Disclaimer:
these girls are mine, they may look familiar and act familiar but they are all
mine. Cause we know the world is chock full o’ fine looking chicks like these,
right?
Language: yes, I use the “F” word
Sex: Of course
there is sex. Depictions of consenting adults participating in same sex unions
PUSHING INK (Hawaiian Style)
The fifth Skin Deep Story
By Black Cherry
Dr. Drelica Truman stretched.
She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes; blinking she looked at her watch
and frowned. It was almost midnight. She had been putting in 14-hour days since
her return from West Texas. She was exhausted, she was on the verge of suffering
burn out, and she was glad that the digging season was over.
The excavation team had been
called in from the field last week. It had been a nightmare cleaning up the
messes that David Temple and his cronies had created for the museum, and for her
personal life. She still cringed when she recalled the incident, and found it
almost too far fetched to be believed, even though she had lived through it.
Still the museum had benefited
and so had she. The museum was given the incredible gift not only of the digging
rights to the excavation site by the landowner, but also the solid gold and
jewelled cross of Coronado. Legends spoke of this cross-made by the Indians of
west Texas as a gift to the Spanish Conquistador Coronado as a peace offering to
stop the slaughter of their people. Gold was what the Spaniards wanted, and so
the Indians fashioned a fabulous cross in the symbol of the Spanish god in the
hopes it would satisfy their lust.
It had been on its way back to
Spain when the galleon was attacked by British pirates in the Gulf of Mexico,
and thought to be forever lost. How
it wound up back with the Indians is a mystery, but it was hidden in one of
their sacred burial sites until the pillaging of David Temple and Mark Stephens
discovered it.
Drelica frowned. There were
still some pieces missing to the puzzle. How
did the cross get back to the Indians? How is it that if Torrid knew the cross
was there, she never took it?
Torrid gifted the museum with
the Cross to protect it from future treasure hunters who would surely have by
now heard of its last resting place. It would be safe, locked up in the museum
vaults, while a replica was placed on display for the public.
Drelica had a lot of questions to ask Torrid about the mysterious
artefact, but they would have to wait. She hadn’t been able to spend much time
with her the past few weeks with her duties at the museum tripling and her
personal time at an all time low.
Drelica spent many hours at
Torrid’s bedside as she recovered in the hospital after their return from West
Texas. Torrid’s wounds had been serious but not life threatening, well, at
least for a superhero, Drelica smiled to herself. She paused a moment to think on Torrid Duncan. Torrid was a
fascinating woman; Drelica had never met anyone like her before. She found
Torrid to be a compassionate and intelligent woman, despite her rough exterior.
Drelica would be forever grateful to Torrid for saving her, and with the
thought, her heart swelled. She almost lost Torrid out there in the desert, and
she realized then that she had deep feelings for her.
Drelica had battled with
herself for the past month over her feelings for Torrid. She felt them intensely
when Torrid was around, but when she was swamped with work, it was easier to put
them away and not dwell on them too much. Her
life, her career, was a mess. The last thing she needed was to complicate
matters more by falling in love. Too late. Damn.
12:30 AM
“What the fuck?”
Torrid opened her eyes and looked at the digital clock.
She pulled the covers back and realized she was sweating. Her body was
soaked again. Fucking nightmares. She reached for a cigarette, and then
remembered she didn’t have any. She had quit smoking.
“Habit.” She said to
herself.
The pounding at the door
startled her. Shit!
That must have been what
jarred her from her sleep.
“Who the fuck is beating on
my door at this hour?” She muttered, reaching for a pair of jeans and a
t-shirt.
The pounding at the door was
steady, urgent, but not violent. Cops. She smirked.
She opened the door a crack to
see two plain-clothes officers standing just outside.
“Yeah?” She said, coldly.
“Torrid Duncan?” The
detective asked.
“Who wants to know?”
Torrid said, playing the game.
“I am detective Jim Stephens
and this is Detective Nathan Peters--Homicide.”
Torrid opened her door wide
and stepped back, allowing them to come in.
She turned on the kitchen
light.
“What’s this about,
gentlemen?” Torrid asked soberly.
“Ms Duncan, I am afraid we
have some bad news for you.” Detective Stephens replied.
“Who’s dead?” Torrid
said bluntly, her stomach turning over and over.
“Monica Truman.” Detective
Peters answered.
Torrid sat down hard on the
bar stool she had been standing near. The color went out of her face. She opened
her mouth and raised her eyebrows asking barely above a whisper, “How?
When?”
“We need you to come down to
the morgue and identify the body.” Detective Peters said.
Torrid was livid. “Why
me?” she said, “Don’t you need next of kin?”
“It’s complicated,”
Detective Stephens said, “Her parents refuse to believe us when we asked
them.”
“What?” Torrid said,
agape.
“They are...strange. So Ms
Duncan would you be willing to come? She listed you as an emergency contact at
her place of employment, and you have her power of attorney.”
“Oh....yeah....” Torrid
said. Fuck. I forgot about that. “Homicide...”
She said softly, considering. “How did she die?” She asked soberly.
“Cocaine overdose. She was
gang raped and left tied up in some sort of suspension harness. We think it was
a cult she was involved in.” Detective Stephens said.
“I hate to say this, but it doesn’t surprise me.” Torrid said, shrugging.
“Are you familiar with a
group that calls itself the ‘grotto of discord’?” Detective Peters.
“Jesus fucking Christ, “
Torrid said, “She was involved with those losers?”
Torrid paced the floor. She was shocked, but not surprised. Monica had been a
very unstable woman the past few months, becoming more and more reckless. Torrid
had lost so much from her association with Monica, part of her was almost glad
that she was gone. At least now there would be no more surprises.
God. Drelica.
Her heart fell. “Does her
sister know?”
The detectives looked at
Torrid, then at each other.
“We didn’t know she had a
sister.” Nathan Peters said, flipping through his notes.
“Do you know where she can be reached?”
“Yeah. I do.” Torrid said,
sadly. “But I am going with you.”
Drelica stirred her fifteenth
cup of coffee absently as she made notes and reviewed reports.
She was burning the midnight
oil in overdrive tonight. But tomorrow she was taking the day off.
She lost herself in reviewing and article on Volcanoes. She loved
volcanoes. As much as digging up fossils, she loved seeing the act of creation
itself in the erupting of a volcano. This particular volcano, was in Hawaii:
|
#Kilauea
volcano, on the southernmost Island of Hawaii, is one of the most active
on Earth. It predominantly erupts basaltic lava in effusive eruptions,
although occasionally it experiences explosive eruptions as well. Kilauea
sits on the south eastern side of the Big Island of Hawaii, resting on the
flanks of it's larger neighbor volcano Mauna Loa (see map at right).
Kilauea stands just under 4200 feet tall at its highest point. Kilauea has
a 165m deep circular calderas at its summit that measures 3x5km (or 6x6
km, including the outermost ring faults). It is said that Kilauea is the
home to Pele, the volcano goddess of ancient Hawaiian legends. |
“I need a vacation.”
Drelica said as she sipped her coffee. Drelica’s
daydream of vacationing in Hawaii began to unfold. Hiking in the Volcano
national park, collecting ash and lava samples, watching the current eruption,
and measuring the volcanic gases in the atmosphere..yeah, she smiled to
herself.
Drelica tossed the magazine
onto the desk and stretched in her chair. It was late.
“Shit, it’s after 1am.” She said to herself as she stifled a yawn. “Time
to pack it in for the night.”
She turned off her computer
and desk lamp and grabbed her keys. As she turned to leave three shapes standing
in the doorway startled her. She screamed and assumed a self-defensive posture.
“Dre--it’s me!” Torrid
said, stepping into the light.
Drelica relaxed, her heart
still pounding in her chest. “T-Torrid! You scared the fuck out of me!” she
scolded.
The two men with Torrid
stepped closer. They wore suits, they had badges. This was not good. Torrid’s
face was white; her expression was one of sorrow. Her heart sank. Instinctively
she knew what was coming.
“Dre--” Torrid said,
stepping forward and touching Drelica’s shoulder, “These are detectives
Stephens and Peters.”
Tears welled up in Drelica’s eyes. She felt her stomach cave in and her knees
turn to jelly. Before the words were spoken, she heard them. She had heard them
a thousand times before in her dreams. She always knew this day would come. She
had seen it in a dream as a child. But the reality of this moment, long feared,
long forgotten, came hitting home with a thud.
Drelica fell into Torrid’s arms sobbing as the detectives relayed the
details of her sister’s death. And the final blow, the request for her to come
and identify the remains. She collapsed.
Torrid wiped Drelica’s hair
from her face, and placed a soft kiss there, and as if by magic her eyes opened.
Torrid smiled and spoke softly to her.
“Hey babe--I’m here.”
She said.
Drelica rolled over on the
couch of the police station and tucked her head into Torrid’s lap, sobbing.
Torrid held her, brushed her hand softly over her hair and let her cry
herself to sleep. After all the
statements were made, papers signed and arrangements made for the transport of
Monica’s body to the funeral director, Torrid decided to take Drelica home
with her. She was in no shape to care for herself right now, and after all the
days that she spent by Torrid’s side in the hospital, it was the least she
could do.
Torrid unlocked the door and
walked Drelica inside. She was dead on her feet; exhausted and in shock.
Torrid guided her to the bedroom and sat her on the bed, while removing
her shoes. She laid the spent woman back on the pillow, and spoke soft words of
comfort to her.
“Babe, it’s going to be
alright.” She brushed Drelica’s bangs from her eyes, and placed a soft kiss
on her forehead. Then, she hovered a moment and placed a soft warm kiss on
Drelica’s lips.
“Good night, baby girl.”
Torrid lay down next to her, and Drelica curled up against her strong body.
Torrid wrapped her strong, painted arms around Drelica, who seemed somehow frail
at this moment. After a moment Drelica’s breathing deepened and sleep had
claimed her.