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Subject: {ASSM} MB62 Tina Vasquez - Texas Ranger (7) by Rachael Ross (F/F, Police,  Rom, Drama)
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Note: Mixed Bag is a compilation of stories by Rachael Ross and
contains a Foreword and 65 chapters. It is being posted to ASSM
largely in sequence. See MB00 for a table of contents. All stories
copyrighted 2008 Rachael Ross all rights reserved. rache696@yahoo.com
visit my website at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/rache/www/index.htm and see my
blog http://anarchyforbeginners.blogspot.com/ for additional
information. Thanks. -rr


Adults Only

Mixed Bag - Chapter Sixty Two



Tina Vasquez - Texas Ranger (Part 7)

by rache


=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Story Codes: F/F, Police, Romance, Drama

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=




    "Why'd you do it?" Tina asked, looking at Floyd Peterson's
reflection in her rearview mirror.

    The older man didn't say anything, his lined face drawn into a
scowl as he looked out the window.

    "McKinnen's talking," Tina shrugged. "Moore's going to roll over.
I'll have a State Prosecutor here in the morning, a couple
unfriendlies to drive you down to San Antonio..."

    "Hmph," Floyd shook his head.

    "Old as you are," Tina sighed, "you're looking at life, Floyd. You
know that?"

    The man shifted uncomfortably and the stainless steel around his
wrists rubbed together with a metallic sound.

    "A little cooperation and you might get to see the sun again,"
Tina continued and then shrugged. "It doesn't really matter though;
it'll all come out soon enough. It always does, Floyd."

    Peterson pursed his lips and watched his town go by slowly. There
wasn't anything to say and the Ranger was right. It would all come out
anyway, but he was getting old.

    "Money," the coroner said and Tina looked at him in the mirror,
arching her eyebrows. "I didn't have anything to do with Barbara
getting killed."

    "But you covered it up," Tina said.


=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=


    Early Saturday evening, on the day Barbara Welch was discovered
floating face down in the college swimming pool, Coach Riles was at
the Silver Corral. He'd bought a couple Lone Stars for Floyd Peterson,
the County Coroner, and Owen Fiddler, the County Sheriff. They were
the two men most responsible for finding out what had happened to
Barbara and why.

    "You gonna call it, Floyd?" Riles looked at the coroner and they'd
know each other a lot of years.

    "Accidental?" Doctor Peterson was slightly older, in his 50's, and
he had a thin white beard over his gaunt face that he liked to scratch
at when he was unhappy. He was scratching now and looking at Sheriff
Fiddler.

    "All I got on my desk is death by drowning." Owen took a drink.

    The sheriff was the youngest of them, but not by much. A large,
florid man in his forties, Fiddler was a bully and therefore something
of a coward, in Floyd's opinion. He couldn't do anything without the
official Coroner's Finding and that was a fact that relieved him
greatly. He was going to do whatever was easy.

    Floyd looked at Riles. "I don't like it. I don't like it one tiny
bit, you understand me? This ain't fixing some little drug test for
one of your boys, this here's a body." He took a drink and looked
around, lowering his voice. "A goddamn body on my table and she sure
as shit didn't die of a heart attack!"

    "Says drowning on my desk," Fiddler repeated, just because it made
him feel better. Like every time he said it, he was washing his hands
a little cleaner.

    "Shut up, Owen. This here's man talk," Peterson said, ignoring
Fiddler's frown as he stared back at Riles. "I'll bury this, bury it
goddamn deeper 'n Davy Crocket, but you fuck me and I'll bury you too.
I'll bury you and your boys, and your whole goddamn program."

    Coach Riles nodded. "Ain't nobody gonna fuck you on this one. You
just make sure you and Owen sell it. Ethan ain't stupid." He paused
and looked down at his beer, spinning the bottle in his fingers. "How
much?"

    "Ten thousand," Floyd said. "And that ain't negotiable, Coach."

    "I have to make some calls for that," Riles frowned.

    "What about me?" Fiddler wondered, looking between the two men.

    "You'll get yours," Peterson looked at the Sheriff. "What did you
do with that report?"

    "Yours? It's on my desk," Fiddler shrugged. "Why?"

    "Burn it," Peterson said, and he was scratching his beard again,
knowing he should have held on to his findings.

    It was a thin file, but detailed with the Doctor's notes and
photographs from his examination of Barbara's body. Whatever else he
might have been, Floyd was a competent pathologist and in this
instance he'd been a little too efficient, but he hadn't been
expecting Riles to call him up either. There was plenty of evidence in
there to prove the woman had been raped for certain, and probably
murdered during or just after that cruel experience.

    "Sure," Fiddler agreed. "I'll take care of it, but I'm going to
need something to say..."

    "Don't worry," Floyd said. "I'll write up another one, nobody will
know the difference."


=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=


    "Riles approached you then?" Vasquez asked and Peterson nodded.

    "Yeah," he said. "What else was he going to do? The woman..."

    Floyd drew a heavy breath and let it out slowly while Tina waited.

    "You didn't see what they did to her," the man finally said. "I
don't know who or how many, but it was more than one or two."

    "And you covered it up," Tina said and she had seen the pictures
from the file Peterson thought had been destroyed. "For ten thousand
dollars?"

    "It's wasn't just the money," Floyd said. "That was just...
punishment. Give Riles something to worry about."

    "I don't understand," Vasquez said.

    "It's my town," Peterson explained in a dull voice. "All we have
is that college out there. Something like this would close it down,
you see? The people living here, they don't have anything else."

    "Right," Tina nodded, finding the man's rationale hardly
sympathetic. "So Riles paid you?"

    "Huh? Oh..." Floyd shrugged. "I got call later from some people in
Houston, you know. The people who own the college and they wanted to
make sure what they were buying."

    "These people have a name?"

    "George Burdett," Peterson said. "He's on the board, one of the
trustees. He's the one I talked to."

    "In Houston," Tina nodded. "And he's the one you called when Lisa
Thomas was found?"

    "Yeah," the coroner nodded. "He didn't trust Moore to take care of...
things."

    "Okay."

    "You don't seem awfully surprised by any of this," Peterson
observed. "You knew she was raped?"

    "I had my suspicions," Tina said, pulling into the Sheriff's
Department parking lot.

    "You got the file," Floyd narrowed his eyes and he'd been
wondering what the detective had on him, now he knew. It was the only
thing that made sense.

    "I got the file," Tina agreed with a sigh, parking the car and
turning off the engine.


=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=


    "I thought Coach said we were supposed to disappear for awhile,"
Roy said as he peeled the plastic off a Slim Jim.

    "Yeah," Mike nodded, watching the pink and blue neon lights of the
Howard Johnson's Motor Lodge flicker to garish life.

    "So..." Roy stuffed the roll of greasy meat into his mouth and
talked while he chewed. "What are we doin' here?"

    "Waitin' on that blonde chick," Mike said patiently. "She's gonna
disappear too, remember?"

    "Oh yeah!" Roy grinned and then narrowed his eyes. "What about
Coach though?"

    "Hey," Mike looked at his big, black friend. "Coach ain't gotta
know anything about this, right? Long as we're out of town for the
weekend, that's all he cares about."

    "Why?" Roy wondered.

    "Why what?" Mike asked, shaking his head as Roy dug another Slim
Jim out of his pocket.

    "Why do we gotta get out of town?" the man asked reasonably.

    "I dunno," Mike shrugged. "Somebody's askin' around he said."

    "About..." Roy frowned and the other boy nodded.

    "Yeah," Mike nodded. "He asked me if anybody had talked to me
about it."

    "Shit," Roy looked at his half-unwrapped Slim Jim and threw it on
the dash. "I thought you said we weren't gonna get caught. Coach was
fixin' it for us. That's what you said."

    "I know what I said," Mike said, starting to get annoyed. " We
ain't gonna get caught. There ain't even a body anymore, okay? Coach
just wants us out of town so he can make sure."

    "Make sure," Roy said slowly. "That don't sound too good to me,
man."

    "You worry too much," Mike snorted. "Just relax. After it gets
dark, we'll grab this bitch and get her out to the canyon. Coach is
gonna take care of business here."

    "You think she's up there?" Roy asked, looking through the
windshield towards the upper floor of the two story motel.

    "Yeah," Mike smiled. "Where else is she gonna be?"

    "She was fine as hell too," Roy was smiling again.

    "Hey, grab a couple beers out of the back," Mike said with a jerk
of his head.

    They had a big cooler full of beer and the other guys would be
bringing even more, and a lot of food too. Enough to last them until
Monday, maybe, Mike thought. He hoped so anyway because it was going
to be a long, hot weekend and gang raping that Emily bitch was going
to be thirsty work.


=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=


    "Hey Floyd, uh...Oh!" Deputy Hansen blinked as he realized the
County Coroner was wearing a pair of handcuffs behind his back.

    "Is the Sheriff here?" Tina asked and she was holding Floyd by the
left elbow.

    "Hey, er...I mean, no ma'am," the young man scratched his head.
"He's out someplace, I don't know where, but...Do you want me to find
him?"

    "I need a holding cell for Doctor Peterson," Vasquez said.

    "What, uh...What for?" Hansen asked.

    "Covering up the murder of Barbara Welch," Tina looked at the
deputy. "Where's your keys?"

    "Keys? Oh! Yeah, um...Here..." Deputy Hansen started moving slowly out
from behind the dispatch desk where he'd spent most of the day. "We
only got two holding cells, uh..."

    "All I need is one, Deputy," Tina said. "Let's go."

    "Maybe I should call..." Hansen looked at the radio and frowned.
"Does the Sheriff know about this?"

    "Not yet," Tina said humorlessly. "Is anyone else here?"

    "No ma'am," the young man shook his head. "Helen left about half
an hour ago and..."

    "Okay," Vasquez nodded. "Let's get the Doctor into a cell. I need
to make some phone calls."

    "Alright," Hansen agreed, frowning beneath Floyd's unhappy glare.

    The old man hadn't said a word and Hansen didn't know what was
going on, but the woman was a Texas Ranger and he was smart enough to
know that gave her jurisdiction over everyone else, including himself
and Sheriff Fiddler, if it came down to it. But Hansen wasn't happy
about none of this, being out of the ordinary like it was. Anything
different was bad, in his opinion, and it wasn't an uncommon sentiment
in the town of West Abilene.

    "Working late," Tina smiled for the first time all afternoon as
she spoke to Captain Mahoney.

    "Yeah, no rest for the wicked," the man chuckled tiredly. "What
have you got for me?"

    Tina retrieved her notebook from her open purse and the Captain
listened for five uninterrupted minutes while Tina recounted her long
day. At the end of it she'd requested two uniformed state troopers and
a state prosecutor from the Attorney General's office. There were
going to be at least four more arrests made, namely Fiddler, Riles,
Moore, and McKinnen, whom Tina had warned not to leave town. The
funeral director knew what was coming and he was eager to clear his
conscience.

    "What about the perps?" Mahoney asked. "You have any ID on who did
it?"

    "Not yet," Tina admitted. "Riles knows who it was though. I just
need a few minutes with him, Captain. This whole mess is ready to come
down with one good kick."

    "Yeah," Mahoney said. "Sounds like it. I'll get somebody on that
connection with Houston, that's gonna be a can of worms."

    "You know Burdett?" Tina asked, because the name hadn't meant
anything to her.

    "Burdett," Mahoney said. "I think so. Some old oil money there. A
lot of political connections, we'll need that college president as
soon as you can find him."

    "Right," Tina agreed. "I'll see if I can..."

    "Vasquez?" Mahoney asked when the woman didn't finish her thought.
"Tina...You there?"

    "Yeah," she answered slowly. "Sheriff Fiddler is pointing his
weapon at me."

    "What?"

    "Put the phone down," Fiddler said, licking his lips and pointing
his Ruger at the Ranger from less than a dozen feet away.

    "You're already in a lot of trouble, Sheriff," Tina said calmly,
replacing the telephone receiver in its cradle. "You don't want to
make it worse."

    "Shut-up," he breathed and his red face was damp with sweat. "You
think you know it all, huh?"

    "No sir," Tina said, keeping her eyes on Fiddler's. "I don't know
anything yet. Why don't you put the gun away and explain it to me?"

    "Come waltzin' into my town," Fiddler breathed. "Got that big car
and that big Texas Ranger badge of yours and you think I'm just gonna
get down and kiss your brown ass..."

    "Sheriff..." Tina started to stand up slowly, using the movement as
an excuse to move her left hand closer to her open purse.

    "You lied to me, you fuckin' whore," Fiddler pulled the hammer
back with his thumb. "You think I'm going down? Not until they bury
you, bitch..."

    "Put your gun down, Sheriff!" Hansen's shaky voice surprised
Vasquez and Fiddler both, but neither of them looked away from each
other.

    "Stay outta this, boy!" Fiddler said and his face was a mask of
hatred, his glazed eyes fixed on the woman in front of him.

    "N-No sir," Hanson cleared his throat. "Put your gun down or
else..."

    "Or else what?" Fiddler turned his head, just for an instant to
look at his deputy and that gave Tina as much time as she needed.

    "Drop your weapon!" Vasquez ordered crisply even as she brought
her nine millimeter up from the desk.

    "Fuck!" Fiddler jerked with confused surprise and the .357 went
off with a roar in his hand.

    BLAM!! BLAM!!

    Vasquez pulled the trigger twice, putting two bullets center mass,
and the sheriff staggered for a heartbeat and then crumpled to the
floor like both of his legs had been broken. A second later the
detective was kicking the revolver away from the fallen man's limp
fingers. Fiddler was laboring to breathe and his shirt was awash with
blood.

    "Shit," Hansen stood dumb and immobile, still pointing his own
pistol at the place where the Sheriff had been standing a few seconds
before.

    "Get Peterson out here!" Vasquez told him.

    "You shot him," the deputy said.

    "Hansen! We need a doctor!"

    Tina was ripping Fiddler's shirt open, knowing it was too late.
She'd hit him in the lungs, both of them probably, and there was a
crimson froth bubbling from the Sheriff's pale lips. By the time
Hansen had unlocked the holding cell and hurried the coroner to
Fiddler's side it was almost over.

    "I can't do anything for him here," Peterson frowned, wiping at
Fiddler's chest and clearing away just enough blood to find the two
bullet entry wounds with his fingertips.

    "Ambulance is coming," Hansen yelled from the dispatch desk.

    "Huhhh eh hmmm..." the Sheriff's mouth opened and his chest fell
slowly like a tire going flat.

    "No hurry," the doctor pulled Fiddler's eyelids down with his
bloody fingers and leaned close to whisper in the dead man's ear.
"Shoulda burned that file like I told ya to, Owen."


=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=


    "First time?" Hansen wondered, setting a Coke down in front of
Vasquez and the woman was shaking noticeably.

    The ambulance had taken Fiddler's body away, leaving nothing but a
large bloodstain behind. Peterson was back in his cell. And now,
fifteen minutes after killing a man, Tina was feeling it. The
adrenaline was overwhelming, as was the sadness inside her. Somewhere
in the far wall was the bullet Fiddler had fired, accidentally Tina
believed, but at the time it happened, when she'd seen the flash and
heard the sound of that gun going off...She'd done the right thing. She
knew that, but that didn't make her feel any better.

    "First time I killed somebody," Tina nodded. "Yeah."

    "I didn't ever draw my gun before," Hansen said softly.

    "You did okay," Tina looked at him. "Thank you."

    "Yeah," Hansen said, but he didn't know what to say or even to
feel right then.

    When he'd looked into the main office and saw that the sheriff was
holding a gun on the Texas Ranger, he hadn't really considered that
someone could die. It was all a misunderstanding or something, that's
what the deputy had been thinking. He wasn't ever going to shoot the
man, Hansen realized. When Fiddler's revolver had gone off, Hansen
hadn't even had his finger on the trigger. But this woman had shot him
twice, without thinking about it. She'd just done it and the deputy
got up without another word.

    "You okay? What happened?" Mahoney wanted to know.

    "Fiddler's dead," Tina cleared his throat. "He got off one round
and I returned fire."

    "One round at you?" Mahoney asked and this conversation was
admissible and they both understood that.

    "Yes sir," Tina sighed. "He missed and...I didn't. He was pronounced
dead at the scene."

    "Witnesses?"

    "One," Tina said. "Deputy Hansen had his weapon drawn..."

    "Did he discharge the weapon?"

    "No," Tina said.

    "Alright. Shit," Mahoney breathed. "I'll have some people there
tonight. Um, you're relieved for forty-eight hours..."

    "My case..." Tina protested.

    "You were in a shooting, Tina," Mahoney said. "You know the rules.
Forty-eight hours and you get some rest. I got Mitchell and Simmons on
their way. You turn over what you have to them."

    "But, Captain..."

    "Come on back to Austin in the morning and we'll run the shooting
board," Mahoney said. "You'll be fine, Tina. It was a good shoot,
right?"

    "Yes sir. It was...good," Tina sighed, hating that term suddenly and
wondering if there really was such a thing. She knew the rules too and
the reasons for them.

    An inquiry would be held and she'd have to see a psychiatrist and
get evaluated. A shooting was a serious business and she'd killed a
man, another law enforcement officer, and that would bring attention
of another kind. Maybe. Vasquez wasn't in trouble, it was just the
formalities required by the situation and Tina dearly wished Fiddler
hadn't pulled his gun. He'd come looking for her though, she reminded
herself. He'd brought it on himself because desperate men do desperate
things, and being brought down by a woman, by a female Ranger who
wasn't even white? That must have pushed a button deep in the man's
fragile ego.

    "Shit," Tina hung up the phone and wondered why real life wasn't
like television.

    Shoot a bad guy and nobody cares, she thought carelessly and then
suffered through a sudden wash of guilt. On television, those dead bad
guys just get back up, change their clothes, and go out for a beer
after a hard day at work. Tina realized she was shaking again and she
understood that it was stress. She'd killed a man and now she was
trying to learn to live with it.

    Yeah, she needed some time. She needed to relax and remember why
it had happened. Why Fiddler was the bad guy. Tina needed to see Emily
and tell the woman about her sister and what had happened to Lisa.
That would help and she knew Emily would need a strong shoulder to cry
on. Yeah, the Ranger decided, taking care of Emily would help Tina
take care of herself. It would give her something more important to
worry about than feeling guilty for a man who didn't deserve it.


=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=


    "I've seen death before," the man said and Tina looked up sharply.
"I expect you have too."

    "Who are you?" the Ranger asked, but she had a pretty good idea.

    "It doesn't wash away." He was standing in the office, looking
down at the bloodstained carpet where Owen Fiddler had lain half an
hour previously.

    "Ethan?" Helen Summers stopped as she returned from the ladies
room. She'd been about the first person Deputy Hansen had called. If
anyone knew what to do, the young man thought, it would be Helen and
she'd put him to work immediately, calling in everyone else.

    "Helen." Ethan stood there, looking at Barbara.

    He'd made all the arrangements. The college was paying for
everything and he'd done his best, he was trying to tell her. He'd
done his very best. She was so beautiful, he thought, even lying there
lifeless. She looked far closer to 28 years of age, than the 38 that
she was. Her black hair was brushed neatly, framing her lovely face.
The morticians, Tyler and his boy, had done a good job; Barbara looked
like she was asleep, perhaps even dreaming of something sweet. Her
face was relaxed, composed, and at peace.

    Ethan's secretary, Laura, had gone to Barbara's house and found
suitable clothes, a pale blue gown that the Thomas girl had said was
one of Barbara's favorites. It was a bit of a surprise to learn that a
freshman girl was living with Barbara, but there was no need to bring
that up, he thought. His secretary, who was a practical woman with a
generous heart, agreed completely. How strange that death had a way of
making the little things right. If Barbara had still been alive and
someone had found out, she'd have been run out of town on a rail. The
Thomas girl too, probably. But now...

    Ethan sighed.

    It was late for viewing, but Lisa didn't care. She'd come in that
morning and left when she couldn't cry any more. Then come back after
lunch and wept again. Now, after dinner, she felt the need again. She
saw the college president standing there alone with Barbara, and she
walked over to him. The nineteen year old tried to smile bravely, but
her lower lip trembled even so.

    "Hello Lisa. How are you doing, dear?" Ethan felt a little
awkward, wanting to comfort the girl, but not really knowing how. He'd
never had children, never even been married. He suddenly felt very
lonely.

    "I'm...good, sir. Thank you." She wiped her eyes and sniffed a
little. "I wanted to thank you for...for this too. I know that Bar...that
she would have liked it."

    "Barbara was a good woman Lisa," Ethan said gently, finally
reaching out to touch the girl's shoulder. "She was a good teacher and
a good friend." He looked down at his shoes for a moment. "And I know
she was...special to you. It's okay to be sad."

    Lisa nodded.

    "But..." Ethan gave her a soft little squeeze and looked in the
young woman's eyes, "...this is important now. Don't you ever be
ashamed. Never."

    He hadn't intended to say that, it had just come out.

    The girl suddenly hugged him, sobbing weakly against his chest and
Ethan hugged her back, patting her shoulder for several long minutes
until she regained control of herself. Lisa stood up straight and
looked gratefully into Ethan's face.

    "Thank you," she tried smiling again and it was a little easier
maybe.

    "I'm going to go. I think you and Barbara deserve a little time
alone," Moore said gently.

    Ethan gave her a paternal kiss on the cheek and walked away,
flipping a little latch on the door so it would lock behind him. It
wasn't exactly permitted, but the college had paid a lot of money for
this, and he'd talk to the funeral director. He really did think Lisa
and Barbara needed time. The girl was young and seeing her hurting
like that was as much as the old man could bear.

    Lisa stood there for a long time, just looking and finally
talking. Starting with how much she missed Barbara already and her how
beautiful she was, how everything was so nice. And then she started
telling Barbara all the things she'd wanted to, but had forgotten
about while the woman had been alive. And she told Barbara all the
things she'd wanted to tell her, but had been foolishly afraid of
saying. And finally, Lisa told Barbara all the things she'd dreamt of
saying, someday...and now she never would.

    There was the soft rattle of a key in the door and the Funeral
Director, an austere gentleman, peered inside. His eyes were soft and
brown and he smiled at Lisa apologetically. "Dr. Moore told me you'd
be in here, Miss Thomas. I usually close up about this time..."

    McKinnen explained gently the arrangement he'd made with Ethan
Moore, at least so much as Lisa needed to know of it. She could stay
as long as she needed to and that was all that mattered. Lisa didn't
say anything; she just watched the door shut again. She walked to it,
finding the door was indeed locked again, and she turned the lights
down a little, using a small round dimmer switch. It was so quiet.
Lisa moved a chair close and just sat there a long time, leaning
against the casket as though she might sleep, but she didn't. She was
remembering.

    "The first time I saw you, Barbara," Lisa spoke softly, gazing
down at the woman. "I wanted to be your friend. You were so...different...
so special. I only joined the swim team because of you, just so I
could meet you. So I could talk to you." She smiled as she recalled
those feelings from less than a year previously. "I wasn't very good,
was I? But you..." Lisa sighed. "You kept pushing me and helping me and...
you taught me so much, Barbara."

    Lisa wept a little then before she could continue.

    "And then when we...we went to see that play, in Abilene. You told
me that you wouldn't...that you couldn't love me the way you wanted to.
The way I wanted you to. Do you remember? And I cried, Barbara. I
never told you, but that night when I got home I cried so much. I
didn't understand. It hurt so much."

    Lisa felt her heart aching because that pain had never gone away
completely and now it was back and a thousand times worse.

    "And then, later when we were alone and you told me that...that you
couldn't help it. You touched me and I cried again, but I was so
happy, my love. When you finally touched me. When you kissed me. I
felt so...perfect. I miss you so much. Please don't leave me, Barbara.
Don't go, please. I love you too much, let me trade with you. Oh God,
don't leave me here. Take me instead, please God!"

    And Lisa cried bitterly then because she knew it was selfish. What
if it had been her, what would Barbara have done or said? Lisa
couldn't bear the thought of hurting her that way, of imagining
Barbara feeling the way she did.

    "I'm so sorry, Barbara, so sorry my darling love," she blinked
hard, but didn't bother anymore with wiping at her tears. "Sleep now,
just...sleep. I will see you again. I'll love you again, forever and
ever. I swear it, my sweet love."

    Lisa felt so tired, physically and emotionally. The girl was
exhausted and running on the negative energy of her depression. She
hadn't eaten, hadn't slept. She'd wept and paced and lain awake,
filled with pain and sadness and guilt at being left behind. And anger
at God for doing this. For letting it happen. Lisa wanted to lie down
again, cradled in Barbara's strong arms, held and loved forever.

    Lisa lifted the bottom half of the coffin and ran her hands along
her friend's body. She wasn't fully conscious of what she intended,
but aware enough to understand the need. And the thoughts had been
forming all day long, although she dared not let her mind wander into
those dark paces. She couldn't say goodbye again; it was impossible
and Lisa refused to do it.

    Barbara's dress buttoned in the front. It was a simple thing, but
beautiful and traditional in design. Lisa undid the buttons slowly,
from Barbara's breasts down to the loose garter around her waist. She
discovered by accident that the dress had been cut in the back, which
seemed odd and made Lisa frown. The dress was tucked beneath the
woman's body and it was easily removed.

    She also found that Barbara wasn't wearing shoes, which made Lisa
smile for some odd reason. Nor was the woman wearing underwear, just a
plain white silk slip, and Lisa removed that as well, lifting the
garments from Barbara's still form. The body was waxy and cool to the
touch, slightly pale and smelling of some sweet fragrance, the soap
perhaps, or a lotion that had been applied. And just below that,
something more clinical, a disinfectant smell that the girl barely
noticed.

    Contrary to the coroner's report, there had been no autopsy
performed. Barbara had been examined and cleaned, and that was all.
She'd been refrigerated, and would have been once again this night,
but in the morning she would be cremated anyway, so even that was not
really necessary. Barbara had left no instructions to the method of
her body's final rest, but everyone concerned seemed to feel that was
for the best. At least the Board had thought so and Ethan had
reluctantly agreed. The ashes at least could be given to Lisa, Ethan
had decided, but it would be little consolation to either of them.

    The young woman climbed a little awkwardly into the casket so she
could lay with her friend. She moved slowly, gently as if she might
wake Barbara from her sleep. There was just enough room for Lisa to
spread her legs, straddling Barbara's thighs with her own. She felt
her sex against the soft tangle of Barbara's pubic hair. Their breasts
touched and finally their cheeks. Lisa pulled the woman's slip over
them, like a too small blanket of an odd shape and size. It covered
their backs and thighs, and little else, but that was enough. Lisa
could keep them both warm.

    The girl kissed Barbara's face, feeling herself blushing warmly.
She was no longer crying, there was a lightness in her heart that
she'd missed these past few days. She felt her nipples hardening
against Barbara's breasts beneath her and imagined her lover's doing
the same. She rocked her hips slightly, feeling the slight pressure on
the mound of her sex as it met the pelvis below.

    Lisa was whispering now, recalling episodes of their lovemaking.
The first time they'd kissed, the first time they'd shared their
breasts, their fingers and mouths to each other's sex. The excitement
of discovery that came with every little touch. Lisa remembered it all
and whispered into Barbara's ears as she began making love to the
woman one last time. She used her hands, touching and holding her
lover. She pulled at Barbara's leg, bending the knee so she could get
her sex lower, increasing the friction between them. Her labia became
plump with excitement and they rubbed playfully across Barbara's
folds. Lisa's clit awakened with a delicate throb, an ache that was
only fed by the lightest contact with Barbara's cool skin.

    When it was over, when Lisa had recovered her senses, calmed her
straining heart and kissed Barbara's sex for the last time, the girl
turned round again. To lie once more with Barbara, face to face,
breast to breast. Her legs spread so her juices leaked down on the
dead woman's cold flesh. Lisa moved only enough to find the razor
blade she'd brought and this had been in her mind all along. The girl
wept as she apologized, kissing Barbara tenderly and begging her
understanding and forgiveness.

    "I can't live without you, my love. I won't spend the rest of my
life dying a second at a time, just waiting to see you again. I love
you so much, Barbara. Please, don't be angry with me. Don't...hate me
for this. For being weak. I love you..."

    Lisa made several deep cuts across each wrist. There was no
hesitation, none of the timid little cuts that cried for help and left
guilt scars that would-be suicides carried for the rest of their
lives. Lisa was not doing this for anyone but herself, selfish though
it was. She felt no pain, no sadness now as she held Barbara in her
bloody hands. Lisa put her head on Barbara's chest, painfully aware of
the awful silence beneath the woman's breasts. She'd lain like that a
hundred times, falling asleep as she listened to Barbara's strong
heart beating effortlessly against her own. Barbara's soft breathing
as her breasts would rise and fall beneath her, but now...It was quiet
and still and Lisa closed her eyes, wishing for sleep and dreams and
her own heart to mercifully cease its tortured lonely labor.


=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=


    "And that's the tape?" Vasquez nodded towards the small 8mm
videotape in the college president's hand. "McKinnen didn't mention
that."

    "He gave it to me that morning," Ethan said, still standing with
his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. The story had come out of
the man slow and soft, like a dry wind over the Texas scrub, beaten
down and weathered by time.

    "Let's go," Tina said, rising slowly from her chair. She wasn't
surprised to learn that McKinnen had cameras in the viewing rooms, a
large number of funeral homes did it just to protect themselves, but
she was unhappy that she hadn't thought to ask the funeral director
about it.

    "Where?" Ethan asked, .

    "Her sister has to know," Tina told him. "You were the last friend
Lisa had. I think she'll want to hear it from you. Some of it."

    "Ethan?" Helen frowned as she watched them leave and Moore paused,
looking over his shoulder at her, but he couldn't keep his eyes up.

    "I'm sorry," he said and Helen let him go then, closing her eyes
against the wetness spilling down her cheeks.





To be continued...

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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