"The Apostle of Tarsus Chapters 3-4," Supernatural/Miracles, Rated R
Chapter 3: Paper Tiger
Words: 3,740
The next morning, I went to a clothing store and bought a bathing suit and a nice pair of pants for my job interview, then swung by the library to look up a few things about diagnosing brain tumors. All of their books were woefully out of date - not a single one was published after 1970. This researching without the Internet thing was for the birds.
When I got back to the room, I saw that Castiel had returned. He was lying down again. My bag sat on the foot of the bed. "You should have just given me time to get it before we came here in the first place," I scolded. "Then you wouldn't of had to go back."
He just grunted in reply.
"By the way, who are you working for? You rebelled, and the other angels want the Apocalypse to happen. Who told you about Paul Callan being this great key to saving the world?"
"Not all angels want the Apocalypse to take place," he mumbled. "Joshua contacted me."
"So... God may be getting involved again?"
"It's possible. But Joshua would not extend to me that information."
I had to take a little time to mull that over. "Is Paul also descended from Biblical folk?"
"Yes."
"Why is he so important, Cas?"
Castiel did not answer me.
"Cas?"
His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be asleep.
While changing my clothes, I wondered if it was really fair to save Paul's mother simply so he would say yes to whomever his possessing angel was when the time came. But then I remembered how wonderful it would be for him to be able to grow up with his mom in relative safety, and I didn't doubt that it was the right thing to do. For Paul to be so important, he must be the vessel of a very powerful angel, and maybe that angel would also be a merciful one. Even the archangel Michael had promised that he would leave Dean in the same condition in which he found him. Perhaps the one that would possess Paul could do the same thing.
I certainly didn't have any conflicted feelings over saving Tress. Whatever happened after that would be left up to chance.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I brushed my hair, wondering what kind of guys Tress liked. She hadn't seen me without a shirt yet. In the past, people had remarked that sometimes you couldn't tell how muscular I was from the front, in clothes. But now, in only a bathing suit, my bulk would be laid out for all to see. I hoped she would like it.
Tress was already there, sitting on one of the stools at Slade's bar, turned backward toward the pool and her elbows resting on the counter behind her, legs crossed. She looked incredible in a blue one-piece with yellow flowers on it. The leg she had on top bobbled playfully, a flip-flop dangling from her toes. As she was wearing the wig again, I wondered if Tress would be able to go into the pool.
"Hey you," I said as I approached.
She hadn't noticed me coming up. When Tress looked at me, I saw her eyes widen and got my second taste of her projective empathy. A wave of desire passed over her, echoing in my head. It made me smile.
"Well, hellooo~ooo Sam," Tress said. Her eyes passed up and down my chest. "You, you're... I had no idea you were this buff," she added, eyes still wide. Then they narrowed in uncertainty. "Why do you have a pentagram on your chest?"
"This?" I indicated the tattoo. "It's a ward against possession by evil spirits."
"A pentagram?"
"Yeah, see..." As I explained, I ran my finger over the lines of the tattoo. "The star point is up, which makes it a positive symbol."
"Oh..." Tress tilted her head one way and then the other. "Not if you look at it this way."
"Trust me, it's supposed to be pointing up." I leaned in the same direction her head was going. "See?"
She chuckled at me. "If you say so."
Moving a little closer to her, I ran my finger under the chain of the silver crucifix around her neck. "It's not that different from how Satanists invert crosses to make them symbols of evil. They do the same with pentagrams." There's a lot more to it than that, but we hadn't known each other long enough to get into some sort of long philosophical discussion about religion.
"Oh. Still, you don't think a lot of people are going to stare at you with that thing out? Although they..." Tress ran a hand through the light smattering of hair on my chest. "...they might be too distracted by the..." Her eyes caressed the defined muscles of my stomach. "Um... hoo..."
The sexual desire coming off of her hit me hard enough to send a tingle up my back. "I'm used to people staring at me," I said quietly. "You have noticed that I'm 6'5"?"
"Uh, yeah... I had noticed that." Tress just stared at me for a moment, running an errant finger along the lines of my chest.
Teasing her, I said, "Tress, my eyes are up here."
She looked up sharply, caught, and began to giggle with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm just not used to seeing many guys around here who work out as much as you."
I just grinned at her. "You've got a few nice curves yourself."
Over her shoulder, I noticed Slade making a face of discomfort. The phrase 'Get a room' hadn't been coined yet, so instead he said, "You guys know I'm here, right?"
We both began to laugh. "Sorry, Slade. But even you can see how cut this guy is," she said.
"I've got eyes," he replied in a gruff, annoyed tone.
I had to smile again. He's a funny old guy.
Changing the subject, Tress went into a canvas bag beside her and pulled out a thin cardboard book. "Got you something," she said with a grin, and turned it around.
It was one of those paper construction books I had been talking about the night before. A cardboard zoo. I began to laugh. "Oh, thank you. You're a mess, you know that?"
"I saw it in the store and couldn't resist." She laughed too. When I took the book and started to flip through it, Tress giggled, "You are actually going to take that thing up to your room and put it together, aren't you?"
"I don't know... I just might."
She gave me a playful shove. "Now who's the mess?"
We left our towels and other things in front of Slade's and prepared to go in the pool. "I have to make sure I don't go under the water," Tress cautioned. "This will..." She pointed to her head. "I'm not sure it'll, um, stay on if I..."
I leaned in and whispered close to her ear, "It's okay, I know it's a wig."
Her face turned crimson with an embarrassed blush.
In response, I added, "It's okay. Nothing to be embarrassed about," and gave her sides a little tickle.
Tress couldn't help but giggle at the touch. "Is it really that obvious?"
"No, but, you're going through chemo and radiation, so... I just kind of knew."
Self-consciously, she touched her head, running her fingers through the wig. "My real hair was just like this."
I saw tears come to her eyes, ones she held back. I could only imagine how hard it must be for a woman to lose a full head of beautiful hair. "It must've been gorgeous, then."
That made her smile at me with a little sniffle.
Although I knew it was a cliché thing to say, I couldn't help assuring her, "It'll grow back."
"I know."
I didn't want to make her cry. In an effort to distract Tress from the depressing subject we'd gotten on, I held up a bottle of sunblock. "Will you put some on my back?"
That hungry, aroused look came to her eyes again. "Certainly."
It was obvious we were both extremely attracted to each other. Not only did it make getting my task completed easier for me, but it was plenty nice, too!
I took the opportunity to put some sunblock on her back as well before we got into the pool. While doing that, I also massaged some into her shoulders and the back of her neck. Tress simply moved her hair out of the way and allowed me to do it, enjoying it tremendously. I know that not only from the relaxed little moans she was letting out, but from her empathy, which washed over me in waves every few seconds. We both must've looked like we were totally high. Once we got in the pool, Tress stayed close to the side where she didn't have to worry so much about being splashed or her head getting dunked underwater. We watched kids playing, racing each other from one end of the pool to the other, and I had to resist the urge to ask her about Paul. It probably would just make her cry anyway, I thought. But it did somehow get me on the subject of what had happened to her parents.
"Oh, my dad passed away a couple years ago," Tress said. The sadness in her eyes touched me. "A lot of messed up things happened around the time of his death, and because of that, my mom and I don't really talk much anymore. I try to be a good Christian and forgive, but... it's hard to forgive someone who isn't sorry."
Paddling closer to her, I put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Tress."
"It's okay. I have my family here now." She indicated Slade and the other employees. "And my church family. My mom lives on the other side of the state, so we don't attend the same one."
Church. She brought up church. It was a perfect opportunity. "I really want to meet some more local people. Can I go to church with you this Sunday?"
That seemed to make Tress happier than anything else I'd said that day. "I'd love it if you'd come. You can meet Father Beresford and Father Calero, and everyone in the choir..."
Father Calero. He was the main person I wanted to meet.
"What about your parents?" she asked me then.
I answered her question by not lying, but not telling the whole truth either. "My mom was killed in a house fire when I was still a baby. And my dad passed away about four years ago. His heart just... stopped beating."
"Oh, I'm really sorry, Sam. Both of your parents, gone... that must be tough."
"Sometimes. But still having Dean makes it easier."
"Is it money that's keeping your brother from coming here?"
Now this one, I had to lie. The truth just wasn't an option. "Yeah. That's why I really hope I get this job at the hotel bar."
"The busboy job?" Tress said. "I hope you get it; then we could see each other almost every day."
"Yeah, that'd be wonderful," I replied.
"It would?"
The coy, hopeful little look on her face when she said that... I couldn't resist moving in close to her, my hands holding onto the pool edge on either side of Tress's head. She gave me that same look she had given me in her apartment the night before, the one that said she wanted me to kiss her. "Yeah, it would," I said, and kissed her on the lips.
It was a much longer, more passionate kiss this time. The aroused, contented feelings coming off her put me in a state of weightlessness; I couldn't have told you how long we actually kissed. A few seconds? A year?
The mood was broken when the kids started hooting at us. "Oooooooh!" they crooned. "Gettin' hot 'n' heavy with the hot 'n' heavy!" *
"Kids, leave them alone," a woman snapped.
Tress and I both laughed to ourselves, just floating and looking at each other. "I know we just met and everything, but I'm really attracted to you, Sam," she said, and leaned forward to give me a peck on the mouth.
My grin must've been a mile wide. "I like you too, Tress. A lot."
We didn't say anything for a few moments, content to just look. She began tracing her finger over the lines of my tattoo. "So, what do you know about evil spirits?" Tress asked.
Immediately, I thought this line of questioning was about the demons surrounding her. Did she want to talk about it? The best thing I thought I could do would be to approach the subject as casually as possible. "After my mom died, my father became obsessed with the idea that the fire had been caused by an evil spirit. He did all kinds of research on it for years and, you know, you just pick a few things up."
Her eyes looked sad in reaction to that; I'm not sure if it was because she felt sorry for me, talking about my mother's death again, or if it was her own troubles that disturbed her. "Do you believe in stuff like that?"
"To an extent," I replied. It was far too early in our relationship to tell her the whole truth.
"I was raised Catholic, and after all I've read in the Bible, and experienced, and felt..." Tress looked at me seriously. "...I believe in some of it. Angels, and demons... I think they really do exist. Is that crazy?"
"No, not at all." Oh, she had no clue how much I believed in angels and demons...
When she just smiled at me a little, I added, "If you ever want to talk more about this subject, I'm totally open, okay? You should talk to my friend Cas first, though. He's very... knowledgeable."
"Is that the guy in the trench coat?"
"Yeah." I cobbled together a full name for him. "Cas Novak. He's the one who convinced me to come here." Wow, it was amazing how much I could tell her without really lying!
"Well, I'm glad he did," Tress said, and leaned in for another knee-melting kiss.
Yeah, we did really like each other. A whole lot.
After tossing a beach ball around, we got out and wrapped up in towels to have lunch at Slade's. It was very good, and gave us more opportunity to joke and laugh and hold hands on the countertop while we shared an ice cream sundae. I'd say it was a perfect afternoon.
"Can I see you again tonight?" I asked. I just wanted the day to go on forever.
"No, I'm sorry, but I'm babysitting Michelle's kids after six." Tress gestured to the hotel. "She's one of the other front desk clerks."
"Oh, okay."
She instantly added, "But you can come over if you want to. Help me wrangle them for a couple hours. There's two of them."
Another one of those satisfied grins beamed across my face. "I'd love to."
We parted ways shortly after. Tress's parting comment as she walked away with her bag flung over her shoulder was, "Enjoy your zoo!"
I just laughed at her. That naughty little grin would be the death of me.
Again, Castiel was there when I got back to the room. "A man left a message for you," he said, and pointed to the blinking light on the phone.
"Oh, thanks." It was a message from Bo. His boss wanted me to come in for an interview the next morning at nine. After calling him back to confirm, I set the phone in its cradle and sat there grinning. "Everything's falling into place."
"Did you get invited to church?" Castiel asked.
"Sure did. And I'm going over there tonight, just to hang out." For a second, I thought Cas might scold me for seeing her so much, being that this was supposed to be just a rescue mission, but he said nothing. "Cas, today she asked me if I believe in supernatural stuff, like demons. I think she wants to talk about what's happening to her."
Cas gave me one of his serious looks in return. "No, Sam. You must not talk about those things with her. Alright? It's very dangerous."
"I know, but..."
"I acknowledge that you may want to talk with her about the demons because it might ease her mind." He stood right in front of me now, that same intense expression on his face. "But you must discourage such conversation. Do you understand how dangerous it would be, Sam?"
Sheepishly, I nodded my head. "Yeah..."
"Why did she bring it up anyway?"
"Tress saw my tattoo." As I was still dressed in a bathing suit and a towel, I indicated the symbol on my chest.
"Tress?"
Sheepishly, I explained, "That's my nickname for her."
Again, I thought he would scold me for getting too close to her. Castiel just looked down at me and said, "Oh," and then went back to the window, to gaze out at the birds flying by.
*****
I brought my cardboard zoo to Tress's place that night.
Michelle's kids loved helping me put it together. Tress sat cross-legged in our little circle and taped down the occasional tab, but mostly just watched me and the kids with a grin on her face. She seemed a little tired.
The children played with Paul's toys. That surprised me until I really considered it. I thought maybe it would be too painful for her to watch other kids play with her little boy's things, but then it occurred to me that it might be a way for her to pretend that Paul was still there, to live vicariously through taking care of other people's children. It made me want to hold her worse than anything, to know what pain she must be in.
Michelle picked the kids up a little after nine. It didn't take long at all for us to realize we were completely alone.
Tress sat next to me on the couch. I noticed that she had one of the little cardboard animals in her hand. "You were so cute when you were building that zoo with the kids," she said. The paper zoo still sat on the floor, spread out over a small area in front of the television. Tress held up the cardboard animal. "This one's a tiger. It's my favorite." She playfully made it bound up my arm. "Rrrraaarr!"
Snickering, I grabbed her by the waist and started to tickle her sides without mercy. Tress giggled, pretending she wanted me to stop by struggling lightly, but it was really more play-wrestling. Within seconds, she had wound up on my lap, straddling me, with one hand inside the neck of my shirt. One look and we were kissing with more passion than ever, Tress letting out a squeal of arousal.
I've never felt anything like heavy petting on empathy. Her lust, my lust, all of it reverberating from her head to mine and back again -- very intense. If Tress had let me, I would have gladly made love to her for hours. It was no secret that I desperately wanted her and she wanted me.
Her moving hand caused two of the buttons on my shirt to pop open, and then she was reaching inside, rubbing my upper chest. I took this as a flimsy form of permission to run my hand over one of her breasts, teasing what responded. Tress moaned into my mouth. Everything moved very fast after that. While still kissing, I laid her down on the couch on her back and partially unbuttoned her shirt. My fingers found a bra strap and pulled it down, and I dipped my head down, kissing her breast. Sucking until she moaned again.
This was when she pushed me away. "Wait, Sam, wait," Tress panted.
Immediately I took my weight off of her, bracing myself on the back of the couch. "I'm sorry," I said, though I'm not sure what I was apologizing for.
"No, I... I don't mean to tease you or anything. I want to, really want to, but we just met, and..."
"Oh, no, it's okay, it's okay." We were both very worked up, but I sat back against the opposite arm of the couch until she had fixed her shirt, covering herself up again.
Eventually, Tress leaned over and gave me a peck on the lips. "I'm sorry," she said. "Maybe after we've dated for a while..."
"I have no expectations," I replied. And it was true; I would take whatever she would give me until she was ready for us to go to bed together. The idea that Tress would make me wait just turned me on more, made me want her more. Women often have no idea the power that has over a man.
"Thank you for being so understanding. I'm not trying to be rude or anything, but I think you should go before I lose all control and just ravage you right here and now."
I chuckled, rebuttoning my shirt. "Well, it probably is better if I leave then, you sex maniac."
Tress smacked my arm. The look in her eyes told me she had to make a great effort not to jump on me, like that hungry cardboard tiger she'd been teasing me with. I gathered my things and went to the door.
We parted with one last kiss. "See you soon," I said before I turned and left.
Tress was still panting. From the feelings I gleaned off her from her empathy, it had taken a great deal of control for her to send me away.
I was overjoyed to have the hotel room to myself when I got back. After that, I definitely needed some "alone" time.
* Author's Note: My sister and I used to say this phrase all the time as kids when we saw people kissing on TV ("Gettin' hot 'n' heavy with the hot 'n' heavy."). I really can't remember if it's something we made up or got from a TV show. For some reason, I keep thinking of Barbarino from "Welcome Back Kotter"... XD
*****
Chapter 4: The Riddle
Words: 4,143
I got the busboy job the next morning. They gave me a very nice deal - one dollar less per hour for a free room and free meals in the diner. It would do me well for the time that I'd be there.
Tress and I saw each other in the lobby and I made a beeline for her so I could tell her about getting the job. She ducked her head sheepishly.
"Hey Tress, I got the job!"
Instantly, her head came up. "Oh, Sam, that's wonderful!" We shared a brief hug, which she seemed to pull away from, and again ducked her head.
"What's wrong, Tress?" I asked.
"I, um..." She smiled, obviously embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Sam, I just feel so bad about last night. I shouldn't have let you get that far, I mean..." Tress opened her blazer on one side as if she was flashing me. "I let you do that and then I pushed you away... makes me feel like such a tease."
Shaking my head, I replied, "Stop it. You're not a tease. You're just a sensible woman with self-control."
"Oh, but, you have no idea just how much I wanted to." A sudden grin spread across her face, and she looked away again. Her cheeks flushed pink.
I grinned too. "Honey, we both want to," I whispered to her. Tress giggled, a hand to her mouth. "But you're right. We should wait."
"Wait for what?" she chuckled.
"Until it feels right."
"Somehow, I'll know?" Her arms slipped around my neck.
"Yeah. And so will I," I said, being coy.
Giving my shoulder a light smack, Tress asked, "Are you saying that it's not all up to me?"
I raised my chin in mock indignation. "A man in this day and age has to make the right choice on when to start having sex. He can't just jump into it."
As I said, 'when to start having sex,' she began to giggle, looking around, and shushed me. "Someone will hear you!"
"Oh come on, like they can't tell I'm crazy about you," I replied, picking her up in my arms. We both laughed into a kiss.
Yes, we were nauseatingly cute.
But it was true, that there was an instant attraction. Whether it be natural chemistry spurred on by an empathy overload or just horniness, we were both in those beginning stages of a relationship where we didn't want to keep our hands to ourselves.
The best thing was, Tress had her last treatment the Friday after we met. She was supposed to go back in a couple weeks to have another test to see if the tumor had reacted to this latest round of chemo and radiation, and it made us both very hopeful. Late in the afternoon, I found Tress sitting in the bar, yawning and taking little bites of some plain crackers.
"Why don't you go home and go to bed, woman?" I asked her.
"That's a good idea," she said, and left me with a little kiss on the mouth.
Part of my job consisted of collecting the dirty glasses from around the pool and bringing them back to the bar where they could be washed. If they belonged to Slade, I brought them back to him after they were cleaned (his glasses had a different logo on them, so it wasn't at all hard to tell which ones were his). That night, I had a very enlightening encounter with a couple of the hotel guests.
A blonde woman in a white one-piece bathing suit lay on one of the lounging chairs next to the pool, her arm draped across her forehead. She was wearing a pair of sunglasses. Even though I couldn't see her eyes, I could tell that she was tired just from her body language. Her son, who looked about ten years old, sat at Slade's counter eating his dinner and working on puzzles out of a children's book of riddles and crosswords. While collecting dirty glasses from Slade, I caught a glimpse of the boy's face as he looked up at me and I had to look back and stare. It wasn't often that I saw eyes that shade of blue.
"Uh, hi," I said. "What have you got there?"
"A book of riddles and such," the boy replied. He had a thick European accent that didn't sound like it came from England, but somewhere in Great Britain. Could it be...?
"Oh, I like riddles. You have a very interesting accent; where are you from?"
"Scotland," he said. "My family and I are here because my father is attending a physician's conference. We came with him this time for a family vacation. I really like Boston - I may come back here someday." I was already beginning to suspect what he said next. "My name is Alva Keel. What's your name?"
"Sam. Is that your mom?" I gestured toward the blonde on the lounging chair.
"Yes. Do you think you may have the answer to this riddle? It's been giving me trouble."
"I might. What is it?" Putting my tub of glasses on the counter, I leaned on one of the stools and listened as Alva read out of the book.
"What can you see with the naked eye, weighs nothing, and if you put it in a barrel, the barrel will get lighter?"
I thought I'd heard that one before, but the answer escaped me at that moment. "Hmmm... that's a good one..."
"Maybe it's fire," he said. "A fire would reduce a barrel to ash. But... fire involves combustion of gases, and they have mass. I don't think that's it."
Even as a child, Alva Keel was a smart little guy. I joked, "I bet it's light. Make the barrel 'lighter,' ha, ha."
He gave it serious thought. "That's funny, but it can't be right. Light consists of energy, and we know from physics that anything with energy also has mass."
With a little laugh, I agreed with him. He was such a serious child. "No, it can't be light."
In the waning summer evening sun, I watched his eyes as the excitement of discovering the answer came into them. "A hole! It's a hole!"
I nodded. "You can see it with the naked eye, it doesn't weigh anything, and if you put it in a barrel..." Miming the liquid contents of a barrel pouring out on the floor, I imitated what it would sound like ("Gluck, gluck, gluck, gluck"), and we both laughed.
"Here's another one. I've already figured it out." Alva read from the book. "Homeless people have it. Rich people don't have it. And if you eat it, you'll die."
I thought about that one so long that Alva asked me, "Do you give up?"
"No... not yet."
Although I worked my way through several possible answers, after a minute, I had to give in. "I don't know. What is it?"
"Nothing," he said with a grin.
"Nothing?" I considered that. Oh, yeah... nothing. "You really stumped me with that one."
"It's kind of a sad riddle. Homeless people with nothing and all."
"Yeah." At times, I forgot I was speaking to a child. But at that moment, with him swinging his legs like a typical little boy, I remembered. "So, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
He had an immediate answer; in fact, he had several of them. "A surgeon, a linguist, a college professor, and a priest."
"Wow, that's a lot! How are you going to do all those things?"
"I'm very smart. My mother always says so."
"I can see that." I couldn't even tell you why it occurred to me, but I thought that this little boy certainly was intelligent, maybe even intelligent enough to help me figure out my own riddles. "You know, Alva, I have a dilemma, and you're so smart that I wonder if you wouldn't be able to offer a helpful opinion."
"What is it?"
"It's sort of a riddle, but not exactly. What if you knew someone who was in a bad situation, and you had information that might help them, actually make their life better, but telling them that information could also put them in danger?"
Alva thought about it. "How is it going to make their life better if the information could put them in danger?"
Slade was eyeing us like what we were discussing sounded odd to him. And it did. But it was a hard subject to talk about without coming out and saying what was really going on with Tress. It would seem extra crazy, crazier than it already sounded. "That's a hard question to answer. What if... just talking about a person's situation could put them in danger, because the wrong people might hear, but you might be able to make their situation better if you told them what you know?"
"Oh. Hmmmm..." Again, Alva gave my problem some thought. "Who are these wrong people?"
"Just some people who might be listening in."
"How do you know they're listening in?"
"Well..." Because an angel told me. Yeah, that'd go over well. "A friend of mine who's very knowledgeable about these matters told me about them."
"Are you a spy?" he asked.
I had to laugh. "No, just a busboy."
"You have some very interesting friends for a busboy." I almost responded, but I could see his mind working again, and I didn't want to disturb the process. "So, your friend told you not to talk about what was happening to someone else because the wrong people might hear."
"Right."
"But you have information that might help that person, if only you could tell them."
"Exactly," I said.
Alva considered that, and then said, "I'd say your knowledgeable friend doesn't want this other person to know the things you know."
That hit me like a ton of bricks. Could it be that Castiel didn't want Tress to know she didn't really have cancer? But that made zero sense. "Why do you say that?"
"Because he's got you ducking phantom wrong people that you're not even sure are really there."
"I don't doubt that they're there..."
"Don't you?" Alva said.
I had to think about it. No, I believed that the demons were really around us. Tress wouldn't have sent Paul away if she didn't feel something evil surrounding her, something real. "No, I believe the wrong people are actually there."
"Then what do you doubt?"
I had an instant answer to that question. "I am doubting that it wouldn't be in this person's best interest to tell them the things I know."
"What does your knowledgeable friend say to that?" Alva asked.
"He just keeps repeating that it would be too dangerous to tell this person the truth."
Alva was very observant. He replied, "Your knowledgeable friend wants that information to stay hidden for nefarious reasons."
Nefarious. That was a big word for a child. A menacing word. "No... no, my friend isn't a bad person."
"Maybe not, but he's using manipulative tactics to keep you quiet."
Manipulative tactics... it was surreal to hear such words come out of the mouth of a kid. "You think so?"
"Yes. How does he react when you question him?"
It struck me how serious Alva looked when he asked that, like he was chasing one of his paranormal cases. Even as a child, I would have trusted him with the fate of the world. "He doesn't seem to want me to talk about it very much."
"Hm." The kid was obviously suspicious of Castiel's motives. "Someone doesn't want you to ask too many questions."
Wow, where did that come from? But it wasn't like the angels hadn't lied to and manipulated Dean and I in the past. After all we had been through with Cas, I didn't want to believe that he would lie to me, especially where an innocent person like Tress was involved. "Maybe," I finally said.
"Stay alert," Alva cautioned. "I don't think those spies even exist."
I wanted to correct him that again, we weren’t talking about spies but I thought in a way, the demons were like spies, because they were watching Tress. "I'll be on the lookout."
Slade suddenly spoke up. "Sam, what are you talking about anyway?"
It never occurred to me that Slade could be possessed, that he could be one of them, and I was lucky that he wasn't. He was just one of those people I instantly trusted, because he was so genuine. I still couldn't tell him the truth, though. "It's a game, Slade. Like one of those mystery weekends hosted by The Millstone," I laughed. "Couldn't you tell?"
"Oh!" He laughed too. "Sure sounded like a bunch of mystery book hooey. But I guess it keeps the kids entertained."
"Are you sure it was just a game?" Alva questioned. He wasn't fooled.
Good time to change the subject. "I told you it was like a riddle. How's your mom feeling?"
He looked over at her. "Mummy has a headache."
"Can I get her anything?"
What Alva said was too adult for even him. "A martini would help."
Slade and I both chuckled; we couldn't help it. "I think we can get her one of those on the house," Slade said, and made her up one. The harder drinks, I had to retrieve from the bar, but martinis were something for which he had the ingredients in his little tiki hut.
Once it was shaken and stirred, I brought the martini to Mrs. Keel and placed it on the metal table next to her chair. "Here you are, ma'am. On the house," I said, and went back to the counter of Slade's to get my things.
She had hardly looked at me when I brought her the drink, except that her eyebrows went up behind the sunglasses. When I turned around, she was up and bringing the martini back to me.
"Take back your drink, sir," Mrs. Keel said. She placed the martini on the counter. "I'm a married woman."
How embarrassing. "Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am, please don't get the wrong idea - "
She simply cut me off with, "You cad," and took Alva's hand. "Let's go back up to the room, pet. Play some games with Mummy."
"Okay." Alva actually shrugged at me before hopping down off the stool with his book in hand. They walked off together, hand in hand.
Once they were out of earshot, Slade broke down laughing. "Sorry, kid. I didn't think she would refuse a good martini."
I threw my bar rag at him.
*****
That billboard I'd seen when Castiel and I first came here kept troubling me. Turned out it was right across the street from Tress's building, and if you went up to the top of the hotel, you could see it from there. That night, I went up to the roof observation deck and looked out over that billboard, studying it. A few others were up there, looking at the stars through roof-mounted telescopes.
"Mummy, I can see Jupiter!" a boy said.
I looked and saw that it was Mrs. Keel and her son standing at one of the telescopes. She stared at me for a moment, and as she wasn't wearing the sunglasses anymore, I could see how sad her eyes were. Sometime in the next ten or so years, that woman would die. It weighed on me, knowing such things and not being able to tell anyone.
I put my attention back on the billboard. Coming December 1978, National Lampoon's Animal House. Something about that bothered me. Why did it bother me?
When I got back to the room, Castiel was there, staring out the window. I could see his face reflected in the glass; he didn't look happy. Something was bothering him too.
"Hey, you want to talk about it?" I asked.
Cas turned to face me. "Talk about what?"
He wasn't telling me everything. That, I knew. "Nothing."
It's remarkable, how the words of a child could put so much doubt in me.
*****
Getting the rosary turned out to be a lot easier than I assumed it would be.
Tress and I attended the 11AM service at her church, St. Jerome's Catholic Church of Boston, that Sunday. The sermon was delivered by Father Beresford, and was all about still having modesty in this modern age. Father Calero delivered the sermon sometimes, Tress explained, but he was just an underling. Most Sundays, it was Father Beresford.
Once the sermon was over, Tress introduced me to everyone. The members of the choir were quite amused with my height; that's something I had to get used to a long time ago. Tress called me her "very good friend." I wouldn't have minded working up from there at all.
Father Calero looked to be in his thirties, with a polite smile and warm eyes. "I'm happy to see Theresa has a good friend to lean on. We've been worried about her, as ill as she's been and alone so much of the time."
"Oh, Father... I can take care of myself," Tress replied, embarrassed.
He took her hand in both of his. "You shouldn't have to, dear. Especially when you're ill."
She kissed his cheek fondly.
I felt I could trust this man. After all, he was the one who arranged for Paul's protection from the demons. When Tress became involved in a conversation with another parishioner, I followed Calero to his office and asked him if we could have a private conversation.
"Like you, I'm very worried about her," I told him. "She's supposed to go for another test in a couple of weeks to see if her tumor has responded to the treatment, and I know we all want that to happen for her."
"Of course. Is there something I can do?"
I had already spotted the rosary hanging on the wall, inside a glass case with a black velvet backing. Indicating it, I asked, "What's the story behind that rosary?"
He seemed surprised. "Oh, it was owned by a nun who helped found this church. Sister Carol. She lived to be 92 and had it up until her death from natural causes."
I had to approach this gently and with caution. "One of the other church members told me there's a story behind it, something about miracles?"
"Oh, yes." Father Calero's eyes lit up. He enjoyed telling this story. "Sister Carol had a reputation for bringing about miracles with her simple little rosary. She would take it to the hospital and pray over sick parishioners, saying various prayers over the beads, and those people would always have a miraculous recovery. In the last thirty years of her life, she prayed over nearly one hundred people, who all made amazing strides in overcoming their illnesses within only a few months. Some were saved from the very jaws of death, or so the story goes.
"I know it sounds like coincidence, but only to people who weren't there. Father Beresford and I knew her the last five years of her life, and we saw some miraculous things in only that short span of time. I once saw a crippled child walk several steps only minutes after she finished the rosary for him. That child had a spinal deformity, and they found a miracle cure for his back within two months of the incident. I've never seen anything like it before."
"So you believe the rosary has power?"
Father Calero sat behind his desk. "If that's the way you want to put it. I think it was Sister Carol's belief, and the old fashioned power of prayer. The rosary is a way to focus your belief as you speak straight to God. It was His will that the prayers should be answered."
"It's a powerful symbol of faith," I added.
"Yes."
"Do you think it could perform a miracle for Tress?"
Blinking at me, he said, "Tress?"
"Theresa. I've started calling her Tress."
"Oh." For some reason, Father Calero seemed a little shaken by that. He paused so long that I started to get uncomfortable. When he spoke again, he said, "We've actually wondered that ourselves, to be honest with you. Since Sister Carol's death, the rosary has been displayed in that case, but it seems wrong for it not to be out there, performing more miracles. If there was someone to pray over it, perhaps the rosary would help cure Theresa's cancer."
"This is a crucial time for her, about to take an important medical test." Pointing to the rosary, I asked, "Could we borrow it?"
Father Calero gave it some thought. "If you'll be extremely careful with it. We all certainly would love to see Theresa become well." He took a key out of his desk and unlocked the case. "Do you know how to say the rosary?"
"That and several other appropriate prayers." My dad had taught them to me. Prayer, another tool in the fight against evil. "I thank you so much for this, Father."
When he put it in my hand, Father Calero folded my fingers around the rosary, holding on protectively. "Please take good care of it. That rosary means a great deal to all of us here at St. Jerome's."
"I promise, I'll look after it with great care." I held up my hand, squeezing the rosary within it. "We're going to cure her."
His eyes softened; it was something he saw in my face. "You have deep feelings for her, don't you?"
Looking down, I must've seemed embarrassed, like I'd been caught at something. "I haven't known Tress long, it's the truth, but... yeah, I care a great deal for her. She's a very strong woman, and I want nothing more for her to be cured."
"We want the same thing." With a sigh, Father Calero leaned on his desk. "Too many good people are taken by this insidious disease. Let's not have Theresa be one of them."
I thanked him again, and as I was leaving the office, he said, "Let me know if you need any counsel on this. I'm a priest; I may know a few extra prayers."
That made me laugh a little. "I will."
"Oh, and Sam?"
"Yes?"
He shifted from one foot to the other, his eyes narrowed. "What'd you say your last name was?"
"Winchester."
"Ah." Father Calero nodded once, and cleared his throat. "Like the gun."
"Yeah."
He nodded again. "Hm."
I left then, wondering why he'd reacted so strangely to a couple of the things that I'd said.
Young Alva was making me suspicious of everyone.
That afternoon, Tress and I decided to have a picnic in the little park next to The Millstone. Her idea. She said she felt better than she had in weeks, and wanted to eat a ham sandwich under one of the biggest oak trees, where we'd have tons of shade. "Ham's the best meat, next to tuna," she declared.
As we ate our sandwiches and chips under that tree, I presented the rosary to her, and explained where it had come from.
Tears came to her eyes. "It's so touching, that Father Calero would let us borrow it. This rosary is so important to the church." Tress held it in her hand, lovingly rolling the beads between her fingers.
"He let us borrow it because you are important to the church," I replied, and gave her a kiss on the mouth.
Tress looked down at her lap, humbled. "This could all be over in just a few weeks. I might be cured." I heard her voice crack, and saw two tears roll down her cheeks.
I put my hand over the one in which she held the rosary. "In a few weeks, you will be cured." Taking the rosary from her, I said, "Here, let me put it on you."
"Put it on me? No, Sam, a rosary isn't jewelry."
"But you're right on the edge of remission. You need to wear it so it will always be on your person in these last few crucial weeks. Besides..." I held it up, ready to slide it over her head. "...you can put it under your shirt so no one knows you're wearing it but you, me, and God."
With a laugh, Tress allowed me to put the rosary around her neck. She touched the little crucifix hanging from its end, then crossed herself in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. "Please forgive me if You consider this blasphemous," she added.
I took a napkin and blotted the tears from her face. "Do you want to pray over it now?"
Tress nodded, and we prayed for her recovery under what would become our tree.
On to Chapters 5-6
Words: 3,740
The next morning, I went to a clothing store and bought a bathing suit and a nice pair of pants for my job interview, then swung by the library to look up a few things about diagnosing brain tumors. All of their books were woefully out of date - not a single one was published after 1970. This researching without the Internet thing was for the birds.
When I got back to the room, I saw that Castiel had returned. He was lying down again. My bag sat on the foot of the bed. "You should have just given me time to get it before we came here in the first place," I scolded. "Then you wouldn't of had to go back."
He just grunted in reply.
"By the way, who are you working for? You rebelled, and the other angels want the Apocalypse to happen. Who told you about Paul Callan being this great key to saving the world?"
"Not all angels want the Apocalypse to take place," he mumbled. "Joshua contacted me."
"So... God may be getting involved again?"
"It's possible. But Joshua would not extend to me that information."
I had to take a little time to mull that over. "Is Paul also descended from Biblical folk?"
"Yes."
"Why is he so important, Cas?"
Castiel did not answer me.
"Cas?"
His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be asleep.
While changing my clothes, I wondered if it was really fair to save Paul's mother simply so he would say yes to whomever his possessing angel was when the time came. But then I remembered how wonderful it would be for him to be able to grow up with his mom in relative safety, and I didn't doubt that it was the right thing to do. For Paul to be so important, he must be the vessel of a very powerful angel, and maybe that angel would also be a merciful one. Even the archangel Michael had promised that he would leave Dean in the same condition in which he found him. Perhaps the one that would possess Paul could do the same thing.
I certainly didn't have any conflicted feelings over saving Tress. Whatever happened after that would be left up to chance.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I brushed my hair, wondering what kind of guys Tress liked. She hadn't seen me without a shirt yet. In the past, people had remarked that sometimes you couldn't tell how muscular I was from the front, in clothes. But now, in only a bathing suit, my bulk would be laid out for all to see. I hoped she would like it.
Tress was already there, sitting on one of the stools at Slade's bar, turned backward toward the pool and her elbows resting on the counter behind her, legs crossed. She looked incredible in a blue one-piece with yellow flowers on it. The leg she had on top bobbled playfully, a flip-flop dangling from her toes. As she was wearing the wig again, I wondered if Tress would be able to go into the pool.
"Hey you," I said as I approached.
She hadn't noticed me coming up. When Tress looked at me, I saw her eyes widen and got my second taste of her projective empathy. A wave of desire passed over her, echoing in my head. It made me smile.
"Well, hellooo~ooo Sam," Tress said. Her eyes passed up and down my chest. "You, you're... I had no idea you were this buff," she added, eyes still wide. Then they narrowed in uncertainty. "Why do you have a pentagram on your chest?"
"This?" I indicated the tattoo. "It's a ward against possession by evil spirits."
"A pentagram?"
"Yeah, see..." As I explained, I ran my finger over the lines of the tattoo. "The star point is up, which makes it a positive symbol."
"Oh..." Tress tilted her head one way and then the other. "Not if you look at it this way."
"Trust me, it's supposed to be pointing up." I leaned in the same direction her head was going. "See?"
She chuckled at me. "If you say so."
Moving a little closer to her, I ran my finger under the chain of the silver crucifix around her neck. "It's not that different from how Satanists invert crosses to make them symbols of evil. They do the same with pentagrams." There's a lot more to it than that, but we hadn't known each other long enough to get into some sort of long philosophical discussion about religion.
"Oh. Still, you don't think a lot of people are going to stare at you with that thing out? Although they..." Tress ran a hand through the light smattering of hair on my chest. "...they might be too distracted by the..." Her eyes caressed the defined muscles of my stomach. "Um... hoo..."
The sexual desire coming off of her hit me hard enough to send a tingle up my back. "I'm used to people staring at me," I said quietly. "You have noticed that I'm 6'5"?"
"Uh, yeah... I had noticed that." Tress just stared at me for a moment, running an errant finger along the lines of my chest.
Teasing her, I said, "Tress, my eyes are up here."
She looked up sharply, caught, and began to giggle with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm just not used to seeing many guys around here who work out as much as you."
I just grinned at her. "You've got a few nice curves yourself."
Over her shoulder, I noticed Slade making a face of discomfort. The phrase 'Get a room' hadn't been coined yet, so instead he said, "You guys know I'm here, right?"
We both began to laugh. "Sorry, Slade. But even you can see how cut this guy is," she said.
"I've got eyes," he replied in a gruff, annoyed tone.
I had to smile again. He's a funny old guy.
Changing the subject, Tress went into a canvas bag beside her and pulled out a thin cardboard book. "Got you something," she said with a grin, and turned it around.
It was one of those paper construction books I had been talking about the night before. A cardboard zoo. I began to laugh. "Oh, thank you. You're a mess, you know that?"
"I saw it in the store and couldn't resist." She laughed too. When I took the book and started to flip through it, Tress giggled, "You are actually going to take that thing up to your room and put it together, aren't you?"
"I don't know... I just might."
She gave me a playful shove. "Now who's the mess?"
We left our towels and other things in front of Slade's and prepared to go in the pool. "I have to make sure I don't go under the water," Tress cautioned. "This will..." She pointed to her head. "I'm not sure it'll, um, stay on if I..."
I leaned in and whispered close to her ear, "It's okay, I know it's a wig."
Her face turned crimson with an embarrassed blush.
In response, I added, "It's okay. Nothing to be embarrassed about," and gave her sides a little tickle.
Tress couldn't help but giggle at the touch. "Is it really that obvious?"
"No, but, you're going through chemo and radiation, so... I just kind of knew."
Self-consciously, she touched her head, running her fingers through the wig. "My real hair was just like this."
I saw tears come to her eyes, ones she held back. I could only imagine how hard it must be for a woman to lose a full head of beautiful hair. "It must've been gorgeous, then."
That made her smile at me with a little sniffle.
Although I knew it was a cliché thing to say, I couldn't help assuring her, "It'll grow back."
"I know."
I didn't want to make her cry. In an effort to distract Tress from the depressing subject we'd gotten on, I held up a bottle of sunblock. "Will you put some on my back?"
That hungry, aroused look came to her eyes again. "Certainly."
It was obvious we were both extremely attracted to each other. Not only did it make getting my task completed easier for me, but it was plenty nice, too!
I took the opportunity to put some sunblock on her back as well before we got into the pool. While doing that, I also massaged some into her shoulders and the back of her neck. Tress simply moved her hair out of the way and allowed me to do it, enjoying it tremendously. I know that not only from the relaxed little moans she was letting out, but from her empathy, which washed over me in waves every few seconds. We both must've looked like we were totally high. Once we got in the pool, Tress stayed close to the side where she didn't have to worry so much about being splashed or her head getting dunked underwater. We watched kids playing, racing each other from one end of the pool to the other, and I had to resist the urge to ask her about Paul. It probably would just make her cry anyway, I thought. But it did somehow get me on the subject of what had happened to her parents.
"Oh, my dad passed away a couple years ago," Tress said. The sadness in her eyes touched me. "A lot of messed up things happened around the time of his death, and because of that, my mom and I don't really talk much anymore. I try to be a good Christian and forgive, but... it's hard to forgive someone who isn't sorry."
Paddling closer to her, I put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Tress."
"It's okay. I have my family here now." She indicated Slade and the other employees. "And my church family. My mom lives on the other side of the state, so we don't attend the same one."
Church. She brought up church. It was a perfect opportunity. "I really want to meet some more local people. Can I go to church with you this Sunday?"
That seemed to make Tress happier than anything else I'd said that day. "I'd love it if you'd come. You can meet Father Beresford and Father Calero, and everyone in the choir..."
Father Calero. He was the main person I wanted to meet.
"What about your parents?" she asked me then.
I answered her question by not lying, but not telling the whole truth either. "My mom was killed in a house fire when I was still a baby. And my dad passed away about four years ago. His heart just... stopped beating."
"Oh, I'm really sorry, Sam. Both of your parents, gone... that must be tough."
"Sometimes. But still having Dean makes it easier."
"Is it money that's keeping your brother from coming here?"
Now this one, I had to lie. The truth just wasn't an option. "Yeah. That's why I really hope I get this job at the hotel bar."
"The busboy job?" Tress said. "I hope you get it; then we could see each other almost every day."
"Yeah, that'd be wonderful," I replied.
"It would?"
The coy, hopeful little look on her face when she said that... I couldn't resist moving in close to her, my hands holding onto the pool edge on either side of Tress's head. She gave me that same look she had given me in her apartment the night before, the one that said she wanted me to kiss her. "Yeah, it would," I said, and kissed her on the lips.
It was a much longer, more passionate kiss this time. The aroused, contented feelings coming off her put me in a state of weightlessness; I couldn't have told you how long we actually kissed. A few seconds? A year?
The mood was broken when the kids started hooting at us. "Oooooooh!" they crooned. "Gettin' hot 'n' heavy with the hot 'n' heavy!" *
"Kids, leave them alone," a woman snapped.
Tress and I both laughed to ourselves, just floating and looking at each other. "I know we just met and everything, but I'm really attracted to you, Sam," she said, and leaned forward to give me a peck on the mouth.
My grin must've been a mile wide. "I like you too, Tress. A lot."
We didn't say anything for a few moments, content to just look. She began tracing her finger over the lines of my tattoo. "So, what do you know about evil spirits?" Tress asked.
Immediately, I thought this line of questioning was about the demons surrounding her. Did she want to talk about it? The best thing I thought I could do would be to approach the subject as casually as possible. "After my mom died, my father became obsessed with the idea that the fire had been caused by an evil spirit. He did all kinds of research on it for years and, you know, you just pick a few things up."
Her eyes looked sad in reaction to that; I'm not sure if it was because she felt sorry for me, talking about my mother's death again, or if it was her own troubles that disturbed her. "Do you believe in stuff like that?"
"To an extent," I replied. It was far too early in our relationship to tell her the whole truth.
"I was raised Catholic, and after all I've read in the Bible, and experienced, and felt..." Tress looked at me seriously. "...I believe in some of it. Angels, and demons... I think they really do exist. Is that crazy?"
"No, not at all." Oh, she had no clue how much I believed in angels and demons...
When she just smiled at me a little, I added, "If you ever want to talk more about this subject, I'm totally open, okay? You should talk to my friend Cas first, though. He's very... knowledgeable."
"Is that the guy in the trench coat?"
"Yeah." I cobbled together a full name for him. "Cas Novak. He's the one who convinced me to come here." Wow, it was amazing how much I could tell her without really lying!
"Well, I'm glad he did," Tress said, and leaned in for another knee-melting kiss.
Yeah, we did really like each other. A whole lot.
After tossing a beach ball around, we got out and wrapped up in towels to have lunch at Slade's. It was very good, and gave us more opportunity to joke and laugh and hold hands on the countertop while we shared an ice cream sundae. I'd say it was a perfect afternoon.
"Can I see you again tonight?" I asked. I just wanted the day to go on forever.
"No, I'm sorry, but I'm babysitting Michelle's kids after six." Tress gestured to the hotel. "She's one of the other front desk clerks."
"Oh, okay."
She instantly added, "But you can come over if you want to. Help me wrangle them for a couple hours. There's two of them."
Another one of those satisfied grins beamed across my face. "I'd love to."
We parted ways shortly after. Tress's parting comment as she walked away with her bag flung over her shoulder was, "Enjoy your zoo!"
I just laughed at her. That naughty little grin would be the death of me.
Again, Castiel was there when I got back to the room. "A man left a message for you," he said, and pointed to the blinking light on the phone.
"Oh, thanks." It was a message from Bo. His boss wanted me to come in for an interview the next morning at nine. After calling him back to confirm, I set the phone in its cradle and sat there grinning. "Everything's falling into place."
"Did you get invited to church?" Castiel asked.
"Sure did. And I'm going over there tonight, just to hang out." For a second, I thought Cas might scold me for seeing her so much, being that this was supposed to be just a rescue mission, but he said nothing. "Cas, today she asked me if I believe in supernatural stuff, like demons. I think she wants to talk about what's happening to her."
Cas gave me one of his serious looks in return. "No, Sam. You must not talk about those things with her. Alright? It's very dangerous."
"I know, but..."
"I acknowledge that you may want to talk with her about the demons because it might ease her mind." He stood right in front of me now, that same intense expression on his face. "But you must discourage such conversation. Do you understand how dangerous it would be, Sam?"
Sheepishly, I nodded my head. "Yeah..."
"Why did she bring it up anyway?"
"Tress saw my tattoo." As I was still dressed in a bathing suit and a towel, I indicated the symbol on my chest.
"Tress?"
Sheepishly, I explained, "That's my nickname for her."
Again, I thought he would scold me for getting too close to her. Castiel just looked down at me and said, "Oh," and then went back to the window, to gaze out at the birds flying by.
*****
I brought my cardboard zoo to Tress's place that night.
Michelle's kids loved helping me put it together. Tress sat cross-legged in our little circle and taped down the occasional tab, but mostly just watched me and the kids with a grin on her face. She seemed a little tired.
The children played with Paul's toys. That surprised me until I really considered it. I thought maybe it would be too painful for her to watch other kids play with her little boy's things, but then it occurred to me that it might be a way for her to pretend that Paul was still there, to live vicariously through taking care of other people's children. It made me want to hold her worse than anything, to know what pain she must be in.
Michelle picked the kids up a little after nine. It didn't take long at all for us to realize we were completely alone.
Tress sat next to me on the couch. I noticed that she had one of the little cardboard animals in her hand. "You were so cute when you were building that zoo with the kids," she said. The paper zoo still sat on the floor, spread out over a small area in front of the television. Tress held up the cardboard animal. "This one's a tiger. It's my favorite." She playfully made it bound up my arm. "Rrrraaarr!"
Snickering, I grabbed her by the waist and started to tickle her sides without mercy. Tress giggled, pretending she wanted me to stop by struggling lightly, but it was really more play-wrestling. Within seconds, she had wound up on my lap, straddling me, with one hand inside the neck of my shirt. One look and we were kissing with more passion than ever, Tress letting out a squeal of arousal.
I've never felt anything like heavy petting on empathy. Her lust, my lust, all of it reverberating from her head to mine and back again -- very intense. If Tress had let me, I would have gladly made love to her for hours. It was no secret that I desperately wanted her and she wanted me.
Her moving hand caused two of the buttons on my shirt to pop open, and then she was reaching inside, rubbing my upper chest. I took this as a flimsy form of permission to run my hand over one of her breasts, teasing what responded. Tress moaned into my mouth. Everything moved very fast after that. While still kissing, I laid her down on the couch on her back and partially unbuttoned her shirt. My fingers found a bra strap and pulled it down, and I dipped my head down, kissing her breast. Sucking until she moaned again.
This was when she pushed me away. "Wait, Sam, wait," Tress panted.
Immediately I took my weight off of her, bracing myself on the back of the couch. "I'm sorry," I said, though I'm not sure what I was apologizing for.
"No, I... I don't mean to tease you or anything. I want to, really want to, but we just met, and..."
"Oh, no, it's okay, it's okay." We were both very worked up, but I sat back against the opposite arm of the couch until she had fixed her shirt, covering herself up again.
Eventually, Tress leaned over and gave me a peck on the lips. "I'm sorry," she said. "Maybe after we've dated for a while..."
"I have no expectations," I replied. And it was true; I would take whatever she would give me until she was ready for us to go to bed together. The idea that Tress would make me wait just turned me on more, made me want her more. Women often have no idea the power that has over a man.
"Thank you for being so understanding. I'm not trying to be rude or anything, but I think you should go before I lose all control and just ravage you right here and now."
I chuckled, rebuttoning my shirt. "Well, it probably is better if I leave then, you sex maniac."
Tress smacked my arm. The look in her eyes told me she had to make a great effort not to jump on me, like that hungry cardboard tiger she'd been teasing me with. I gathered my things and went to the door.
We parted with one last kiss. "See you soon," I said before I turned and left.
Tress was still panting. From the feelings I gleaned off her from her empathy, it had taken a great deal of control for her to send me away.
I was overjoyed to have the hotel room to myself when I got back. After that, I definitely needed some "alone" time.
* Author's Note: My sister and I used to say this phrase all the time as kids when we saw people kissing on TV ("Gettin' hot 'n' heavy with the hot 'n' heavy."). I really can't remember if it's something we made up or got from a TV show. For some reason, I keep thinking of Barbarino from "Welcome Back Kotter"... XD
*****
Chapter 4: The Riddle
Words: 4,143
I got the busboy job the next morning. They gave me a very nice deal - one dollar less per hour for a free room and free meals in the diner. It would do me well for the time that I'd be there.
Tress and I saw each other in the lobby and I made a beeline for her so I could tell her about getting the job. She ducked her head sheepishly.
"Hey Tress, I got the job!"
Instantly, her head came up. "Oh, Sam, that's wonderful!" We shared a brief hug, which she seemed to pull away from, and again ducked her head.
"What's wrong, Tress?" I asked.
"I, um..." She smiled, obviously embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Sam, I just feel so bad about last night. I shouldn't have let you get that far, I mean..." Tress opened her blazer on one side as if she was flashing me. "I let you do that and then I pushed you away... makes me feel like such a tease."
Shaking my head, I replied, "Stop it. You're not a tease. You're just a sensible woman with self-control."
"Oh, but, you have no idea just how much I wanted to." A sudden grin spread across her face, and she looked away again. Her cheeks flushed pink.
I grinned too. "Honey, we both want to," I whispered to her. Tress giggled, a hand to her mouth. "But you're right. We should wait."
"Wait for what?" she chuckled.
"Until it feels right."
"Somehow, I'll know?" Her arms slipped around my neck.
"Yeah. And so will I," I said, being coy.
Giving my shoulder a light smack, Tress asked, "Are you saying that it's not all up to me?"
I raised my chin in mock indignation. "A man in this day and age has to make the right choice on when to start having sex. He can't just jump into it."
As I said, 'when to start having sex,' she began to giggle, looking around, and shushed me. "Someone will hear you!"
"Oh come on, like they can't tell I'm crazy about you," I replied, picking her up in my arms. We both laughed into a kiss.
Yes, we were nauseatingly cute.
But it was true, that there was an instant attraction. Whether it be natural chemistry spurred on by an empathy overload or just horniness, we were both in those beginning stages of a relationship where we didn't want to keep our hands to ourselves.
The best thing was, Tress had her last treatment the Friday after we met. She was supposed to go back in a couple weeks to have another test to see if the tumor had reacted to this latest round of chemo and radiation, and it made us both very hopeful. Late in the afternoon, I found Tress sitting in the bar, yawning and taking little bites of some plain crackers.
"Why don't you go home and go to bed, woman?" I asked her.
"That's a good idea," she said, and left me with a little kiss on the mouth.
Part of my job consisted of collecting the dirty glasses from around the pool and bringing them back to the bar where they could be washed. If they belonged to Slade, I brought them back to him after they were cleaned (his glasses had a different logo on them, so it wasn't at all hard to tell which ones were his). That night, I had a very enlightening encounter with a couple of the hotel guests.
A blonde woman in a white one-piece bathing suit lay on one of the lounging chairs next to the pool, her arm draped across her forehead. She was wearing a pair of sunglasses. Even though I couldn't see her eyes, I could tell that she was tired just from her body language. Her son, who looked about ten years old, sat at Slade's counter eating his dinner and working on puzzles out of a children's book of riddles and crosswords. While collecting dirty glasses from Slade, I caught a glimpse of the boy's face as he looked up at me and I had to look back and stare. It wasn't often that I saw eyes that shade of blue.
"Uh, hi," I said. "What have you got there?"
"A book of riddles and such," the boy replied. He had a thick European accent that didn't sound like it came from England, but somewhere in Great Britain. Could it be...?
"Oh, I like riddles. You have a very interesting accent; where are you from?"
"Scotland," he said. "My family and I are here because my father is attending a physician's conference. We came with him this time for a family vacation. I really like Boston - I may come back here someday." I was already beginning to suspect what he said next. "My name is Alva Keel. What's your name?"
"Sam. Is that your mom?" I gestured toward the blonde on the lounging chair.
"Yes. Do you think you may have the answer to this riddle? It's been giving me trouble."
"I might. What is it?" Putting my tub of glasses on the counter, I leaned on one of the stools and listened as Alva read out of the book.
"What can you see with the naked eye, weighs nothing, and if you put it in a barrel, the barrel will get lighter?"
I thought I'd heard that one before, but the answer escaped me at that moment. "Hmmm... that's a good one..."
"Maybe it's fire," he said. "A fire would reduce a barrel to ash. But... fire involves combustion of gases, and they have mass. I don't think that's it."
Even as a child, Alva Keel was a smart little guy. I joked, "I bet it's light. Make the barrel 'lighter,' ha, ha."
He gave it serious thought. "That's funny, but it can't be right. Light consists of energy, and we know from physics that anything with energy also has mass."
With a little laugh, I agreed with him. He was such a serious child. "No, it can't be light."
In the waning summer evening sun, I watched his eyes as the excitement of discovering the answer came into them. "A hole! It's a hole!"
I nodded. "You can see it with the naked eye, it doesn't weigh anything, and if you put it in a barrel..." Miming the liquid contents of a barrel pouring out on the floor, I imitated what it would sound like ("Gluck, gluck, gluck, gluck"), and we both laughed.
"Here's another one. I've already figured it out." Alva read from the book. "Homeless people have it. Rich people don't have it. And if you eat it, you'll die."
I thought about that one so long that Alva asked me, "Do you give up?"
"No... not yet."
Although I worked my way through several possible answers, after a minute, I had to give in. "I don't know. What is it?"
"Nothing," he said with a grin.
"Nothing?" I considered that. Oh, yeah... nothing. "You really stumped me with that one."
"It's kind of a sad riddle. Homeless people with nothing and all."
"Yeah." At times, I forgot I was speaking to a child. But at that moment, with him swinging his legs like a typical little boy, I remembered. "So, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
He had an immediate answer; in fact, he had several of them. "A surgeon, a linguist, a college professor, and a priest."
"Wow, that's a lot! How are you going to do all those things?"
"I'm very smart. My mother always says so."
"I can see that." I couldn't even tell you why it occurred to me, but I thought that this little boy certainly was intelligent, maybe even intelligent enough to help me figure out my own riddles. "You know, Alva, I have a dilemma, and you're so smart that I wonder if you wouldn't be able to offer a helpful opinion."
"What is it?"
"It's sort of a riddle, but not exactly. What if you knew someone who was in a bad situation, and you had information that might help them, actually make their life better, but telling them that information could also put them in danger?"
Alva thought about it. "How is it going to make their life better if the information could put them in danger?"
Slade was eyeing us like what we were discussing sounded odd to him. And it did. But it was a hard subject to talk about without coming out and saying what was really going on with Tress. It would seem extra crazy, crazier than it already sounded. "That's a hard question to answer. What if... just talking about a person's situation could put them in danger, because the wrong people might hear, but you might be able to make their situation better if you told them what you know?"
"Oh. Hmmmm..." Again, Alva gave my problem some thought. "Who are these wrong people?"
"Just some people who might be listening in."
"How do you know they're listening in?"
"Well..." Because an angel told me. Yeah, that'd go over well. "A friend of mine who's very knowledgeable about these matters told me about them."
"Are you a spy?" he asked.
I had to laugh. "No, just a busboy."
"You have some very interesting friends for a busboy." I almost responded, but I could see his mind working again, and I didn't want to disturb the process. "So, your friend told you not to talk about what was happening to someone else because the wrong people might hear."
"Right."
"But you have information that might help that person, if only you could tell them."
"Exactly," I said.
Alva considered that, and then said, "I'd say your knowledgeable friend doesn't want this other person to know the things you know."
That hit me like a ton of bricks. Could it be that Castiel didn't want Tress to know she didn't really have cancer? But that made zero sense. "Why do you say that?"
"Because he's got you ducking phantom wrong people that you're not even sure are really there."
"I don't doubt that they're there..."
"Don't you?" Alva said.
I had to think about it. No, I believed that the demons were really around us. Tress wouldn't have sent Paul away if she didn't feel something evil surrounding her, something real. "No, I believe the wrong people are actually there."
"Then what do you doubt?"
I had an instant answer to that question. "I am doubting that it wouldn't be in this person's best interest to tell them the things I know."
"What does your knowledgeable friend say to that?" Alva asked.
"He just keeps repeating that it would be too dangerous to tell this person the truth."
Alva was very observant. He replied, "Your knowledgeable friend wants that information to stay hidden for nefarious reasons."
Nefarious. That was a big word for a child. A menacing word. "No... no, my friend isn't a bad person."
"Maybe not, but he's using manipulative tactics to keep you quiet."
Manipulative tactics... it was surreal to hear such words come out of the mouth of a kid. "You think so?"
"Yes. How does he react when you question him?"
It struck me how serious Alva looked when he asked that, like he was chasing one of his paranormal cases. Even as a child, I would have trusted him with the fate of the world. "He doesn't seem to want me to talk about it very much."
"Hm." The kid was obviously suspicious of Castiel's motives. "Someone doesn't want you to ask too many questions."
Wow, where did that come from? But it wasn't like the angels hadn't lied to and manipulated Dean and I in the past. After all we had been through with Cas, I didn't want to believe that he would lie to me, especially where an innocent person like Tress was involved. "Maybe," I finally said.
"Stay alert," Alva cautioned. "I don't think those spies even exist."
I wanted to correct him that again, we weren’t talking about spies but I thought in a way, the demons were like spies, because they were watching Tress. "I'll be on the lookout."
Slade suddenly spoke up. "Sam, what are you talking about anyway?"
It never occurred to me that Slade could be possessed, that he could be one of them, and I was lucky that he wasn't. He was just one of those people I instantly trusted, because he was so genuine. I still couldn't tell him the truth, though. "It's a game, Slade. Like one of those mystery weekends hosted by The Millstone," I laughed. "Couldn't you tell?"
"Oh!" He laughed too. "Sure sounded like a bunch of mystery book hooey. But I guess it keeps the kids entertained."
"Are you sure it was just a game?" Alva questioned. He wasn't fooled.
Good time to change the subject. "I told you it was like a riddle. How's your mom feeling?"
He looked over at her. "Mummy has a headache."
"Can I get her anything?"
What Alva said was too adult for even him. "A martini would help."
Slade and I both chuckled; we couldn't help it. "I think we can get her one of those on the house," Slade said, and made her up one. The harder drinks, I had to retrieve from the bar, but martinis were something for which he had the ingredients in his little tiki hut.
Once it was shaken and stirred, I brought the martini to Mrs. Keel and placed it on the metal table next to her chair. "Here you are, ma'am. On the house," I said, and went back to the counter of Slade's to get my things.
She had hardly looked at me when I brought her the drink, except that her eyebrows went up behind the sunglasses. When I turned around, she was up and bringing the martini back to me.
"Take back your drink, sir," Mrs. Keel said. She placed the martini on the counter. "I'm a married woman."
How embarrassing. "Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am, please don't get the wrong idea - "
She simply cut me off with, "You cad," and took Alva's hand. "Let's go back up to the room, pet. Play some games with Mummy."
"Okay." Alva actually shrugged at me before hopping down off the stool with his book in hand. They walked off together, hand in hand.
Once they were out of earshot, Slade broke down laughing. "Sorry, kid. I didn't think she would refuse a good martini."
I threw my bar rag at him.
*****
That billboard I'd seen when Castiel and I first came here kept troubling me. Turned out it was right across the street from Tress's building, and if you went up to the top of the hotel, you could see it from there. That night, I went up to the roof observation deck and looked out over that billboard, studying it. A few others were up there, looking at the stars through roof-mounted telescopes.
"Mummy, I can see Jupiter!" a boy said.
I looked and saw that it was Mrs. Keel and her son standing at one of the telescopes. She stared at me for a moment, and as she wasn't wearing the sunglasses anymore, I could see how sad her eyes were. Sometime in the next ten or so years, that woman would die. It weighed on me, knowing such things and not being able to tell anyone.
I put my attention back on the billboard. Coming December 1978, National Lampoon's Animal House. Something about that bothered me. Why did it bother me?
When I got back to the room, Castiel was there, staring out the window. I could see his face reflected in the glass; he didn't look happy. Something was bothering him too.
"Hey, you want to talk about it?" I asked.
Cas turned to face me. "Talk about what?"
He wasn't telling me everything. That, I knew. "Nothing."
It's remarkable, how the words of a child could put so much doubt in me.
*****
Getting the rosary turned out to be a lot easier than I assumed it would be.
Tress and I attended the 11AM service at her church, St. Jerome's Catholic Church of Boston, that Sunday. The sermon was delivered by Father Beresford, and was all about still having modesty in this modern age. Father Calero delivered the sermon sometimes, Tress explained, but he was just an underling. Most Sundays, it was Father Beresford.
Once the sermon was over, Tress introduced me to everyone. The members of the choir were quite amused with my height; that's something I had to get used to a long time ago. Tress called me her "very good friend." I wouldn't have minded working up from there at all.
Father Calero looked to be in his thirties, with a polite smile and warm eyes. "I'm happy to see Theresa has a good friend to lean on. We've been worried about her, as ill as she's been and alone so much of the time."
"Oh, Father... I can take care of myself," Tress replied, embarrassed.
He took her hand in both of his. "You shouldn't have to, dear. Especially when you're ill."
She kissed his cheek fondly.
I felt I could trust this man. After all, he was the one who arranged for Paul's protection from the demons. When Tress became involved in a conversation with another parishioner, I followed Calero to his office and asked him if we could have a private conversation.
"Like you, I'm very worried about her," I told him. "She's supposed to go for another test in a couple of weeks to see if her tumor has responded to the treatment, and I know we all want that to happen for her."
"Of course. Is there something I can do?"
I had already spotted the rosary hanging on the wall, inside a glass case with a black velvet backing. Indicating it, I asked, "What's the story behind that rosary?"
He seemed surprised. "Oh, it was owned by a nun who helped found this church. Sister Carol. She lived to be 92 and had it up until her death from natural causes."
I had to approach this gently and with caution. "One of the other church members told me there's a story behind it, something about miracles?"
"Oh, yes." Father Calero's eyes lit up. He enjoyed telling this story. "Sister Carol had a reputation for bringing about miracles with her simple little rosary. She would take it to the hospital and pray over sick parishioners, saying various prayers over the beads, and those people would always have a miraculous recovery. In the last thirty years of her life, she prayed over nearly one hundred people, who all made amazing strides in overcoming their illnesses within only a few months. Some were saved from the very jaws of death, or so the story goes.
"I know it sounds like coincidence, but only to people who weren't there. Father Beresford and I knew her the last five years of her life, and we saw some miraculous things in only that short span of time. I once saw a crippled child walk several steps only minutes after she finished the rosary for him. That child had a spinal deformity, and they found a miracle cure for his back within two months of the incident. I've never seen anything like it before."
"So you believe the rosary has power?"
Father Calero sat behind his desk. "If that's the way you want to put it. I think it was Sister Carol's belief, and the old fashioned power of prayer. The rosary is a way to focus your belief as you speak straight to God. It was His will that the prayers should be answered."
"It's a powerful symbol of faith," I added.
"Yes."
"Do you think it could perform a miracle for Tress?"
Blinking at me, he said, "Tress?"
"Theresa. I've started calling her Tress."
"Oh." For some reason, Father Calero seemed a little shaken by that. He paused so long that I started to get uncomfortable. When he spoke again, he said, "We've actually wondered that ourselves, to be honest with you. Since Sister Carol's death, the rosary has been displayed in that case, but it seems wrong for it not to be out there, performing more miracles. If there was someone to pray over it, perhaps the rosary would help cure Theresa's cancer."
"This is a crucial time for her, about to take an important medical test." Pointing to the rosary, I asked, "Could we borrow it?"
Father Calero gave it some thought. "If you'll be extremely careful with it. We all certainly would love to see Theresa become well." He took a key out of his desk and unlocked the case. "Do you know how to say the rosary?"
"That and several other appropriate prayers." My dad had taught them to me. Prayer, another tool in the fight against evil. "I thank you so much for this, Father."
When he put it in my hand, Father Calero folded my fingers around the rosary, holding on protectively. "Please take good care of it. That rosary means a great deal to all of us here at St. Jerome's."
"I promise, I'll look after it with great care." I held up my hand, squeezing the rosary within it. "We're going to cure her."
His eyes softened; it was something he saw in my face. "You have deep feelings for her, don't you?"
Looking down, I must've seemed embarrassed, like I'd been caught at something. "I haven't known Tress long, it's the truth, but... yeah, I care a great deal for her. She's a very strong woman, and I want nothing more for her to be cured."
"We want the same thing." With a sigh, Father Calero leaned on his desk. "Too many good people are taken by this insidious disease. Let's not have Theresa be one of them."
I thanked him again, and as I was leaving the office, he said, "Let me know if you need any counsel on this. I'm a priest; I may know a few extra prayers."
That made me laugh a little. "I will."
"Oh, and Sam?"
"Yes?"
He shifted from one foot to the other, his eyes narrowed. "What'd you say your last name was?"
"Winchester."
"Ah." Father Calero nodded once, and cleared his throat. "Like the gun."
"Yeah."
He nodded again. "Hm."
I left then, wondering why he'd reacted so strangely to a couple of the things that I'd said.
Young Alva was making me suspicious of everyone.
That afternoon, Tress and I decided to have a picnic in the little park next to The Millstone. Her idea. She said she felt better than she had in weeks, and wanted to eat a ham sandwich under one of the biggest oak trees, where we'd have tons of shade. "Ham's the best meat, next to tuna," she declared.
As we ate our sandwiches and chips under that tree, I presented the rosary to her, and explained where it had come from.
Tears came to her eyes. "It's so touching, that Father Calero would let us borrow it. This rosary is so important to the church." Tress held it in her hand, lovingly rolling the beads between her fingers.
"He let us borrow it because you are important to the church," I replied, and gave her a kiss on the mouth.
Tress looked down at her lap, humbled. "This could all be over in just a few weeks. I might be cured." I heard her voice crack, and saw two tears roll down her cheeks.
I put my hand over the one in which she held the rosary. "In a few weeks, you will be cured." Taking the rosary from her, I said, "Here, let me put it on you."
"Put it on me? No, Sam, a rosary isn't jewelry."
"But you're right on the edge of remission. You need to wear it so it will always be on your person in these last few crucial weeks. Besides..." I held it up, ready to slide it over her head. "...you can put it under your shirt so no one knows you're wearing it but you, me, and God."
With a laugh, Tress allowed me to put the rosary around her neck. She touched the little crucifix hanging from its end, then crossed herself in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. "Please forgive me if You consider this blasphemous," she added.
I took a napkin and blotted the tears from her face. "Do you want to pray over it now?"
Tress nodded, and we prayed for her recovery under what would become our tree.
On to Chapters 5-6