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Life for Drake Robinson is the closest thing to the definition of excitement, what with the ability to see into the past, travelling widely across the globe while helping the International Police... and mostly, running into the love of his life and getting married when it was least expected and with startling speed...
But everything has a price, everything is followed by consequences. This time it came like a blow to the chest, dour, threatening to separate the couple for life.
And time was running out.

**Note: this piece I had written for a writing contests, and one of requirement was to write a 7-page story around (a n overturned chair, set of keys and envelope) and that is what I came up with. Funny how non of us in the contest got a result :) View table of contents...


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Submitted:Jul 4, 2012    Reads: 33    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

It was one of the darkest nights. The gates of heavens opened wide, seemingly without intention of shutting again, letting sheets of rain hammer the streets like nails. A sudden gust of wind hurled the heavy drops, each the size of pebble, against the windows. However it was a night far from gloomy even if silence reigned over the roads and allies and darkness shrouded wherever the silver shreds of moon light did not reach. The skies might have had clouds; still it looked like the rain was falling from a vast void.

No gothic lightening, no terrorizing booms of thunder.

No, not a night of gloom, but a night of love.

He stood facing the kitchen's low, wide window, watching the rain streaming over the glass, veining patterns without a purpose and remembering a night much like this one when he had dashed like an euphoric child through rain falling from Italian sky. On that night he had kissed his now-wife for the first time a mere minute before he had asked her to marry him. A minute and a half before she shrieked her approval kissed him anew and changed his life irrevocably forever.

His name was Drake Robinson, 27 years old and for a long time he had been assisting the police all over the world being a "Special Detective", because he was special. In every aspect of the word.
He was able to move through the unseen gate of time that stood between the now and the past, only the past, never the future, wherever he entered a place and saw something "out of place", worth investigating. It was like every set of walls kept some kind of memory for the events it witnessed and allowed him to rummage through what was preserved-to know what exactly had happened with unblemished clearness.

It began as images so vivid as if it was snap shots of reality, flashing through his head every time he saw something intriguing that made him wonder. He had attributed it to the internal changes that came with the teen-age phase and made his imagination run wild-not signals from the external that only his mind could receive. But too soon he realized otherwise and that realization was confirmed by a series of tests and one result after every test. Two words: Extraordinary gift.

He despised it at some point in time, but with time he came to bend it to his will and eventually it really did pay off for ruining his teenage years. What with taking up such exciting career, getting paid handsomely and seeing a good portion of this wide world. Not before long, he started viewing it as a blessing. After all, if it had not been for it, his paths might have never intertwined with his wife's two years ago in Roma, Italia.

Katrina, that was her name, his Italian, glib, smart, funny, sometimes-armed-with-a-tongue-that-pelted-fire angel, and who was now sitting on their bed looking most aggravated and ready to spit out a curse.

Sinking a little into the mattresses, her legs were folded underneath her as she hunched her back over three sheets of paper that she was perusing. She had not turned on the florescent light overhead. She never used those once night fell except in the bathroom. It is better this way, she said in her heavily accented crocked English.
Instead the bedside lamb spilled its yellowish red haze over the bed. Drake only watched her sitting there with the dim surroundings etching her with dark lines, enhancing her beauty. Her hair was down, flowing dark and long halfway down her graceful spine, curling at the ends, tucked behind one ear, allowing Drake better view. She wore a beige shorts so short they must have been hers when she was 14 or something and he could see the way the upper swells of her breasts pressed against the rim of the top with every breath. They were gaining fullness with her advancing pregnancy.

That notion warmed his insides, brought glistening moisture to his eyes. Two months ago she told him she was with child, and it was one of the biggest surprises in his life, for they were always careful, but there had been this one wicked time…

They had been fighting quite viciously over something he could not now recall, she started hitting him with astonishing vigor that only Italian women seemed to possess in these situations, and all of a sudden he was kissing her and she was responding with an equal fervor and before they knew it they were tumbling each other all over the place, wrinkling the sheets beyond help, knocking over a vase, yanking a curtain right off its hooks and loops…
It was insanity. It was marvelous.

And suddenly, as he leaned against the door frame, his skin was steaming.
It was
real. She really was pregnant. And there were signs all over her (the hormones were his personal favorite).

But right now, she looked on the verge of spitting out one of her creative curses; she was having difficulty with English again.

He smiled "Are you okay?" He asked in Italian.
She heaved an impatient breath and glared at him "You
know I am not. And it is entirely your fault"
"What? Why? What did I do?" He asked trying to play the innocent, but the helpless smile was widening, exposing his ploy, as he jumped onto the bed, causing it to pounce a little on its springs. That triggered a smile from Katrina's enticing lips.
"I already speak 3 languages. I didn't need a fourth, but you just had to come along with your damned English"
"Oh, I am so sorry,
amore mio, but, really, should I be the only one who suffers this love of ours?" He said, lowering his voice against her neck, filling his nostrils with her unmistakable scent. Inhaling, he closed his eyes, momentarily lost in the memory of their first dance, the day he had first seen her, when he had twirled her away from him in an intoxicating mixture of fire and wildflowers and curled her back into him. He knew then that life without her just wouldn't do.
She faced him "Is that you trying to make me feel better?" Her voice was meant to be reprimanding, but it wavered and a tremble of blossoming desire crawled across her skin.
Pregnant women were highly sensitive to the tiniest tricks of seduction.
He chuckled, foreseeing the closure of tonight "okay" he said moving away and stretching across her lap over to the mini-bar they kept beside the bed. He retrieved the magical remedy for times such as these. "This" he began" will make you feel infinitely better" He held up a tub of ice cream on the flat of his hand, right under her nose. Her eyes went instantly wide. It was mixed berries and yoghurt, her absolute favorite. In a second, the lid flew off and the almost uncivilized shoveling began. Leaning sideways onto his elbow, he watched the daze of pleasure playing across her features, and then he leaned even closer and kissed the side of her neck lingeringly. She stilled.
"Are you trying to turn me on? I am pregnant, you know, which means my body is holding out for a chance, so you'd better watch it"
He laughed "Oh, no no. I would never do such un-noble thing" his husky voice hinting at every un-noble thing there was.

For a long moment she looked at him out of the corner of her exquisitely green eyes, then with a mumbled "good" resumed the interrupted devouring of the ice cream, thinking that there couldn't possibly be a taste as wonderful as the one gliding over her taste buds now-until Drake took the tub and spoon from her hand and pressed his lips to her deliciously smudged ones.
To hell with English and Ice Cream.

She turned toward him, cupping his face, straddling him. He felt the hastened beats in his heart, the hot shots of blood through his veins as he watched her undress him as slowly as he was undressing her, their lips locked in an unhurried passion.
Though urgency was never far behind.

That beautiful, rainy night stretched long, so full of tenderness and undeniable passion and soft laughter. So caught up were they in the eruption of the final euphoria that neither took notice of an evil lurking not far away, watching their love through binoculars that gleamed in the moonlight, before it disappeared.



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