Discipline
specialagentsockgarters:
“You’re right. But what you’re forgetting, my dear, is that I’ll be back.” Gordon wasn’t much for big, romantic gestures—the depth of his feeling was in his words, the way he spoke. He was all about simple, sweet gestures of intimacy coupled with the kind of language you’d find in an epic 100+ stanza love poem.
And he was always so patient with Shelly. He didn’t push it much, but he saw the way Bobby came yelling into the diner. The kid was eighteen and a little hotheaded, but he saw the way Shelly was used to be used, talked to. And he’d only heard of Leo. So when she started talking like this, like the way her past partners probably had her thinking, he never rushed to shut her up or reinforce the feelings. It was better, he thought, for him to just make good on his word and be a damn decent person.
“And if I take too long to come back, I hereby give you, Michelle R. Johnson, permission to come and get me.”
Shelly grinned, her lips pulling over her white teeth. A large grin. A truly happy grin. “You better watch out Agent Gordon. I might just surprise you and come early!” She squeezed his hand before letting go, looking up at the equipment placed on the property, already prepping for who ever bought the plot. “Well, I think this area is just too rustic, like I said. Let me write down the current owner’s name and we’ll be off.”
She bent, squinting at the sign stuck in the ground. “Mrs....Elizabeth Boleyn? I thought the name was--”
Above her one of the been squealed in protest, shaking dangerously. A large wire snapped, and suddenly a bag of bricks slid from the beam, falling down down down...
Shelly looked up, seeing the large parcel coming straight for her head, eyes wide, shocked into paralysis--and then she fell back, scrambling in the dust as the bricks slammed into the ground, cracking the dry dirt. Some of the blocks sprung free, jumping out of the back, and sacking into her legs. And then the dust settled. There was silence.
And, then the world for Shelly all went black.
---
“We should have a family dinner on Sunday.” Audrey was sitting on the couch, poking at the fire. They had finished planning for the living room of Dead Dog Farm, and she had finished some of her work before calling it quits for the night. She had suggested in the office that they have an intimate evening with each other and a certain book.
The return of Clarice and her husband was a bright spot on that Sunday. It meant, perhaps, an alleviation of their house arrest. Putting the poker away she turned, waiting for Cooper to finish mixing his drink and for his answer. She had already dressed for the part in her flouncy skirt; she wanted to explore his dominant side again, and see where her own limits were “Maybe Clarice and the doctor, Dana, Harry, Hawk and that Albert.”







