To Whom It May Concern: by M.J. Garrett (top novels txt) 📖

very thing they want the most.

Her breath warms his lips, as she slightly opens her mouth, and her breath gets heavier. Her fingers clinch his hair as she pulls his face to hers. Their lips touching softly without kissing…just breathing. His hands move lower down her back, holding her perfect leather covered ass.

She tilts her head up and she softly places her lips over his and kisses him while her heart begins to beat out of her chest. Her chest inflates and deflates in her heavy breathing as tears begin to push their way out of her closed eyes. He pulls his lips away from hers and looks at her tear covered face as her heavy breathing and pounding heart can’t contain her restraint anymore.

Carla, covered in black leather and stilettos, bites her bottom lip and jumps to wrap her perfect legs around his waist and crosses her feet behind his back. She pulls her hips back and then squeezes her legs, bringing his body close to her. Carla’s slow gyration, with his hands on her ass, begins to move a little faster and harder while her breathing is so intense that she feels the effects of hyperventilation.

Nate and Carla, our heroes…our demons, caught up in the heat and passion of this long awaiting moment. Vanish.


CHAPTER 27

Carla pushes Nate down onto the bed. Nate leaning back with his elbows on the mattress, looks at her as she stands there breathing heavily. She begins to unbutton her leather sleeveless shirt, revealing her perfect small breast. Her body inked with unreadable script and dark black vines from her shoulders, down her back, and thighs. Her hands cover her nipples as she begins to rub and pull on them in her moment of passion. She slides her hands down her stomach and unbuttons her pants as she looks at him through the strands of hair that have come loose from her braided pigtails.

Her black painted finger nails pop the button of her pants as she shimmies her hips back and forth. Pushes her pants off her hips, she slides them down her thighs, leaving only her black silk and lace panties covering her nakedness. Nate, still leaning back on his elbows, is frozen from the sight of this angel…this god staring back at him. She bends over to push her pants over her boots. With her heart and chest pounding from the ecstasy of the heated engagement, her skin starts to glaze over with sweat from her body heat. Still looking into his eyes, she lifts her stiletto to pull her pants over them. Stuck in this moment for what seems to be forever, she still looks at him.

Nate was amazed and stunned…frozen. His mouth slightly open and his eyes wide, watches as her beautiful soft breast hang off her chest pointed to the floor as she bends over. While she slowly begins to pull her pants over her stiletto, her eyes are still glued to his.

Still pulling her pants over her boots, her eyes open wide as they begin to dart back and forth from him to the floor, she then slowly starts to lean. Nate knows that this moment…this one moment…frozen in time…is the moment to suddenly lift off his elbows and he reaches out to her as she snags her pants on her heel and falls clumsily to the floor. Stunned and speechless, he looks at her with his hand still extended…frozen.

*

“In other news…” Mr. Franklin looks into the camera with the imaginary information box over his shoulder “…a woman, who has yet to be identified, was found dead late last night with a single gunshot wound to her head. The police chief has asked that the identity of the woman not be disclosed until the facts of the case are carefully and fully investigated. The police chief did say that the wound appeared to be self-inflicted and, as of now, there are no suspects.”

*

Mrs. Galloway, laying there on the floor, pale white with her eyes wide open, recording mental video that no one will ever see. Her thick red blood has dried into the carpet, pasting photos and scented love letters to the floor for the world to see. Boots covered with white cotton sleeves, step over her lifeless body as flashes of camera bulbs light up the room. Blue latex gloves lift the pistol from the floor as Q-tip swabs rub over her thumbs and forefingers.

Flashes from cameras start lighting up the wall where blood and brain matter outlined family photos and inspirational bible quotes. An officer bends down with tweezers, picking up small chunks of hair covered skull that bounced off the wall, and drops them into a red bio hazard labeled plastic bags. Other officers pick up the scented love letters and photos off the floor and begin to wipe the blood from the shiny secrets.

The police chief walks into the room and glances around the brutal mess. The officers, huddled in a semi-circle holding photos and love letters, glance up to look at the chief in his grand entrance. Chief just looks at them and frowns. This was his son’s favorite teacher and a pillar of the community. What a shame to see such a beautiful woman, who had everything, end up as a small blotter on the evening news.

Looking over at the officers huddled around this photo, the chief asked, “Did you guys find anything? Well…what is it?!” The officers quickly glance at each other and then start to try to find somewhere else to be. “Well…spill it! Anything?” he said with his authoritative voice.

To Whom It May Concern:
If ever a moment that you would rather be picking hair covered skull up off the floor than to be looking at this one shiny photo…

Chief walks over and grabs the photo from the officer. Looking at this shiny blood stained memory, his eyes grow red in anger and disgust. His holy son…his only begotten son…bent over with a man’s fingers being pulled out of his son’s swollen asshole. As his son glances over his shoulder smiling in the camera, his white non-tanned ass is being used as a pedophile’s finger, dick, and tongue warmer.

Chief, humiliated and angered, yells “Enough pictures for now! Everyone get the fuck out of here!” then slides the glossy blood stained picture into his pocket.

Mrs. Galloway, laying there frozen, maybe even smiling, recording video that no one will ever see. Her eyes have never smiled so much.

*

“Carla, it isn’t that bad…I swear!” Nate said as he lay beside her on the bed. “It happens to everyone, I promise. It isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last.” He tried to reassure her, but the more he tried the more embarrassed she became.

Laying there with a pack of frozen peas on her eye, she quickly pops up and fires at him. “Not that bad? I have a pack of frozen food trying to keep the knot to a dull roar!” She quickly throws her head back into the pillow and covers her eye with the peas. Embarrassed, she lays there looking at the ceiling. Lying beside her, looking at the same ceiling, he reaches his hand over and touches hers.

“You know…” he said as a smile began to form from his lips, “…I still think you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

Carla takes the frozen food from her forehead, turns her head toward him, closes her eyes, and shakes her head. “Shut up.”


CHAPTER 28

Sitting in his car, the police chief revisits the moment over and over again. The look on their faces, smiles, smirks, stunned, paused. The gruesome scene of embarrassment plastered to the floor with dried blood and brain matter. His secret pasted to her face with crimson goo and saliva; her tears and mascara cementing his secret to her face. His son’s naked ass and smiling face, captured on shiny photo paper, stuck to her face as these police officers gaze in an amazement that overshadowed the very reason they were there.

Mrs. Galloway, already a distant memory to everyone, laying there like discarded trash. Her beautiful hair and painted nails, overlooked as she smiles there with her blue eyes wide open. Stepped over, poked, prodded, and swabbed…forgotten. The looks plastered on the faces of the officers as they gather around staring at the shiny blood stained memories of the police chief’s biggest secrets. Everyone has secrets. No one has secrets.

The time he spent gathering up every piece of tainted evidence that could tie his embarrassment to this scene…wasted. No matter how much he hid, the faces and glances he would share at the office or local diner, would be faces that knew the truth.

Sitting there, parked under the bridge by the train station where he had spent many hours of his career, thinking about how short the drive home could be. His wife and son sitting at the dining room table with cold food on their plates, waiting for him.

His wife, probably wearing her old ratty sweatshirt from college and flowered blue pajama pants, was probably sitting across the table from her son. Her hair pulled back into a lazy pony tail with no makeup to hide her aging eyes, she jealously looks across the table at her son who has figured out exactly how to use mascara to make his eyes pop with luster.

Sitting there, parked in his car, listening to the radio commercials talk about the most insignificant things. Commercials about free prostate exams, unwanted hair removal, cell phones without two year commitments, and drink specials at the local topless bars. He pulls out a cigarette and lights it with the sound of tobacco and rice paper popping as it burns. He takes a deep breath and slowly lets the smoke escape his lungs and fill the car with the smell of menthol.

Looking out of his window, looking in every dark shadow of the bridge pillars and abandoned cars, he smiles. No more secrets. No more places to hide. A city once protected by the vow of silent embarrassment has now become the city that hides its secrets about as well as a halter top hides silicone Barbie dolls.

*
The son looks at his mother across the table with his eyes filled with disgust and distain. How she was there, but never really there. She once was beautiful. She once commanded the respect of everyone in the room. Now, she is a shadowed scared version of her secrets that even her son has trouble remembering.

For years, she would lay there in her bed as she felt her husband remove himself, walk through the dark, and out of the room. She could hear the creaking of the hallway floor as he slowly and gingerly tip toed to the son’s room. She counted every step. Six steps to the bedroom door and six steps to her son’s. She closed her eyes tightly as she knew