Strip Searching RebeccaChapter 5
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RedemptionChapter 21 free porn video
The opposing player took the pass deep in the corner. Dex was in good defensive position and cheated toward the baseline as his man dribbled outward toward the circle - Dex would make him give up the ball with no probelm. Suddenly, he heard the muted opening notes of Pachelbel from the sideline. Momentarily distracted, he missed the pick setting up on his low side, and his man reversed direction and moved behind him to bank in a 10 footer. His teammate Randy was already moving from his place on the bench to the scorer's table to check in for him, Dex's cellphone in hand.
This scenario had played out often enough so his teammates all knew what to do, and no one was surprised. He knew that providing this kind of anytime/anywhere access to his customers was a big part of his business success. Still, giving up that bucket and having to interrupt one of his better recent games left him more than a little peeved as he grabbed the phone from Randy on his way to the bench. He walked past his team's bench to the end of the bleachers, looking for a quiet place to talk. With any luck, he could set up a later time for a callback or a visit, and get right back to the game. Occasionally, he could even work through the problem with the customer on the phone, although that could eat up valuable playing minutes.
Taking a few deep breaths to give himself time to put on his 'business voice, ' he finally spoke; "this is Dex Madison..."
The response left him dumbfounded: "Dex, I need help! I'm hurt, and I'm freezing!" The female voice was shaking and obviously panicky. He couldn't place it at first.
"Who... ?"
"It's M... Megan... c... can you c... come get m... m... me? Please?!"
"Megan? Can't you call the police?" Hearing the name, he was already dashing back through the gym toward the bench, drawing surprised looks from teamates, opponents, and referees alike.
"Dex, No... n... no police! Please! I... I... I d... don't know how long I c... c... can h... hold out!"
It was December 16, drizzling, and the temperature was in the high 30s and dropping. Grabbing his sweats and jacket from under the team bench, he hurried to the parking lot. "Megan, tell me exactly where you are. I want to keep this line open until I get to you, but in case we get disconnected..."
"I... I'm at the F... F... Fairfield M... Middle School b... ball.f... f... field... dug... g... gout. D... Do y... you kn... know... ?"
"Yes, I know right where that is. It will take me 7 or 8 minutes. Are you dressed for the cold?"
"N... N... No! J... Just a r... robe! C... Couldn't g... get more!"
"Megan, listen to me. You have to keep moving! Sit on the bench and rub your feet and legs hard with your hands. I mean hard, so it hurts. Don't stop. Rub with one hand and hold the phone with the other. Then switch hands. Start right now!"
Sideslipping dangerously onto the onramp for the four mile expressway dash to the exit near the school, he thought fast for what to do next. "Megan... just rub! Hard! And keep on rubbing, no matter how tired you get! This is very important! Do you hear me?"
"Y... Yes. So s... s... scared... c... cold! Hurry"
"Megan, I am going to keep talking to you as I drive. You don't have to talk to me. Just grunt when I ask so I know you are still with me. OK?"
"Unnnhh" was the only response.
He knew it was stupid, but he did a tour guide's detailed description of every steet, building, and signpost he passed. The important thing was to make sure she always heard his voice. He could tell that she was at the edge of collapse from exhaustion, fear, and probably hypothermia. His game was the last on the night's schedule, so it was nearly 9:45. The expressway was virtually deserted, but he knew a speeding stop would be disastrous for Megan.
As he babbled away part of his mind went back to Megan's comment "... He's looking." That meant he would have to dodge her husband to pick her up. Part of him almost wanted a confrontation, but he knew that would not help her, and that was his driving concern right now.
It was a little over a year ago when he first heard Megan's voice on the phone. He saw the familiar number from Archer Manufacturing, pressed Talk on his cellphone and answered "Hey, String, what's up?" He fully expected to hear his long-time friend and center from his basketball team, Tim "String" Archer. String had been one of his first contract customers, and they had been important to each others' success. As the manufacturing business mushroomed, String still handled all the calls for system support himself.
There was a silence from the other end of the line, then a female voice asked "Is this John Madison?"
"Officially, yes, but no one has called me that for quite a while. I guess I owe you the courtesy of starting over - "Hello, this is Dex Madison, how can I help you?"
"Oh, Dex, huh, from your middle name Dexter - I see that on your card." A very nice voice, Dex thought, animated, melodic.
"This is Megan Wallace. I am Mr. Archer's new Administrative Assistant. He wants me to take over all the support contacts, especially now that he is going to be doing a lot more travelling." While feeling a little sad that he would have fewer direct dealings with String, he had to agree that it was time for String to get some help.
"It's nice to meet you, Megan, and I hope to see you in person soon."
"You will - I have a couple of problems for you as soon as you can get out here."
Contrary to so many telephone voices, Megan's matched her appearance perfectly. Dex would have been in love instantly, had he not made sure to check for the ring and reign in his libido when he saw it. 'As usual, the good ones are always taken', he mused. She had the trim, athletic body that appealed to him so much. She could have been a dancer, or a sprinter - she was too tall for a gymnast.
Dex was usually at Archer at least two or three times a week. He and Megan quickly developed an easy and efficient working relationship. She was bright, smooth with people, and fastidious about details. He had to stop himself from just watching her as she talked on the phone or moved around the area. 'Class' was the term that kept popping into his mind.
Over a period of a several months, he began to notice a few things about Megan that sent ice through his veins. First, she showed up with her arm in a sling after missing several days. A bit later, lipstick could hide the color, but not the swelling of her lip one morning. Still later, she showed up with heavy makeup on her cheeks and eyes - she hardly wore any, normally. By this time, he was sure, and it made him heartsick, especially because he didn't think there was a thing he could do about it. It seemed almost impossible. She had it so together at work. How could she be an abuse victim?
For several weeks after realizing the truth, he did nothing but watch. Finally, after first checking with String, he asked her to join him for a mid-morning coffee at a nearby Starbuck's.
"Dex, I can't, I just have too much to do..."
"I cleared it with the Boss."
"But, but... I'm married. I can't go out with you!"
"Megan, it's just a cup of coffee, and I really need to talk to you." After several more minutes of objections and insistence, she relented. Over coffee, he bluntly stated, "Megan, I know!"
"Know what, Dex?"
"I know you are being abused." The shock approach worked. Her mouth worked for a moment with nothing coming out, and her face paled. At first, he thought she might faint. When she finally spoke, she surprised him.
"I have a feeling denials would be useless, right? How do you know? Why do you care?"
"I have extemely painful personal experience. Someday, I may be able to tell you about it. I was not the abuser, if that gives you any comfort. The signs are burned in my memory so I can never forget. That's how I know. Before, I was helpless to do anything, and it has gnawed at my guts every day since. I like you, Megan, and I don't ever want to see anyone else go down that path. That's why I care."
There was a break of several minutes while both sipped their coffee. Finally, she spoke softly: "I have already heard all about what I should do, and what danger I am in. I do appreciate your concern, but it's MY problem. You can't solve it."
"I know that, Megan, and that's not why I wanted to talk to you. I promise - no lectures, no warnings, no pressure to get help, no begging you to leave him. I want to offer two things. First, I will be a friend and just listen if you want someone to talk to. I suspect there is no one right now who is even close to safe for you to share with. Second, if you ever need help of any kind, I want you to promise to call me. I won't judge, and I won't say 'I told you so.' Don't say anything right now, just think about it."
Dex was rather proud of himself, feeling he had done a good job of hiding the depth of the emotion he was feeling as he talked with Megan.
After their coffee, Megan was tense and aloof around him for several days. He was afraid he had screwed up a nice friendship with the captivating woman. It was a little over a week later around noontime when she called him on his cell phone. He was on his way to a client site, but he pulled over into a parking lot so he could give her full attention. It would be the first time in many months he had been late for an appointment.
"Dex, uh, is that offer of someone to talk to still open." Assured that it was, she continued. "You were right. There isn't anyone else. My daughter is away at school, and my folks live out of town. Communication with all of them has been strained since my marriage."
"Megan, would you rather get together somewhere private?"
"Oh, no. I'm sure my husband has someone watching me all the time. Tim, er... , Mr. Archer said I can use his office whenever he is out, and he goes out for lunch a lot. Is it OK if I call you around lunch time?"
"From now on, I will make sure I am free every noon."
"Dex, he... he hit me again." From then on, they talked at least three times a week on the phone, and they made sure their interactions in person were very short and businesslike.
Every conversation was an emotional drain on Dex. The things she told him brought back vivid, painful memories. Holding to his promise of just listening was far more difficult than he had anticipated. It took over three weeks before she told him her complete story.
Megan Shaughnessy was the only child of Patrick and Jeanette. Patrick was a promising young Sergeant on the Police Force, and they were a performance-oriented family. Megan was a top student, and as a sophomore, was already making her mark on the swim team. She was an obedient daughter who seemed to have a fine relationship with her parents.
Typical of many Irish Catholic families, one topic not openly discussed was sex. In addition, Patrick was quite reserved in his expressions of affection for Megan. Megan, in turn, was more mature in most respects than her peers, and had the figure and bearing of a much older woman.
The school's star running back, a Senior, was the quintessential teenaged hunk, with a sister on the swim team. At the first swim meet he attended, he was smitten by the willowy, graceful Megan. Troy was a catch any girl would jump at. He was a nice guy from a good family, not the typical arrogant jock.
Megan, ripe for romance and somewhat starved for affection, fell very hard, and Troy was not much more in control. She was not openly rebellious against the values she had been taught, more like in a different world where the only values were her feelings. Her parents' reticence about sex left her unequipped for the hormonal onslaught that engulfed her.
Being only fourteen, Megan was not allowed on dates, as such. Both teens, however, went to the same church, and were able to see each other at various youth activities. Troy's sister, a year older than Megan, invited Megan over numerous times, and football and swimming practices ran simultaneously, so there were opportunities.
Raging hormones can drive young people to unexpected feats, and one way or another, Megan and Troy got together often enough for her to end up pregnant after seven months. Abortion was not even considered.
Troy acted like a man, and was ready to marry Megan, with support from the two families. Megan, though, was yanked from her love-struck trance by the harsh reality of impending motherhood, and began to evaluate Troy more closely. Besides his good looks, athletic talent, and obvious love for her, she did not find enough of the attributes of her dream man. He was definitely a step below her intellectually. He was one of six children in a working class family, and his aspirations did not seem to extend beyond that lifestyle for himself.
With maturity beyond her years, Megan understood the impact her pregnancy had on her future, but was not willing to have it doom her to the life of Troy's mother. She decided being a single mother was better than that.
The decision not to marry went down very hard with Troy and his family, but Patrick and Jeanette stood firmly behind their daughter. They had gone through the predictable shock and anger, but to their credit, they never considered rejecting her. Painful soul-searching showed them how they had failed to prepare Megan properly, and they were genuinely remorseful. For her part, Megan realized how deeply she had hurt her parents, and committed herself to making it up to them.
Baby Morgan won the hearts of her mother and her grandparents, and together they provided a loving environment. Megan finished high school, even making All-Conference her Senior year.
There was some scholarship money available for Megan to attend college, but it required her to be a full-time student at a major school out of town. Her parents pled with her to take it, but she was unwilling to put the whole load of support and child care on them. Instead she enrolled in a two-year degree program at a local branch, and took an evening job at a telemarketing firm.
After entering the workforce, Megan's life was a living proof of the lament 'The good one's are all taken.' Whether on the job or socially, she seemed to be every opportunist's target. Having Morgan turned away many men who might have been serious suitors. The rest wanted to go out with her with one objective, which Megan thwarted most of the time.
Megan's dream of the ideal man never died. When she was twenty-seven, she was engaged to a man who met a lot of her criteria. He treated her very well; he had a good position in the family business, and appeared to be good at it; he was bright and had values similar to Megan's; the family was wealthy, and he was in line for a significant piece of that wealth.
One discovery a few months before the wedding caused Megan to re-evaluate her engagement, and to eventually cancel it. It became clear she would always be the second woman in her future husband's life, his mother being the first. All along, she had known the mother called all the shots in the business. Planning for the wedding revealed the extent to which the mother ruled every aspect of her intended's life, with little opposition from him. She addressed the issue with him repeatedly and could get no satisfaction.
After breaking the engagement, Megan had several heated sessions with the mother, who was enraged that Megan would have the temerity to walk away from her family. Megan was heartbroken at having to once again abandon her dream, but she never backed down from the woman.
The mother came to realize the treasure she would be losing in Megan, and eventually made promises to try to change her mind. In response, Megan told her that even if she kept her promises, the son would still be nothing but a puppet, totally lost without his mother pulling the strings.
Depression kept Megan from any interest in men for many months after the breakup, and the caliber of the men who pursued her did not improve, until Craig Wallace showed up.
Morgan was just starting her Senior year in High School when Craig came to town on business and met Megan by chance. Craig, a wealthy real estate developer, had been widowed less than a year earlier, and began seriously courting Megan. He was physically impressive, charming, and apparently smitten with her.
Perhaps it was the accumulation of years of loneliness and heartbreak. Perhaps it was long-suppressed hormones overwhelming her critical senses. Perhaps it was the skill of a master seducer. Whatever the reason, Megan was unable to see what her daughter and her parents saw, and was married to Craig within two months.
Morgan was allowed to live with her grandparents and finish High School, while Megan moved away with Craig. Morgan was old enough at the time of her mother's earlier near marriage to understand and get down on men. When she came to live with Craig and Megan after graduation, she came to despise men. She could not wait to get away to college, and did everything she could to avoid going 'home.'
Megan's marriage threatened to sunder the Shaughnessy family, which had always been extremely close.
"Megan, have you seen Craig's car go by? What is he driving?"
"S... s... ilv... ver L... lexus... T... twice"
"Okay, I will watch out for him." At the exit ramp less than a mile from the school, he cranked the heater up as high as it would go, trying to get the cab as warm as possible. He knew where the school was, but did not know the layout. Usually, there is parking quite close to ball fields, so he would have to wing it. It was obvious he would have to go and get her - she did not seem able to run to the pickup. The school was on his left, and he looked around carefully for any traffic. Seeing none, he turned off his lights. The outline of the baseball backstop was still visble against the sparse yardlights that surrounded the schoolgrounds.
He drove into the school parking lot and was about to take the narrow paved service lane back toward the ball field when he thought better of it and pulled around the back of the building away from the road and stopped in a corner of two walls. This left him a couple hundred yards from the dugout, but at least the truck could not be seen. He was still chattering away to Megan.
He reached up and switched the interior light to the "always off" position, donned his jacket, and reached behind the seat for the heavy wool blanket he kept for emergencies and picnic 'opportunities.' Grabbing a flashlight from the glovebox and leaving the engine idling and the heater on, he climbed out of the truck. Just as he was about to leave the cover of the building and dash to the dugout, he saw headlights wash across the field and ducked back out of sight. Peering carefully around the corner, he saw a silver car crawling slowly up the block, stopping to shine a powerful flashlight between each pair of houses.
"D... d... dex! He's h... here a... g... gain! Wh... where are y... you?"
"Shh... Megan, keep quiet. I am at the school and I can see him. We have to wait until he goes away." I'm putting away the phone, now. I'll be with you soon." At the pace the car was moving, it would take several minutes before it passed the school. What if he searched the school just as thourougly. What if Megan lost consciousness or ran out screaming before then? Think! Must act quickly! Wait, the blanket is dark wool and not reflective. It's big enough to cover head to foot. 'A cape of invisiblility!' He almost chuckled at the thought.
Quickly wrapping the blanket around himself, he moved off accross the back of the school. The left field fence backed up against the playground area, and was the shortest way to the dugout, but the left field line was the direction the car was approaching from. He moved directly away from the car, circling the entire outfield to get to the first base line. The car could not see him until he was behind the right field fence, and the farther away he was, the less chance he would be seen. It was now vital to get to the dugout before that flashlight beam swept the ball field, as he was now sure it would. Despite his excellent condition, the run around the entire field was exhausting. The cold air bit at his lungs, and the waterlogged sod seemed to suck at his feet. Finally, he reached the first base dugout and clambered down the steps. Nothing! As he started back out, he saw the flashlight beam sweep over the infield. He crouched back down to wait, but realized there was no time to waste. Skirting behind the backstop, he reached the third base dugout without catching the beam. He covered the flashlight lens, turned it on and had to steel himself to keep from breaking down when he saw Megan.
Megan was huddled at one end of the bench, barefoot. A sodden lightweight long robe, probably cotton, was palstered to her skin. Even in the dim light he could see one eye was almost swollen shut and blood trickled down her chin. She still clutched the cell phone tightly and was literally quaking as she looked up at him but could not even form words. Before he could fully absorb what he saw, the flashlight beam from the car fastened on the other dugout, and played back and forth over it for about ten seconds. The opening of their dugout was away from the direction of the beam, but he knew it would be searched next. They had to move, and fast. She obviously could not run, so he would have to do it all.
"Megan, it's Dex. We have to leave, NOW! You have to climb on my back and hang on." He knelt in front of her, grabbed her cell phone and put it in his jacket. Gently taking her hands, he brought them up over his shoulders. As he did so, she uttered a stifled scream.
"R... r... ribs!"
"I'm sorry, Megan. I don't want to hurt you, but we HAVE TO LEAVE - NOW. Please, just get up on my back. I'll be as gentle as I can." He grabbed her ankles and brought her legs around his waist. Then he looped the blanket completely over her back and head and under her bottom. Pulling the loose corneres in front of him, he more or less had her pinned to his back. She would not be able to hold on much by herself, so he would have to run bent over, sort of balancing her above him. Another problem he could do nothing about - his legs, still in his basketball shorts, would be bare, damp, and probably quite reflective.
Now, a critical decision! Retrace his previous route all the way around the field, or take the direct route up the left field line to his truck. The direct route would put him closest to the searching car, but he was pretty sure he did not have the strength for the long route. Without any more debate, he lurched out of the dugout and started up the third base line. To his immense relief he found a tarmac path leading directly back toward his truck. His bent-over position and Megan's weight still made every step an effort of will, but he was able to establish a steady shuffle - sort of a controlled stumble. Megan was moaning loudly with each step, and he desparately wished there was something he could do to ease her agony, but searing images from the past convinced him the best thing he could do for her was just to get her to a safe place. About half-way to the outfield fence, the flashlight beam found them and stayed with them. His immediate reaction was panic, but he had the presence of mind to keep right on moving. The car was still on the road, and Craig would have to drive around the school and find his truck. Besides, there wasn't any man he couldn't handle one on one, even as exhausted as he was. If, however, Craig was armed, that put Megan in even more danger. No, for her sake, he had to escape! It was now just a desparate race.
Struggling for each painful draught of air, he let his mind roam back fifteen years, remembering the rage and helplessness that had been his companion so many nights. As he vowed it would not happen to Megan, the rage turned to adrenalin and he somehow found another reserve of strength.
The car sped up and the beam disappeared as it went in front of the school. They were now at the outfield fence and only about 100 feet from his truck. Almost without feeling, he staggered the final steps, opened the passenger door and literally dumped poor Megan into the passenger side, causing a heart-rending scream. As he staggered around the front of the truck, he had a sudden inspiration, scooped up a handful of the plentiful mud and smeared it on the license plate. He repeated the process on the back license plate and hauled himself into the driver's seat.
Cayleigh
- 17.09.2022
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