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Shadows From The PastChapter 32 free porn video
"We're sorry, but your number is on this person's call block list. We apologize for any inconvenience. We recommend removing this number from your contact list. Please have a nice day."
The hand holding the receiver dropped, and Richie stood staring at it for a full minute. He stood at the same kiosk he had tried last time, his mind bursting with everything he wanted to say. They were the only thoughts which now remained active as the rest of his mind had gone numb.
He had tried the number thrice. The first two times, the words of the recorded message had barely registered. He had clung to the vain hope that he had hit some sort of glitch in his father's cell phone account.
With a trembling hand, he hung up, his fingers still curled around the receiver. His fingers tightened until the knuckles turned white. He lifted the receiver and slammed it back down, as if thinking this would somehow force the line to clear.
He picked up the phone a forth time and punched in his father's phone number, meticulously copying it digit by digit from the piece of paper, his heart pounding until his chest ached. Breathing hard in desperation and anxiety, he brought the receiver to his ear.
"We're sorry, but your number is on this person's call block list."
"You're wrong!" Richie cried. "He wouldn't block me!"
"--for any inconvenience. We recommend removing this number--"
"I'm his fucking son!" Richie shouted. "Why would be block me?!"
"--list. Please have a nice--"
"Shut up you stupid bitch!" Richie screamed. "He'll talk to me! I stopped being a dick! I'M NOT A TOTAL DICK ANYMORE!"
"We're sorry, but your number is on this person's--"
Richie yanked the receiver away from his ear and grasped it with both hands. He slammed it against the hook over and over, his teeth clenched, cords standing out on his neck. When the metal hook finally bent and snapped, he smashed the receiver against the phone itself until the innards of the ear-piece spilled out, dangling by thin wires.
Richie finally uttered one last incoherent bellow and threw the receiver into the kiosk. It bounced off the side, cracking the glass. The receiver fell and dangled from its wire, which had been pulled a half inch from its conduit.
Richie staggered back, his face red, his eyes blurred. He swung his watery gaze to where several people had stopped to gawk at the spectacle.
"What the flying FUCK are you all looking at?!" Richie bellowed before he ran from the strip mall until he ground his teeth at the sharp stitch in his side. He staggered to a stop near a street lamp just as it flickered on. His throat stung from the cold as he gulped air, and he leaned against the post with one hand, his other clenched at his side.
Think it's that easy, huh? came the voice that only moments ago he would have killed to have heard again. Think you can make up for years of being an asshole in just a few days? Yeah, no wonder you couldn't get through. Total fucking waste of time is what it would be.
Richie pounded his fists against the lamppost. "What the fuck do you want from me?" he croaked. "What do you want me to do?!"
The voice fell silent, and nothing would make it come back. Did it have as little idea as he, or was this part of an elaborate plan to continue punishing him? Wasn't having his mother fall enough, or was he being blamed for that as well?
Richie was far from religious, thus the idea of divine retribution was lost on him, yet he could not shake the feeling that everything had to be some sort of cosmic tit-for-tat, as if he had screwed things up so much over so many years that it had taken this to bring everything back into balance.
Richie pushed himself away from the lamppost and forced his hands to drop to his sides. He wondered if Jason would have a rational explanation. Maybe he would say that Richie's father thought he was being pranked when he kept getting calls with no one at the other end.
He shook his head. That was too simple. It had to be something deeper, and he had a simple means to test it: find a phone he had not called from yet and try again. Richie looked up at the sky. Twilight was already giving way to night. He had no idea from day to day if his mother would be home to cook. If she was, she was likely fifteen minutes from setting dinner on the table.
Richie did not care. This was more important. He had worked so hard at obeying his father's last directive, but he had no idea if it were enough.
"Or do I have to help Heather first?" Richie demanded, his gaze drifting up the lamppost as if expecting to see his father's shining presence at the top. "Is that it? Is this some sort of goddamn test?"
Yeah, it's just one big fucking game to you, the voice came with such cold clarity that Richie slammed his hands over his ears as if believing he could shut it out. Finish the side quest and get the reward. Brilliant. No wonder you can't get through. Not sure how you can think you're not a dick when you act that shallow.
"It's not ... I didn't mean..." Richie trailed off, then clenched his teeth and rammed his fist into the side of the lamppost. It rang with the impact, and pain flared across his knuckles.
Richie squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to help Heather, and not just for the thrill or any reward.
Yeah, sure, you're not thinking one bit how this might get you some more of her pussy.
"Shut up," Richie hissed. "We're Harbingers. We do it with each other all the time. We're supposed to!"
His father's voice remained silent, and he let out a ragged sigh of relief. He did not understand his own desires anymore. Why did he want to talk to his father when he would hear all the same shit over again? He should be happy he could not get through. What was driving him to do this?
Richie sighed and started home. He would try another phone later. Right now he needed to get away from the voice, and only the influence of the corrupted line would do that.
Diane glanced at the clock again and swore it had not moved in the last few minutes. She sighed and jumped to her feet to stir the stew again just for something to do. Until five minutes ago she had conversation with her father to pass the time, until her grandmother called. Now her father was off in the next room with the phone speaking in rapid-fire Japanese.
She stepped back to the living room in time to hear the garage door rising. She raced through the dining room and towards the entrance hall, skidding to a stop at the threshold and clutching the door frame. She held her breath until her mother emerged, letting it out as a gusty sigh. Her lips twitched into a smile as she saw Heather bring up the rear.
"Hi," was all Diane could think of to say.
"Everything all right, dear?" Janet asked. "You look rather relieved to see us."
Before Diane could answer, Heather stepped up to her, gave her a quick hug, and whispered the words "she's okay." Diane uttered another quick, relieved sigh before she spoke again. "The roads are still icy and all that."
"It was fine. Did you stir the stew for me?" Janet asked as she walked down the hall towards the kitchen.
Diane felt Heather come alongside her and wrap an arm around her waist. "Yes, mother. The last time I did it was just before you got home." Diane noticed Heather's gaze, which was directed towards the family room. "My father is on the phone," Diane said in a soft voice.
Heather nodded, looking wary. "Um ... does he speak... ?" She tailed off with an uncomfortable look on her face.
Diane gave her a small smile. "He speaks fluent English and Japanese."
Heather nodded and sighed. "Of all the things I could be worried about."
"Dinner will be another ten minutes or so," Janet called out from the kitchen. "I just have to heat the rolls and we'll be ready."
"We'll wait in the living room," Diane replied. She paused before tugging herself from Heather's arm, reluctant to leave the comforting touch. If it were up to her, she would spend the next hour snuggling up to her lover, as if she expected something bad to happen once dinner began.
As if sensing her lover's distress, Heather leaned close as she was led into the living room, "Your mother really is okay, Diane."
"So nothing happened?" Diane asked as they sat down on the sofa. "You got out before your mother got home?"
Heather did not respond. She had fallen into her seat as if she had stumbled at the last moment and now sat rock-still.
"Um, Heather, are you--?"
"Huh? What?" Heather said, blinking rapidly. "Oh, um, sorry, I was distracted. What did you ask me?"
"I asked if you managed to get away with my mother before your mother showed up."
Another pause, this time more significant, making Diane's heart thump. "Not quite," Heather finally replied.
Diane bit her lower lip and tried not to imagine the worst.
Heather sighed and rolled her eyes. "Look, I think my mother is wired to use her stupid power on anyone who shows up at the house. She tried it with your mother, but she didn't get very far. I put a stop to it pretty fast and your mother seemed to bounce back from it. I don't think she even remembers quite what happened."
Diane stared off towards the kitchen and watched her mother bustle about placing rolls on a pan. She lay her head on Heather's shoulder. "I can't let my mother get involved in this. Now I'm going to be worried about your mother coming over here."
"She's never done something like that," Heather said. "All her time is spent at the Inn or at home."
Diane felt the small shiver and heard the catch in Heather's voice. "Is something else the matter?"
"Had to watch Aunt Jo and Melinda going at it," she said in a barely audible voice.
"I'm sorry. I know that must be terrible for you."
Heather shook her head. "Let's not talk about that. I kind of want to get away from all that tonight. I have to admit, if stopping my mother from messing with your mother's head was the worst that could happen tonight..."
She trailed off. Diane lifted her head from Heather's shoulder, and her eyes widened as she slid in her seat away from Heather. In her worry she had failed to notice that her father's phone conversation had ended.
"Good evening to you, Diane," said Diane's father Ralph in a formal but gentle voice.
"Good evening, father," Diane replied, relieved to sense no obvious disapproval in his eyes or voice. She was never quite sure how far into traditional Japanese customs his father would go. He vacillated between that and contemporary American, as if still eager to try both. "Um, this is Heather."
"Hello, Mr. Woodrow," Heather said, her voice quavering slightly. "I mean, good evening."
Ralph bowed his head. "Good evening to you, Heather," he said as he dropped into the easy chair opposite the sofa. He glanced between the two girls, first laying his hands on the hand-rests and then folding them in his lap. Diane realized at once that her father was at a loss for words, a rarity for someone like him. She wondered if he had ever really made peace with her lesbianism, or if he had been content to let her mother sort it out.
Diane felt the need to fix the situation somehow, but she was equally at a loss. Before she could descend into panic, Heather said, "I don't think I've ever met anyone who could speak both English and Japanese so well, Mr. Woodrow. It must have been interesting growing up with both cultures."
Diane could not have expressed her relief in words. Heather's precog powers must still be working on some level, for she had managed to say precisely the right thing. Ralph beamed at Heather, his lips curling into a wide smile, and he proceeded to regale Heather with stories of his upbringing.
Diane's mother set the pan of rolls in the oven. "Dinner in five minutes."
Diane smiled and nodded. She felt like they had managed to clear the first hurdle.
Heather soon felt as much relief as Diane for finding a way to break the ice. Just as they had sat down on the sofa, she had an extremely vivid image of Ralph at ease at the dinner table, gregarious and pleasant, expounding on some amusing anecdote from his childhood. For about three seconds it had completely enveloped her senses, just as a precog vision would do.
Heather felt more relaxed at dinner than she had for over a month. She even managed to laugh; she could not remember the last time she had heard her own laugh. It helped that Janet was an excellent cook. While her own mother was a good cook as well, dinner was such a tense affair anymore at her own house that she wanted to get away from the dinner table as soon as possible.
Their conversion continued past the end of the meal, and only Janet standing was an indication it was finally over. Diane stood up with her and collected her plate. Heather followed suit, assuming it was the tradition to help clear the table and clean up after dinner.
Janet turned to her daughter. "No, honey, that's okay, you don't have to clear the table. Ralph will take care of the dishes."
Diane looked nonplussed, even as her father plucked the plate first from her hand and then from Heather's. "Oh. Okay."
Diane glanced at Heather, and Heather caught the anxious look in her lover's eyes. She hoped Diane was worried over nothing.
Janet paused to whisper something to her husband. He nodded and took the plates to the sink, and she turned towards the girls. "I thought we might sit in the living room for a bit and get to know each other a little better before Heather has to head home."
"Oh, um, sure, Mrs. Woodrow," Heather said, trying to sound casual. She glanced at Diane, who briefly bit her lower lip before she stepped past.
Heather followed the others. Diane sat on the edge of her seat on the sofa, as if ready to bolt at a moment's notice. Janet took the easy chair, much to Heather's relief. If she had been forced to take that chair, the conversation would have felt like an interrogation no matter how innocuous the topic. Though she had a feeling she already knew what Janet wanted to talk about.
"First of all, Heather, I want to say it was a great pleasure finally meeting you tonight," Janet said with a warm smile. "I knew you and Diane were friends for so very long, but Diane rarely spoke about you."
Diane managed a weak smile, though her cheeks grew pink. Heather grinned and squeezed Diane's hand. "It's okay," said Heather. "We weren't exactly as, um, close as we are now."
Heather thought about the implications of touching her lover in front of Diane's mother only after it had been done, yet she found no evidence it had caused Janet the least amount of distress. If anything, she seemed a little more at ease.
As if reading Heather's thoughts, Janet said, "And it's obvious you care about Diane as much as she does about you, which pleases me to no end. That was really my only concern over your relationship."
Heather smiled as she felt Diane squeeze her hand in return. "Thank you, Mrs. Woodrow. We, um, sort of went through something like that already, where we wanted to make sure we did feel the way we thought we felt, if that makes any sense."
"It does. If anything is evidence of Diane's feelings, it's how down she gets every other week when you're ... unavailable."
"Mother, please," Diane said in a very low voice.
Heather tried to give her a look of reassurance, though she felt no such thing herself. "I miss Diane very much during those weeks as well." Or at least I assume I would if I wasn't so enthralled to Mistress during that time, Heather added in her head.
Janet nodded and paused. She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap, her eyes shimmering slightly. "I'm the last person who wants to pry into other people's affairs, Heather, but where you're so close to Diane that you're part of the family, I am concerned for you."
Heather was so struck by the concept that she was considered family already that a few more seconds passed before she could fully comprehend what Janet had said. "I'm grateful for that, Mrs. Woodrow, but, really, everything is okay."
"Diane told me you have some sort of ... that you spend every other week at Laura Bendon's house."
"Um ... yes, that's right."
Janet paused again, but Heather was determined not to volunteer information. If Diane's mother wanted to know anything, she was going to have to come out and ask. Heather was gambling Janet would not want to go that far.
"And it prevents you from seeing Diane for some reason."
"Yes, it does. I wish it didn't, but that's just how it is."
Janet looked increasingly uncomfortable. Heather hated doing this. If Janet remembered anything of what happened between her and Laura or her and Penny, then she could imagine something even worse concerning Heather.
"Mother, I really don't think we need to pursue this," Diane said, her voice edged with desperation. "I'm ... I'm okay with this arrangement."
That did not sound convincing even to Heather's ears, and it was clear Janet was not impressed either. If anything, the obvious doubt in her daughter's voice galvanized her, for her face took on a more determined look as she said, "Heather, I need to ask you, just what is this arrangement between you and Ms. Bendon?"
Heather had tried to prepare for this question. She had come up with several ideas, honed the details until she could repeat them in her head without mistake, and now all of them seemed lame.
She saw only genuine concern in Janet's eyes, and that made her feel worse for lying. If that wasn't enough, she felt shame for not praising Laura being such a good Mistress to her otherwise naughty slave.
"I've fallen way behind in a few subjects in school," Heather said. "I had some emotional issues, mostly dealing with discovering my orientation. Mi ... my ... the p-principal decided to tutor me, but there's a lot of work to get done so it's easier to live in her guest room and study there."
Janet nodded slowly, her eyes flicking to her daughter. Heather squeezed Diane's hand tight and repeated in her head as if hoping to somehow transmit it to her lover, please go along with this...
"I-I don't want her to fail her classes this semester," Diane piped in a quavering voice. "It's bad enough we're not on the same class rotation. So I'm willing to make the sacrifice."
Janet stared at her daughter for another long moment, and Heather heard Diane shift in her seat. She knew Diane was a horrible liar but hoped having her there would bolster her confidence. "I see," Janet said in a low, neutral voice.
Heather was not sure Janet was entirely convinced, but she had thrown herself down this path and had to keep following it. "I know it's unusual, Mrs. Woodrow, but after dating so many boys, to find out I ... that I really like girls was kind of traumatic. It was like I never attended school for over a month."
Janet's expression softened. Heather felt awful. She was likely playing on Janet's struggles to understand her daughter's situation. This was the kind of manipulation she used to do for fun against her peers. It reminded her too much of a past she would rather leave behind.
"I apologize for prying," Janet said. "And thank you for answering. It ... certainly is far more tame an explanation than some of the rumors."
Heather tried to make light of it by rolling her eyes and forcing her lips into a tiny smirk. "Diane and I are not shy about holding hands or kissing each other in school. So I can probably guess what they're going to think about me staying at ... where I go every other week."
"Yes, of course," Janet said, her voice more reassured. "I was foolish to give those rumors any credence at all."
"Mother, you're not foolish, you just--" Diane began.
"Mrs. Woodrow, I agree with Diane," Heather said before Diane could say anything to upset the lie. "I really appreciate your concern for me. Thank you."
Janet gave them a more natural smile. "And it means it won't be forever. Once you're caught up at the end of the semester, you won't have to do this anymore."
Diane's hand suddenly gripped Heather's like a vise. Heather was sure Diane was wearing her panic on her face like a mask and thus kept eye contact with Janet. She did not break stride, even while cursing herself for not thinking of that detail. "Yes, that's very true. I'm looking forward to things going back to normal."
Janet nodded again and stood. "I'm glad we had this talk, and I'm very happy you agreed to come over for dinner. I hope we can do this again soon."
Heather stood and smiled. "So do I, Mrs. Woodrow."
"Well, we better get you home. If you'll give me a minute to change, I'll drive you back to your house."
Heather nodded and watched Janet head to the stairs. Diane stood and drew alongside Heather, glancing into the kitchen where her father was almost done cleaning the last of the pots which could not go through the dishwasher. She ushered Heather out of the living room and towards the entrance hall. "Heather, what are we going to do at the end of the semester when--"
"Diane, please, don't worry about that now," Heather said in exasperation. "Just be glad your mother bought that story."
"If she did. You don't know my mother like I do. She'll act like she believed it because it's what she wanted to hear. Then she'll start to think on it more and start asking more questions."
"Then ... then we'll just deal with it when it comes up," Heather said in a helpless voice. "I had to tell her something, Diane. If I told her the truth, that would just get her involved like you didn't want."
Diane sighed. "I know. I just wish..." She trailed off.
"Just wish what?"
Diane stared at Heather for a moment, then narrowed her eyes slightly. "Nothing."
"Don't tell me it's nothing. I know that look. What is it?"
"I ... might have an idea."
Heather frowned. "Diane, no. I told you before. Don't try to rescue me."
"Why the hell not?" Diane hissed. "What good is having this stupid new power of mine if I don't use it for something?!"
Heather clenched her teeth to stop herself from saying more angry words to Diane. She glanced behind her when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. "There's a very good reason why you shouldn't try and I promise I'll tell you at some point, but not now."
Diane blinked in surprise and opened her mouth to say something, but held her tongue when her mother appeared. Janet handed Heather her coat. "Let's get going so I can get you back on time," Janet said as she stepped past the girls. She paused at the door to the garage and turned around. "Oh, and Heather? I hope you won't be terribly disappointed if I just drop you off and don't try to say hello to your mother."
"Not at all, Mrs. Woodrow," Heather said. She gave Diane a hug and whispered in her ear. "Tomorrow I'll tell you, I promise."
"I'm holding you to that," Diane whispered back. She was slow to relinquish her hold on her lover and gave Heather a forlorn wave.
Heather smiled and headed out.
If Jason were grateful for anything regarding the job at the Inn, it would be the timing. At first he considered it another bane, coming right before exams. Now it gave him an excuse to remain holed up in his room. Normally he had no need to do any more than a brief brush-up the night before the exams, but in his efforts to unravel Elizabeth's journal, he had fallen behind in his schoolwork.
That night, it was hard to concentrate. His mother still insisted on the open-door rule, and now yet another argument between his parents drifted to him from below.
"If his grade slips even a single point, Audrey, he's quitting this job," his father declared, his voice louder than earlier, as if Jason were meant to hear it.
His mother said something in return, but Jason could barely hear it. She rarely raised her voice anymore, responding in soft tones of either utter resolve or sly sultriness. Whatever she said was expected to be a given and needed no argument for or against.
"You're talking utter nonsense again," said Henry. "Just listen to what you're saying. You're putting this stupid job ahead of everything else."
Jason would have braced for the explosion had this been a week ago. If there was one thing her mother despised, it was dismissing something she said. That was gone as well. His father must be trying to get a rise out of her, as he had exhausted everything else.
"Whatever he's learning there, it is not more important than school or his friends."
Jason looked up. That was the first time he had heard his father openly support his social life.
"No, don't give me that bullshit, that's the same crap your sister was spewing over Thanksgiving."
Jason's eyes widened. His father was trying to hit every one of her hot buttons. Finally she elevated her voice to the point where Jason could hear at least some of the response: " ... to make a clear choice here, Henry. He has to understand what is important for his future."
"Yes, his future, one that makes sense to him. Not the version you want that you're trying to ram down his ... aw, shit!"
Jason tensed. His father's pager had gone off in the middle of his sentence, and he heard no more of what was being said.
Jason tried to return to his studying, but the words from the textbook slid off his mind. He would get to the bottom of a page and have no memory of what he had just read. He closed the textbook just as the garage door went up.
He again tried not to think his father was abandoning him. The clandestine activities aside, his father was still a practicing neurosurgeon, and lives depended on him. Yet as Jason heard the garage door go down, he felt alone and vulnerable.
Only minutes after his father was away, he heard his mother climbing the stairs. He thought about opening the textbook again and pretending he was hard at work, but there was no point; she paid no heed to such things anymore.
Jason sat on the edge of his bed as his mother appeared at the door. She had changed dresses again. The blouse was the same, buttons straining against her bosom, but the skirt was shorter, the hem rising above her knees and revealing flashes of milky thigh as she swayed her hips.
Jason said nothing in greeting. Whatever he would say, however it was worded, would be turned into some sort of proposition by his mother's ears.
Audrey slid her hand up the side of the door frame and tilted her hips. "Your father had an emergency back at the hospital," Audrey said in a voice with a permanent husky cadence.
"Yeah, I heard him leave," Jason said. He let out a slow, relieved sigh. He still harbored no desire for her; he had yet to descend that far.
A sultry smile played across Audrey's lips. "Are you ready to take a break from studying? I thought we could spend some time together downstairs."
"Maybe some other time, Mom, I'm kind of tired."
Audrey hesitated, and Jason wondered if that excuse would work again as it had other nights. The Darkness was, in its own way, keeping the unspoken bargain: it would not set his mother on him sexually if he continued to go to the Inn every afternoon. Instead, it wanted him to make the first move. He had to avoid even the simplest acts of affection lest he risk losing control.
Audrey lay a hand against her bosom and drew in a deep breath, the buttons stretching further until slivers of straining breasts could be glimpsed through the gaps. "Are you sure, Jason?" Her fingers played with the topmost button. "You've been working sooo hard on school and work, and I'm so very proud of you. I want to show you my appreciation."
Jason swallowed. His cock twitched, but no more than that. He told himself it was just a normal response to a thinly-veiled sexual advance. "I'm fine, Mom," Jason said in a strained voice. "And like I said, I'm tired."
Audrey stepped into the room, popping open the topmost button of her blouse. "You wouldn't have to come downstairs. I could ... spend time with you up here."
Jason's heart raced. His fingers curled into the edge of the mattress.
"Would you like that?" She popped a second button. "Would you like me to show you how excited I am about your job?"
"M-Mom, no, it's okay. Really, please, it's fine. You don't ... I don't need anything from you."
Audrey stopped, her fingers playing with the next button. Slowly, she lowered her hand and uttered a long, forlorn sigh. "I have not been myself lately, have I?"
Jason stared, his eyes widening. "What?"
"It's like I've been a different person. Like I'm not acting as your mother."
Jason's heart leapt. Was she managing to resist the control? Did his father finally do something to help?
"Don't you agree?" Audrey asked in a sad voice. "Don't you think I've been acting badly?"
Jason could dare to believe that he was hearing his old mother's voice, until he drew his gaze along the outline of her body. Her Aura was the same, inky blackness swirling and writhing in excitement.
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