The Guilty - Jason Pinter [75]
raised her arms and eased off her vest. I eased off her blouse
with my good hand, pressed my palm against her bare skin,
ran it up toward her bra, then underneath, cupping her warm
breasts in my hand. Amanda sighed, reached behind and
unhooked the clasp, letting the clothing fall free.
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She stood up, giving me a moment to gaze at her body. A
moment later my pants and her skirt were undone and she
managed to slip off my boxers. Amanda eased on top of me
again until I was inside of her. We both groaned and began to
move back and forth, up and down.
"I want to be so close to you." She sighed, her movements
growing faster and faster. "I love you, Henry."
"I love you, too," I managed to gasp, as we rocked violently for another minute before collapsing onto the couch,
Amanda's sweat-glistened body rising and falling against
mine. Our lips found each other one more time, and then we
fell asleep intertwined, as all the pain faded away.
34
Jack O'Donnell sat at his keyboard, fingers flying as he
typed away on the only story that currently mattered to him.
When he told Wallace he was going to write it for the
Gazette-- they had to cover it, after all, as the crime was committed by a man who'd already killed four people--there was
no argument, only a solemn nod and an assumption that the
most accurate and unbiased story would be written. Wallace
did point out that the Gazette would have an exclusive--the
only paper in town to interview the victim, Henry Parker. All
the other news organizations would simply have to credit
Jack's piece when they quoted from it.
Jack had arrived at the hospital less than ten minutes after
the ambulance arrived with Henry. He'd watched them unload
the stretcher. He saw Amanda leap out, doing her best to hold
back tears. Jack offered a terse hello, then asked how Henry
was doing. She said they didn't know, that he needed a CAT
scan and that his hand was hurt something bad. Amanda
looked at Jack in a way that made his stomach feel hollow,
like somehow he'd been responsible for the attack.
He waited as they made sure there was no cranial bleeding,
no fractures. When the tests confirmed a grade one concus- The Guilty
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sion Jack sighed in relief, said goodbye to Amanda, and left.
He went straight back to the office, locked himself in a conference room, pulled a flask of whiskey from his pocket and
drank until his eyes were ruddy and the tears of frustration
were sufficiently dammed up.
A year ago, when Henry had recovered after being shot,
Jack had viewed him merely as a young reporter with potential. It was a professional relationship, nothing more, one that
could be severed at any time for a multitude of reasons. Over
the past twelve months, however, Henry had become more.
For a man in his sixties who hadn't spoken to his own offspring in more than a decade, Henry Parker was the closest
thing to a son Jack O'Donnell had ever known.
Jack was a legend. He knew this, but did not brandish his
legacy like some vulgar bayonet. Instead he cloaked himself in
it, remembered it every time he began a story, every time he
followed a lead. Jack had torn through three marriages because
he simply could not perform the duties most women expected
of a husband. He would not come home when they pleased. He
would not offer comfort or solace with any regularity. He stayed
out late, drank often, was surly and emotionless depending on
how a story was evolving. Every relationship was a bell curve.
Passion and romance rose to a peak, then fell into a trough until
they flatlined. And when that happened, it was time to move on.
But it made him a great reporter. He devoted himself to
the craft, and in doing so became something more than just
a newsman. Within Henry, Jack could see the same potential. He would have to make sacrifices. Sacrifices ordinary
men could never make. Family, friends, even some happiness. But by doing so Henry would become what Jack
believed he could be: someone who made a difference.
Someone whose work lived on.
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Jason