Gun Happy Burn

Prologue

The Blood dried so quickly. It made Rachel’s hands sticky and stiff as she flexed them over and again, trying to crush the panic howling in her heart. She sat in a cold sterile waiting room of a hospital. She could not have told you what hospital, but not the one that she had left her father in the burn unit of earlier that day. She knew that much. It was not the hospital where Josephine Cobb, the cop that had saved her life, now waited to be released and where Rachel and Sam had spent the night after their adventures had finally seemed to be over. How wrong they had been.

This was a different hospital in a different part of Chicago. Maybe it was outside of the city limits. Rachel did not know. The ambulance company that had transported Sam’s unconscious, seemingly lifeless form from Rachel’s parent’s house to this place was from a private company, marked only with the logo of gold, winged feet and the name Achilles’ EMT written on the side. Rachel had ridden in that ambulance which was designed more for the transporting of the rich and powerful to their next nip and tuck than the actual act of saving lives. Rachel thought that it was all a waste. The stretcher with the five thousand thread count sheets, and the extra padding were a waste. The EMT’s who had certainly been trained and certified for emergencies at some point, had grown slow and soft in their servitude to the decadent. Their skill set seemed slow and clumsy to Rachel. If they couldn’t save Sam then it was all waste. Sam had lain there, growing paler as the blood drained from her body, the EMT’s fought to slow the bleeding and Rachel Burn, who had once thought of herself as all powerful, sat by and cried helplessly.

Rachel was done with the tears now. Now she sat in silence, flexing her blood covered hands, too scared to pray, and wondering if Sam, the only person that she had ever loved would survive another surgery to pull yet another bullet from her chest. The doctors had come to tell Rachel to call Sam’s family and tell them to come to the hospital, but Rachel did not know who they were. She had taken Sam’s phone and called Mary and Bell, who arrived later in a flurry of questions, demands and fears that Rachel had been living with for hours. They would know how to tell Sam’s mother and father of Sam’s fate when the time came or if it didn’t. The doctors told Rachel that Sam was bleeding inside and out, and that they had already replaced forty percent of her blood volume. Rachel told them to replace the rest. They told her that Sam had scar tissue from old surgeries, and old bullet wounds that were causing complications, and that Sam might not survive the surgery that had now been going on for over twelve hours. Rachel had shaken her head at them wordlessly and sat down to wait because that was all that was left for her to do. There were no more tears. There was no more overwhelming panic to try to control. There was only terror, cold and dry like the pile of dirt at a winter funeral.

Beside her, Rachel’s mother, Debra sobbed hysterically. It was that over the top, melodramatic howling that no human being should have been able to sustain for more than a few moments. Debra had been howling for hours. Debra was not crying for Sam. She had wished Sam death on more than one occasion. She probably still did. Debra was sobbing for Charles, the man who had put a bullet through Rachel’s head and six through Sam’s chest ten years before. Today he put another bullet through Sam’s chest after he attempted to shoot Rachel. Debra put a bullet in his back to save Rachel, her only child. Charles had survived that bullet, but he would never walk again. Sam might die before morning. Debra sobbed on. Rachel swore in her head that if Sam died that she would kill Charles and then herself, leaving Debra to suffer in the wake of the lives that she had ruined, and then ended. Rachel looked up at her mother again and wondered where she would find a gun.

A doctor approached Rachel. He was wearing green surgical scrubs which had small traces of blood across his abdomen. He was tall, middle aged, with dark brown hair that was greying at the temples. He had deep set brown eyes with soft wrinkles around them that told Rachel that he had smiled a lot less than he should have in his life. He was not smiling now. He had approached Rachel time and time again, and introduced himself each time, but she could not recall his name. He had assured her repeatedly that she was in a state of shock and that it was okay that she didn’t know his name and then he told it to her again. He approached more quickly than he had before, which made Rachel’s mouth go dry, and her back run with cold sweat. She had so much invested in a woman whom she had known for such a little time, but in that time Sam had become everything to her. Rachel fought to rise, found that her legs would not lift her more than a few inches off of the bench, so she remained seated. The doctor sat down heavily beside Rachel, his exhaustion evident in both the jerkiness of his movements and the circles just beginning to darken around his eyes. Rachel stared at him, her mouth thick with saliva that fear had turned into paste. Sam is through the surgery, but she’s not out of the woods. If she makes it through the night I give her a really good chance of surviving. She is a fighter, I will say that, the doctor told Rachel and gave her a weary smile. He had done his best. He had done better than he had ever done in any surgery in the last twenty three years that he had been performing surgeries. He hoped that Sam survived.

She’ll make it. She’ll be fine, Bell assured him. The doctor who had walked into a waiting room containing what he thought to be three women and a man jumped at the sound of Bell’s feminine voice. She always makes it. Bell’s words were tempered with tears of relief that Bell ignored as they rolled down her cheeks. She suddenly bent down and pulled Rachel to her feet and into a bear hug. She always makes it, Bell whispered to the top of Rachel’s head. Mary let out a deep sigh and thanked the doctor for all of his hard work, and hugged him fiercely. He was so exhausted that he let Mary hold him for as long as she wanted. Rachel stayed where she was and let Bell hug her. Relief was a cure for the numbness that had hold of her since the ambulance had brought them to this place. Rachel began to sob her relief into Bell’s shirt even as the words, not out of the woods yet tried to make themselves heard as they circled the space inside of her head.

1

Sam grinned mischievously as she ran her fingertips up the inside of Rachel’s smooth, toned thigh, stopping just before giving Rachel what she wanted. Rachel pretended to be asleep in the early morning light, but the slight reddening of the skin at the base of her throat and the new heat radiating from her told Sam that she was not. Sam lay on her side. The covers that had kept them warm through the cool Michigan night lay tossed onto the floor of their bedroom. The sunlight coming in through the window was enough to keep them warm. The place had once been a vacation rental cabin. Now it was their love nest, their safe haven away from a world that had been unkind to them.

Sam leaned over Rachel and took one hardening nipple between her lips. The taste was slightly salty and vaguely like the many pennies that all children taste as a folly of youth. At first Sam used only her lips to manipulate the sensitive treat, but it was not long before she brought her teeth to play. She was rewarded with a soft moan from Rachel who was now watching her. Good morning, Rachel said to Sam, her eyes slits as Sam continued her attentions. Rachel ran her fingers through Sam’s tangled curls.

Good morning, Sam told her before switching to the other nipple. While she licked, sucked and nibbled, she let her hands run over Rachel’s well-muscled thighs that were suddenly wrapped around her and flipping her over. Sam let out a loud laugh as Rachel climbed on top of her.

Are you ever going to let me sleep in? Rachel asked Sam before kissing her sweetly.

Sam shook her head slowly and sank her teeth into that hollow place where Rachel’s shoulder connected with her neck and felt Rachel’s hips begin to rock above her. Sam ran her fingers up the inside of Rachel’s thighs until she found wetness and pressed her fingers into her lover. Rachel rocked against her fingers slowly. Roll over, Sam told her. Once Rachel was on her back Sam began to nibble at the soft skin of Rachel’s stomach, knowing how sensitive she was there. She licked and kissed a trail of pleasure down until she was tracing the swelling tip of Rachel’s clit with her tongue.

Don’t tease me, Rachel panted, knowing that Sam would do whatever she wanted regardless of how Rachel begged. Sam parted Rachel’s lips with her tongue and reveled in the salty, sweet taste of Rachel’s pussy. Sam ran her tongue around Rachel’s velvety, engorged clit in a circular motion that made Rachel’s thighs begin to tremble instantly. Rachel rocked more urgently against Sam’s tongue and fingers while pulling her lover’s hair with one hand and the bed sheets with the other.

Sam began to slow her motions as Rachel came closer to climax. Rachel groaned her protest, but Sam licked her more and more lightly, turning pleasure into a form of torture all its own. Please! Rachel begged urgently, her hips rising to meet Sam’s hungry hot mouth, but her words fell upon deaf ears. Sam was concentrating more on the clear, slippery liquid spilling out of Rachel and onto the sheets. Sam pressed her fingers deeper into Rachel and down toward the bed which caused more of the fluid to spill forth. Rachel screamed her pleasure as she came, throbbing around Sam’s fingers, and still Sam lapped at her slowly. Stop, Rachel panted with the intensity of the sensations building, not just where Sam licked her but in her chest as well. Her entire body shook to the rhythm of Sam’s lapping. Rachel made some small attempt to pull Sam’s head away from that sensitive part of her that now throbbed with her heartbeat. Her attempt was short lived, however, as her back arched and an orgasm more intense than the first rolled through her.

The milky fluid now squirted out of Rachel and onto Sam’s chin as the pressure of Rachel’s orgasmic contractions pushed Sam’s fingers out of her. Sam grinned and began to lap at Rachel’s clit again, knowing how sensitive it would be. Sam used her tongue to pull Rachel’s clit into her mouth and suck on it.

No, Rachel said, pulling Sam away from her pussy. Sam climbed on top of Rachel and kissed her panting, trembling lover while pinching her clit gently between two fingers. She received a soft cry from Rachel as her back arched again. Oh God!

Four? Sam asked as she nibbled on Rachel’s earlobe, knowing that it would take a moment before Rachel was capable of speaking again. Sam released Rachel’s clit and gently massaged her swollen pussy with the flat of her palm.

No, Rachel answered when she could. Sam placed a wet finger into Rachel’s mouth and Rachel licked her own cum off of it.

We should try. Sam watched her lover sucking on her fingers and shaking her head slowly from side to side. With her other hand she still massaged Rachel, considering whether or not to make her orgasm again. It wouldn’t be hard. Once Rachel came it was easy to make her cum over and over again. She also knew that Rachel might not like the intensity of a fourth orgasm and would stop her. Rachel drew Sam’s hand away from her and kissed her sweetly on the lips, and then licked the light sweat that had formed on the skin of her neck.

No. Oh God, that was intense. Rachel lay back for a moment, endorphins flooding her blood stream and making thought impossible. Her head swam in that kind of pleasant way that reminded her of a boat gently rocking on a calm sea. Sam giggled next to her and played with one of her erect pink nipples.

You should let me, Sam whispered in Rachel’s ear. She had given Rachel four orgasms on exactly two occasions. Once when they were young and Rachel did not know what her body was capable of, and again after their reunion when Rachel had no recollection of their previous life together. Because it makes you cry? Sam asked running a hand over Rachel’s smooth flat stomach while willing her to open her grass green eyes.

It’s just really intense. Why are you so fascinated with this? Rachel asked with a silly lopsided grin as she turned to look at Sam.

Because you won’t let me. Plus, I like it when you beg me to stop and you squirt a lot on the fourth one and I like that too, Sam told her with a kiss. Rachel laughed.

That only happened once, Rachel told her, stroking her smooth slender back.

Twice, Sam corrected her, enjoying the sensation of Rachel running her hands over her warm skin.

Oh. So you knew what would happen? Rachel asked climbing on top Sam.

I did. I liked it the first time and I figured why not go for a second time. Maybe you would enjoy it more than the first time, Sam told Rachel. The first time that she had brought Rachel to orgasmic tears had been when they had been barely twenty. It had happened more by accident than anything else. Sam had discovered that Rachel could have multiple orgasms early in their relationship and had wanted to see how many times she could make Rachel cum. The fourth orgasm had left Rachel trembling in tears from the intensity. As a natural control freak, Rachel had not been able to cope with Sam taking her so far out of herself.

I wish I could do that to you, Rachel said as she opened the drawer of the night stand next to their king-sized bed. She felt around until she found what she was looking for.

I’m not a control freak. It wouldn’t matter to me. Sam sat up a little to kiss Rachel’s chin.

I, my love, am not a control freak, Rachel told her as she stood up and slipped into a harness which was equipped with a nine-inch Vixskin dildo.

You are. Every time I make you feel out of control, you hold me down and fuck me until I scream and you pout if I don’t let you. Use the smaller one this time? Sam grinned at Rachel as Rachel slipped her hand up the inside of Sam’s thighs to find that her lover was already wet and swollen with desire. She left the lube where it was. There was no need. Her fingers came away from Sam coated and slick with desire.

No. I don’t pout, and I just like fucking you with this thing. I like lying on top of you and holding you down while you moan. Rachel pushed her fingers slowly into Sam and received a moan. See? You want me to fuck you. Turn over. Rachel kissed Sam on the lips and let her tongue rove into her lover’s mouth and tangle with her tongue, relishing the taste of herself on Sam’s mouth.

Sam did as she was told, lying on her stomach while Rachel parted her legs, climbed on top of her and slowly inserted the dildo an inch at a time into her already throbbing pussy. The sensation of the head of the thing entering Sam was almost painful. Go slow baby, Sam said, her cheek pressed to the hot damp sheets, her eyes already narrowed in concentration as inch after inch slid slowly into her.

Why? Rachel asked, mischievously as she pressed the dildo as deeply as it would go. Say it. Rachel sank her teeth into the back of Sam’s neck with enough pressure to make the other woman gasp.

No, Sam said defiantly, reaching behind her to search for Rachel’s thick dark hair. Rachel bit her harder, and pressed deeper into her, forcing her to cry out in pain and pleasure at the same time.

Say it, Rachel panted into Sam’s ear as she ground against the base of the dildo that pressed against her still engorged clit. She slid one hand beneath Sam and briefly massaged her swollen clit before grabbing both of her wrists and forcing her hands above her head. Rachel raised her hips until the dildo nearly slipped out of Sam entirely and then pushed it back in slowly. Say it, Rachel repeated as she began another of those long slow strokes that she knew would drive Sam crazy. Why do you want me to go slow?

Because I’m tight, Sam gasped at last, knowing that Rachel would only torture her if she did not do as she was told.

Rachel rolled her hips more quickly until she was at a gentle stroking pace that would bring Sam closer to climax. Say all of it. Tell me what’s tight. Tell me you have a tight, wet pussy.

Sam began to writhe beneath her and make the soft gasping sounds that Rachel loved to hear. My pussy is tight. I have a tight, wet pussy, Sam admitted at last, her breathing now coming in shallow, short gasps. Rachel arched her own back so that she could nibble on the sensitive muscles of Sam’s back as she rocked her hips slowly into Sam. Sam tried to pull her hands out of Rachel’s grasp, but Rachel only tightened her grip on her escaping lover. Sam’s body began to tremble in waves as Rachel worked in and out of her, both of them slick with sweat. Wetness from Sam’s arousal coated both of their thighs, further lubricating their bodies as they slipped against each other.

Rachel slipped the dildo out of Sam and deftly rolled her onto her back, only to enter her once more and began her ministrations again. I want to watch you cum, baby, Rachel told Sam, whose thighs shook even as she wrapped them around Rachel. Sam moaned her approval as she dug her fingers into Rachel’s shoulders. Rachel pulled Sam’s hands away once again and held them at her sides while Sam climaxed, arching with a deep cry. Rachel pressed the dildo deep into her and let Sam ride out the last of her orgasm on it. She undid the clips on the harness that secured it to her and left the dildo in Sam as she crawled between Sam’s legs and began to lick that pink, wet sensitive place and work the dildo in and out with her hand until Sam was arching and moaning again.

2

Sam did her best to finish her painting but the sporadic crack, crack from Rachel’s shotgun made it nearly impossible to concentrate on the landscape that she was trying to create around the central focus on her canvas. The figure stood with his wasted arms outstretched looking weak and wretched. His veins were pressed tightly between his stringy muscle and thin, bronze, sun-damaged skin so that they rolled like a landscape of hills and valleys up and down his arms and legs. He wore a radiant smile on his face, revealing his chipped or missing teeth. His thin grey hair hung limp and lifeless on his bony bronze shoulders. His scars shone with starlight as they etched their way across his torso, a randomly beginning and ending series of rail road tracks. In his left hand he held a burning sun and, in his right, a fetus sleeping with one eye open. It peered at the world and ready, its dreams, a cloud of future hopes spinning slowly above its head. The figure and the contents of his mighty hands had come out exactly as Sam had seen them in her head. He was as majestic and as tragic as anyone could hope, and the wonders which he held were as question inspiring as she had wanted. The mountains around him were entirely another story. They failed to inspire in all of their purple majesty. They would not rise the way that Sam had intended, but slumped and aspired to be hills. One more wrong brush stroke and Sam was certain that she would be forced to scrap the entire project. She could already feel her inspiration slipping from her grasp. She gave up, putting her paint brush into a jar of water, and went to the window to watch her lover destroy targets below her on the deck.

In her mid-thirties, Rachel Burn was a beautiful woman with long fluid lines dominating the planes of her body. She worked out daily and took private martial arts classes to stay in shape. In two years she had already managed to receive her brown belt in the art of the open hand. Her hair was showing the slightest graying pattern around her temples, and random streaks at the crown of her head. She wore it short in a pixie cut just below her ears, which was a change from the shoulder length tresses she had worn for more than a decade at the behest of her mother. Crack, crack, Rachel fired again destroying the clay targets the machine was launching into the air. Somewhere a dog was going wild about the noise, but didn’t dare to appear for fear of becoming a target. Crack. It seemed as though Rachel would never miss.

Sam put her chin in her hands, resting her elbows on the window sill, and remembered the days when Rachel had never held a gun. They were happy days and Rachel had been the sweetest, most sincere and open person that Sam had ever met. They were the days before Rachel’s ex-husband had shot her in the head and erased all of her memories. Rachel later married him not knowing that he had tried to kill her or that Sam existed. For ten years Rachel had disappeared from Sam’s life. Rachel’s parents told all of her friends that she had died. Rachel reappeared as a totally different person, angry and bitter with the world, and completely unable to recall her life before being shot. Now, two years after the melee that ensued when Rachel came back into Sam’s life, she was still guarded, even with Sam, but she was in a lot of ways returning to being that girl that Sam had fallen in love with so many years ago. Still, there were moments, just seconds in all, when Sam would see that girl fighting with the woman and she couldn’t help but wonder which would win in the end. Would it be the gun happy woman or the daydreaming girl?

Sam had come to love watching Rachel shoot the guns that Sam had bought in the days of madness that became her life after Rachel’s ex-husband had shot them both. . Sam was the one that taught Rachel to shoot, but no longer had a desire to pick up a weapon herself. Sam bought her guns after years of fear of being attacked again. She spent years training for the day that another man would come to shoot her dead. That day had come and gone and she was still here. Sam had met her terror head on, and now found that she was past that point in her life. For the first time in a long time she felt safe enough to leave the gun play to someone else.

Sam watched as Rachel made the act of firing a weapon into an art form. Rachel’s hands were as steady as the ground on which she stood, her long back straight, her well-toned arms outstretched in front of her, elbows slightly bent, breathing measured and even. Each squeeze of the trigger was timed so that it fell at the stillest of moments between breaths. Crack, crack. Even her absorption of the recoil on the gun played well through her yielding shoulders. Over the years Sam’s desire for Rachel had not waned. Less than an hour before, they made love in the bed that they shared. Their love making had spilled over onto the bedroom floor and they were even more enthralled with each other than they had been at twenty. They had lived a long decade of pain and strife but it seemed that they had finally found happiness.

The machine finished its load of clay disks and clicked emptily at Rachel. She’d missed the last disk and was none too happy about it. In her pocket her cell phone buzzed away, but she refused to answer it. She had nothing to say to the person on the other end of the line. Sam could see the look on Rachel’s face from the window. She slid it open, and called down to Rachel, How’s about you give that thing a break? Maybe go out to have some breakfast with me in town? Or I could cook. Whatever you want.

You’re a terrible cook, Rachel yelled back at her and then smiled to take the sting out of her comment. It didn’t bother Sam. She was after all a terrible cook. The art of cooking took patience and a lot of attention that Sam didn’t quite possess. She was prone to leaving food on the stove while she painted for hours turning entrees into smoke and ash. So let’s go to town, I’m all out of targets and need some more. A crisp breezed came up off of the lake to lift Rachel’s hair around her face. Sam smiled down at her. Despite everything that had happened, they had found each other and true happiness and no one could take it away from them, Sam thought, even as she wondered about Rachel’s slightly pained expression.

Rachel found Sam wearing jeans and a powder pink tank top that fitted her shapely body very well. Rachel ran her hand over Sam’s slender waist and smirked mischievously remembering how they had spent the morning. Sam made a point of running at least four miles a day to keep in shape. Rachel hated running for any period of time, but loved the fact that Sam loved it. God you’re sexy. Rachel purred just barely letting her lips brush Sam’s ear. She embraced Sam from behind hoping to recreate the way they had spent the morning. She trailed kisses down Sam’s neck, and nibbled her on the shoulder in the space between her bra strap and the tank top, her teeth applying just enough pressure to temporarily redden the skin.

So you were saying this morning. Come on, I’m so hungry I could eat a horse. Sam was tempted to postpone breakfast for a bit of passionate love making, but she knew that once they started it would be hours before they did anything else and the hour of breakfast would have long since come and gone. The morning had left her famished as it was. She grabbed Rachel by the hand and pulled her playfully to the door.

Rachel let out a deep sigh and let herself be led out of the house by her excited lover. Better to resign herself to Sam’s abundant energy than sit around and dwell on the parts of her past that still bothered her, or the phone that was once again buzzing in her pocket. You drive, Rachel said, as she climbed into the passenger seat of the candy apple red Porsche she had given Sam for her birthday. Sam insisted that it was too much, but Rachel refused to take it back and told her that it would just have to sit in the driveway until Sam drove it. Sam loved the car and Rachel loved to watch her drive it through the winding roads and hills of northern Michigan.

Sam slid into the driver’s seat and put the car into gear. She looked more confident behind the wheel of the Porsche than she did doing anything except painting. Sam piloted the vehicle down the private road where they lived and smoothly into the flow of traffic on the highway at a speed Rachel would have considered reckless with anyone else. Even now she gripped the dash board in front of her. Sam rarely ever touched the brakes while driving, choosing instead to maneuver around obstacles in her path. It had a terrifying effect on her passengers.

The wind roared in their ears, rendering conversation impossible. There was really nothing to say. It was a beautiful morning, a beautiful drive, to have a wonderful breakfast. Rachel settled for resting her hand on Sam’s thigh for now enjoying the feel of her muscles flexing as she pressed the accelerator closer to the floor. The trees on the sides of the highway whipped past, their brightly colored leaves becoming a montage of color. Rachel’s phone vibrated in her pocket, she pulled it out to see Debra’s name flashing on the screen and angrily stuffed it back into her pocket. Sam pretended not to notice as she shifted into fourth and pressed the accelerator down, causing the wind to pick up her wild hair and stream it out behind her, a golden banner in the morning sun.

Traffic thinned, slowing to a crawl as Sam and Rachel entered the town of Greenville, Michigan, where the speed limit was twenty miles an hour. The town itself was slow, evolving at a sleepy pace and happily being left behind by the rest of the world. The most exciting thing to happen in nearly a century was two years before when a man was found dead at Sam’s cabin just outside of town on a private lake, and the local sheriff along with two women were taken hostage by another man in the same cabin shortly after. Two years had passed since then, but the story was still on the tip of everyone’s tongue. If a stranger ever happened into the town of Greenville, to ask if anything interesting ever happened in Greenville then it would be the first story they would certainly hear. The second being the growth of the state’s largest pumpkin the year after. The two events were unrelated.

Sam made peace with the speed limit the best way that she knew how, by ignoring it, as she piloted her way down North Lafayette Road, one of two of the townships main roads. Her frequent warnings and infrequent tickets were a small price to pay for the life that she and Rachel lived hiding from the world in small town USA. With Sherriff Marley’s car in view she was forced to slow down before she pulled up in front of the town’s only diner and parked the car.

Sam could smell the food cooking before she turned off the ignition. It made her stomach rumble loud enough for Rachel to hear. She laughed. We should probably grocery shop more often you know, so your stomach doesn’t have to go to war to get what it wants. Rachel smiled at Sam and kissed her hand sweetly, wishing that they could go and park somewhere like teenagers and explore each other’s bodies more.

Well you should stop pulling me into hours and hours of lovemaking and we might be able to get that grocery shopping done. Sam kissed Rachel sweetly on the cheek and hopped out of the car, dashing for the door of the diner before Rachel could say anything else to slow her down. Last one in, buys, Sam called back over her shoulder as she pulled the door open.

You started this morning! I was sleeping, Rachel called after her. Rachel couldn’t help but laugh as she climbed out of the car. It was still early spring and already the air was warm for this time of year. Snow could still be seen in places where it had been piled high for months, but it seemed that for all intents and purposes that winter had come and gone. Rachel thought of all of the arguments for and against global warming as she made her way into the restaurant in search of her hungry lover. She found Sam at a table with their friends, Mary and Bell, studying the menu as though she would have to take a test on it.

Good morning, Mary said cheerfully as Rachel slid into the booth beside her. This one says you were trying to starve her. Mary took Rachel’s hand and gave it a squeeze under the table. Mary would no longer admit it, but she believed Rachel’s return to them after ten years of thinking that Rachel was dead nothing less than a God-given miracle. After a tragic shooting, Rachel had been hidden from the people in her life by her parents who told them that she was dead. Two years had passed since Rachel’s miraculous return to the living and Mary still looked surprised every time Rachel returned after more than a few days absence. She said she almost died.

She could have cooked, Rachel told them, picking up the menu and realizing how truly hungry she was. The last time she had eaten was when she and Sam shared an apple the night before.

Then she definitely would have died, Bell laughed good-naturedly, fully aware that she and Sam might be the worst cooks in the state. Bell had excused herself from the sport of cooking, claiming that there was no point in trying when Mary was so good at it. She saved her culinary skills for the monstrosity of the grill that she kept in her and Mary’s yard.

Hey, I microwave an awesome TV dinner, Sam protested with a laugh after deciding what she wanted. She had destroyed many a TV dinner in her time while day dreaming.

I’m still wondering how you two live without grocery shopping. Mary watched the waitress refill her coffee mug. That’s why you’re both so skinny. Fat people can’t be fat without eating. Mary slapped her perfectly shaped thick thighs to emphasize her point.

You’re not fat. You’re perfect, Bell told her as she ran her hand up Mary’s skirt under the table and got a light playful slap for her troubles. Bell winked at Sam even as she tried to caress Mary under the table again.

Are you ready to order? The waitress asked. She was new to town, living there for only two months at the most. She didn’t know anyone, and never spoke to anyone outside of work. Sam wondered what her story was. Why would anyone come to a town with a population of five hundred and not try to make any friends? Maybe she was hiding from whatever life she had left behind. Maybe too many years of too many bad people had left the waitress with a bad taste in her mouth.

Sure. Sam purred at her like a cat. I will have the short stack, the southwestern skillet, fries, and the butcher shop omelet, oh and orange juice, Sam told the waitress.

How are you going to eat all of that with your little self? Mary asked with a laugh. You ain’t put on a pound in the seventeen years that I’ve known you.

She’s not. I’ll have a coffee and will help her with her very ambitious breakfast. Rachel handed the menu to the waitress fully aware that between the two of them they wouldn’t be able to finish such a large amount of food, despite the heroic effort she was sure that they would make.

So we were planning on going down to Palm Springs for the Dinah Shore weekend, Mary announced after Sam and Rachel had finished most of their food and while they were all sipping coffee letting breakfast settle. Amazingly, Sam and Rachel had finished nearly everything that the waitress set before them. Sam was still lazily picking at the remainder of the fries while Mary spoke. We deserve a few days in the sun watching scantily clad women playing water polo. We were wondering if you two would like to come. We were able to rent a house for the week, and it’s a big place so there would be plenty of room. Plus it would be like old times, the six of us goofing off, not a care in the world.

A shadow passed over Rachel’s face and she continued to sip her coffee without comment. The phone in her pocket was buzzing once again draining away all of her illusions of having a happy morning. The thick steam from the coffee that wafted up her nose became bitter where it had been enticing only moments before. She put the cup down and pushed it away from her.

It would be, but we would be missing the Amys. Sam smiled thinking of their two long lost friends. One Amy had run off to Europe to marry a balding millionaire and the other Amy never got over the desertion of her lover and went through girlfriends faster than most women went through underwear.

The Amys? Rachel asked, reluctant to join a conversation about going anywhere, but too curious to let the subject go. She went days without hearing about her past life, or even thinking about it, but when the subject did come up she could not fight her curiosity no matter what sort of mood she was in. She had lost more than two decades of herself which she would love to reclaim. The phone in her pocket gave one last lonely insistent buzz, indicating that the caller had left yet another voicemail.

Our other roommates in college, the Amys, Bell, Mary, Susie, and us all rented a house together for years. We had a blast. I bet Amy still thinks you’re dead. Sam smiled, loving the idea of surprising someone else with the fact that Rachel was alive, especially Amy who did not surprise easily.

Well she can go on thinking it. I don’t want to meet anyone else. Excuse me. Rachel got up and headed for the rest room.

What’s wrong with her? Bell asked.

I don’t know. I think that her mother called just before we left. Sam sighed and watched her lover’s retreating back. Every time that woman calls Rachel behaves like a spoiled child, a very angry spoiled child. Sam and Rachel had found her mother and Rachel’s ex-husband, who had tried to kill her, in bed together shortly after discovering that her ex-husband had been the shooter that wiped out most of her life. Rachel refused to talk to her mother, or even to answer the phone when she called, and had only programmed her mother’s name in to better avoid answering her calls. Rachel will never forgive her for what she did. Not that she should.

Ah, Debra. Mary said remembering her one brief encounter with Rachel’s mother. It had not gone well. Debra had proved to be as obnoxious as her daughter had been sweet. Like her daughter, Debra left a lasting impression; but, unlike Rachel’s, it was not one that you enjoyed. Rather, it was one you wished that you could wash off in a hot shower. How could such a horrible woman raise such a sweet girl?

Sam shrugged. Nannies. Rachel still thinks that she should have known about Debra and Charles somehow. Like she should have had radar for crazy people built in when she was born. She’ll get over it in a little bit. She’ll be fine. I’ll let you guys know about taking the trip down to Palm Springs. She can stay here and sulk if she wants to, but I am definitely in. Sam got up and left the money for the bill on the table. She hugged her two oldest friends good-by and headed for her car.

Well definitely let us know in the next couple of days. We’ll have a blast. Get her to come. Bell is working on getting Amy to come. You know she’s a food critic now, so she can pretty much work anywhere she wants. Doesn’t have to take time off or anything, Mary called after her hopefully.

3

Sam put the top up on the Porsche before pulling out of the parking space. She wanted to talk to Rachel rather than let the wind tangle her hair any further. So Debra called? she asked when Rachel got into the car.

She did, Rachel answered, crossing her arms across her chest and assuming the posture of a pouting child, her long legs splayed out in front of her, her nose pointed solidly to the glass. I didn’t answer.

You never answer. I was thinking that maybe you should. You haven’t said one word to her since that thing with Charles happened, and every time you hear about her or from her, you act like this. All things aside she is your mother and she’s never going to go away. Maybe you should hear what she has to say. At the very least she might stop calling if you let her say her piece. She did shoot Charles and save your life. She clearly loves you on some deranged level.

"I should talk to Debra because I don’t want to travel across the country and meet any more of your friends? They are your friends. If they want to meet me then they can come here. I don’t have any friends." Rachel added the last part to try to separate herself from the situation. She felt as though Sam was trying to force her to become the woman that she had been before the shooting by surrounding her with old faces. Sam’s parents were en-route to re-meet her as they spoke, which would no doubt be a disaster with screaming and hugging, all of which Rachel was in no mood for. There was, of course, the other aspect of meeting people from her past. She was not that girl that everyone loved. She was a woman that most people had not only hated but feared for a decade. Rachel did not know that girl and did not believe that she was capable of being that person. Her only ambition of coming close was when she was in Sam’s arms, giggling at the strange and often silly things that Sam whispered to her in the dark.

Right. You don’t have any friends. Nobody in the whole wide world loves you. Poor you. Maybe Bell and Mary should be planning to throw you a pity party instead of inviting you on a vacation with them, because I’m sure as hell not going to do it! Sam had long since grown impatient with Rachel when she was feeling sorry for herself. What had happened had happened. It had destroyed both of their lives, ending Rachel’s as she knew it and driving Sam into mental instability that had landed her in a mental institution and a few jails besides.

I can’t believe that you just said that to me. I am so angry with you, Rachel told Sam, glaring as the car bounced from lane to lane and around car after car.

Well, I’m angry with you for refusing to deal with this and for being nasty to me about it. I understand if you never want to see any of those people again. I really do. But I won’t accept you wallowing in self-pity and being a jerk to the people around you who are only trying to help. Your family is something that you will never be able to get over by running away from them. You have to deal with them. Sam kept her voice low and even, doing her best to avoid a screaming match in the small car.

Rachel let out an audible sigh and put her face in her hands. She had tried for so long to block out thoughts and memories of her estranged family and its spiral into insanity. Her father tried to have Sam killed only two years before and was nearly killed by one of the men he ordered to do it. Her mother had shot her ex-husband in the back, crippling him after he had shot Sam and tried to shoot Rachel in the head for the second time. Only a few short minutes before that, Rachel had caught her mother and her ex-husband in bed together. It was too much for her to deal with, but at the same time it was far too much to get away from.

I can’t do that, Rachel admitted finally. I can’t deal with them now. I couldn’t even deal with them before I knew what they did to me, or before I found out that my mother was sleeping with my ex-husband, or before I knew that he tried to kill me. I hadn’t talked to any of them in a year before all of that went down. I can’t deal with them now.

Well she’s just going to keep calling, and calling, and she sent a certified letter to me last week threatening to take legal action against me if I didn’t let you see her, so you have to deal with her. You don’t have to forgive her. You don’t have to have a deep and meaningful relationship with her. You do have to ask her the questions that are on your mind and say the things to her that you won’t say to me. Sam pulled the car into the long driveway leading to the cabin that she and Rachel shared, only to find that her private drive was already occupied.

"I’m not ready for that.