song," he said through shallow breaths. "The Gravitron!"
Craning her neck and looking over his shoulder, she saw that there was, indeed, a Gravitron spinning about a hundred yards behind him.
"What about this song?" she wondered. "What about The Gravitron?"
"He puked," Jake replied, his heart pounding and booming in his ears. "He puked on himself, and he threw his shirt away!"
Confused, Nikki put a hand on his arm in a futile effort to calm him.
"Who puked, hun?" she asked.
"T-T-Timmy," he stuttered in reply. "H-he didn't want to walk around with no shirt, so I gave him MINE... my M-M-Maple Leafs shirt..."
Seeing the panic doubling and tripling in him, she rubbed his arm firmly and considered reaching into her purse for one of her Xanax. Not knowing how he would feel about blatantly violating every federal drug law on the books, she set aside that notion and just continued petting him.
"It's okay!" she said. "Just breathe, baby, it's okay!"
"He went to the bathroom to clean himself up and to put on my shirt, and... and..."
"Shhhhh," she continued her efforts to soothe him. "Relax, sweetie, you're okay!"
Not calmed in the slightest by her words or tactile prompts, his heart beat faster and harder. A flush of warmth consumed him, and his breathing became even more labored than it had already been.
Pretty little thing let me light your candle 'cause mama I'm so hard to handle now, yes I am.
"I've gotta get the fuck out of here!" he declared in a nearly tearful whinny.
Without another word he leapt from the picnic table, spilling his drink all over what was left of his meal and leaving it all behind in the process.
"Wait!" Nikki called after him, getting up herself to follow and help in any way she could.
There was no use in trying, though, because the man broke immediately into a full sprint towards the parking area. He was much taller than she was, he had much longer legs and there was simply no way she could hope to catch him.
All she could do was watch him go, so that's what she did. Worried for him, she cursed and shed a tear of empathy. As he ran, she wondered if this would be the last time she would ever see him. She knew from her evaluation of him that he was in a deep depression, that he was walking blackened roads alone as it was. This episode would push him further into the pit... it would make his world that much darker.
Was he going to run away from Burlwood?
Was he going to run away from everything?
Not knowing which he chose would be terrible... and she wouldn't know, until they either happened upon each other again... or she read his obituary. To her mind, both scenarios were very real, and they were equally possible.
Fuck, if he killed himself...
THIRTY-THREE