Night Blind (The Technicians #11)

Chapter 3 - Instruct

Nude. Helen McDaniel stood in front of the mirror noticing the changes to her body. The bare breasts she had once taken pride in, were now scarred by deep cuts from a straight razor, healed, but with raised keloids as a harsh reminder of what The Collector did to her body. A damp hand ran across the abdomen, also scarred, from another moment in her life where a different man had harmed her body to a level where it is incapable of producing a life, leaving her to travel the road into old age alone, caring for another’s child or children, since she’d never had any of her own.

“The bottle is broken, Helen, and the milk is saturated with glass shards; don’t cry about it, just go and buy more, but this time, in a plastic container,” she said softly.

Years of pep talks kept her sane. She wasn’t one to argue or complain. It wasn’t her way. She was the person who got things done, silently, without causing a ripple. There were times when she sincerely wondered if her quiet demeanor and unassuming manner became the reason men made her the choice for their dark obsessions. At times, she felt like there was a target on her back that yelled pick me to abuse when she made a concerted effort to not be noticed. Maybe, she scoffed, as she wrapped the towel around her waist, wanting to be unnoticed is what made men take notice.

The clock chimed ten after seven as she dressed in jeans, a warm jacket with a hat, and a scarf around her neck. Recently, her cousin had given her a pair of soft leather gloves which she added to her hands, and then she stopped. Turning back, she added a bit of almond-scented lotion to her hands and put on the gloves before going to meet Slow in the yard. Today she was starting her training.

He waited, staring at her mutherfuckingly as she approached. In his right hand, he held a mug of steamy yumminess which she could smell. He scowled at her, growling almost when he said, “Jergens.”

“Excuse me?”

“You put on Jergens lotion, almond scented. Also, you’re wearing,” he paused, raising his head as if to give his nostrils ample access to her scent, “off-brand deodorant, and you bathed in Dove soap.”

“Wonderful, are you also going to sniff out what tissue I wiped my butt with as well?”

“No, as a Technician, your body is your weapon,” he told her. “First, your mind, then your body, and at the end of your hand the delivery system. It is important to not have a scent when you are hunting. If the animals can smell you, they will run and avoid you. The key is to blend in, leave no traces.”

“Noted,” she said, looking about. “Are we hunting today?”

“You’re not physically ready,” he said. “You need to build your core, shift your center of gravity, and add ten pounds of muscle.”

“How do you know anything about my center of gravity, and what makes you think I need to put on ten pounds? I’m stronger than you think,” she said, raising her chin in defiance.

Slow extended his arm, flexing his hand at the wrist. His fingers splayed wide, and he took one step forward, pressing his hand to her chest. The impact lifted Helen from the ground, her legs in the air as she went flying, landing on her bottom in a pile of leaves. She looked at him from the ground, noticing he hadn’t even spilled the contents of his cup.

“Ouch,” she said, scrambling to her feet.

“This week, we build muscle,” he said, pointing to a pile of wood.

“And what am I supposed to do with that?”

“Chop it,” he said, turning to pick up a red-handled axe. “Chop it to match what you see in that pile. Add what you cut this week and add to the pile, make sure you cover the stash to avoid the dampness. By the end of the week, the wood on the ground should be split and stacked.”

Helen looked at the low stores of wood in the hopper. It was a lot of wood to cut. She didn’t know how to chop wood and didn’t want to do it either.

“Can’t I go to the gym instead?”

“Muscles made in the gym don’t have the same impact as muscles built from doing physical labor,” he told her. “At the end of the week, you’re going to be sore. Your hands will have blisters, and your back is going to ache like you’ve never felt.”

“Is that supposed to motivate me?”

“No, those blocks of wood should represent every single disappointment in your life. Failures, letdowns, injustices, and any other issues which piss you the hell off are represented in that wood,” he told her. “This week, take your anger out on the pile.”

“Yes, oh great Sensei,” she added, almost in a mocking tone.

“Funny; next week, we begin hunting for rabbits, deer, and wild hog,” he said. “We will need meat for the winter. Can you shoot?”

“Cherry taught me to fire rifles, small arms, grenade launchers,” she said, looking at the wood pile.

“Good to know; pace yourself,” he said.

“That’s it?”

“For now,” he said, stopping and lifting the axe in his left hand. “There are two ways to do this, one is like this.”

Slow raised his arm to bring the axe down hard into the wood. He lifted his arm, bringing the axe and wood into the air, then came down hard on the wooden stump, causing the wood wedged by the axe to splinter in two. He picked up another piece of wood, seating it squarely on the wooden stump, this time raising the axe, bringing it down hard onto the wood, splintering the chunk.

“It will more than likely take you half a day to figure out what works best for you to get the job done by the end of the week,” he told her, nodding his head and leaving. “Keep on the gloves; it will lessen the blisters.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” she said, looking at the pile of wood. “I’m tough. I’ve survived worse. I can do this. I can cut this wood.”

Fifteen minutes later, she cursed Mr. Slow, his pile of wood, the children he would sire, and the dog he didn’t possess. Next, she cursed her cousin for mating with such a man who could knock her on the ass with one hand and split a log while holding a cup of coffee in the other. He’d made it look so easy.

Her first attempt with the axe, the pain and force of the contact with the wood reverberated up her arm, shaking her lungs. The second try felt like she’d been hit in the chest. On the third try, she actually managed to chip the log.

“Argh!” she yelled, throwing her weight into the fourth effort, which seated the axe head in the wood. She raised the wood with the axed lodge inside, thinking of The Collector, bringing it down hard on the stump. “Shit. Shit. Shit!”

The pain shimmied up her arms and into her midsection. The intensity of the pain felt as if her fallopian tube wrapped itself around an ovary making it spit an egg into nothingness. “If I had a uterus, I would definitely be bleeding from my vag right now.”

She continued to work, managing to split a total of ten logs by lunch, and she was tired. The back door opened to Cherry stepped outside to look at her. “Come inside. I made us some lunch.”

“I didn’t know you had returned,” Helen said, looking at the garages. The way the doors closed she couldn’t tell what vehicle was inside. Relief covered her at seeing her cousin had made it home safely.

“Quick job; only an hour and some change away,” Cherry said. “I know your hands are hurting.”

“My body is hurting, but I’m not going to quit,” she told Cherry. “This is hard, Abi.”

Abi was the name she called her cousin, which was short for Abigail. Whenever they talked about the job her cousin did, she always referred to her as Cherry, but at this moment, reassurances were needed to get her through the day.

“I know, but try receiving your training from the good ol’ United States Government,” Cherry said. “In Basic Training, there are two weeks of physical conditioning while mind fucking you into submission.”

Helen smiled as she went to the bath to wash her hands. A bowl of hearty beef soup waited for her on the table, and she was truly hungry. Slow liked soups and stews. Meat, potatoes, and a piece of bread to sop up the gravy is what the man considered to be a meal. It worked, but so did the man.

“Speaking of mind fucking,” Helen said, “I’ll pick up Naomi and take her to dance class this evening. After, she and I can head to Mark and Ruth’s for a bite to eat. I know Ruth would love to see her granddaughter on a day other than Sunday. This way, you can make your man a nice dinner and be alone.”

“Helen, you don’t need to do that,” Cherry said, watching her cousin’s face.

“I know, but he deserves it,” she said. “He deserves to come home to a steak dinner with a baked potato fully loaded and oozing with butter, and to be as loud as he’d like making love to you without ears around.”

Cherry arched her brows, “Do you know something I don’t Cuz?”

“Yes, I know your husband’s life has been turned upside down in the past four and a half months,” she told Cherry. “He has made so many adjustments to add three women to his quiet and once solitary world. The house he’s given me, what he’s become for Naomi, what he means to you, even what he means to me, the safe feeling he gives me to not live in total fear is priceless. I am grateful to him. Michael needs a night with you without restrictions.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Cherry responded, taking a seat at the table. “May I ask how you’re doing?”

“Venting my anger on chunks of wood works. Next week, I’ve decided to take a few classes,” she said, skirting the obvious about her training as a Technician. “I think, just to keep in practice, I’m going to help Michael hunt for the winter stores of meat. You know, earn my keep, and I kind of like that venison stew.”

Cherry’s eyes misted. “I love you, Helen,” she confessed. “I love and respect your silent strength when I know, in your head, you’re going through hell.”

“You didn’t leave me behind, Abi. You didn’t leave me behind to figure it out and neither did Michael,” she said softly. “I love you both for allowing me to be a part of this family.”

“You’re all the family I have.”

“Not anymore,” she said, “there’s Mark and Ruth, and of course Rebecca. Michelle is Naomi’s favorite cousin, and Uncle Joe, is a hoot. The family is larger than I expected.”

“I like them all. The Nearys are good people,” Cherry added, starting on her bowl of soup. Her husband Michael Isaac Neary was a good man who deserved a good life. Tonight, he would come home to a steak dinner, a piping hot potato, and an eagerly hot wife. It would be the optimal way to end his day.

****

Thus far, it had been a shit day. His newly appointed right hand Carlotta Boone was a pain in his tuchus. It seemed that every two hours, she had a new idea on how to streamline processes, until finally, he informed her with no emotion in his voice to learn how to walk before she took off running. The tactic worked, and for the remainder of the week, she stayed quiet and focused on the task at hand. The last thing he needed to do on his day job as well as at home was to instruct a student unwilling to listen to learn.

He thought of Helen and the pile of wood. She was a trooper, but her eyes said there was far more trauma in her life than what The Collector had inflicted. Those eyes spoke of a deep-rooted pain of being tossed aside or sacrificed for the larger picture. He knew it happened with single mothers; he simply didn’t know of anyone personally who had grown up in that kind of environment. The silver framed photo on his desk held a family photo of himself, his parents, and his sister, as well as Helen, Cherry, and Naomi. A separate frame held an image of Naomi showing off her tiny little teeth and wearing her hair loose with a yellow headband. The ears protruded from the side of her head like directional antennae, and he’d never seen a more adorable sight in his life.

A knocking at his office door made him look up, drawing him from the moment of joy at looking at his child. The joy completely left him when he spotted Luca Jones, the Human Resource Manager for his department, the Blue Campus of Homeland Security. In his hand, Luca held a gift-wrapped box as he entered through the door and shoved it at Slow.

“I was going over your personal records, Neary, and noticed Naomi had a birthday last week, so I picked up a little something for our dancing queen,” Luca said, holding the gift like it was the Holy Grail.

“Thank you, but I can’t accept it,” he told Luca.

“It’s not for you; it’s for Naomi.”

Slow turned fully in his seat to face the HR Manager. “One, I’m not okay with a male outside of my family heaping gifts on my daughter,” he said. “It sets a bad precedent. Two, I don’t know anything about you and your kids or their birthdays, so I don’t want to feel obligated to reciprocate to your children that I don’t know, nor want to know. Again, thanks, but no.”

“Jeez, you are such a hard ass,” Luca said, reaching to close the door to Slow’s office. He helped himself to a chair no one offered to him. Luca cleared his throat. “I don’t have any children of my own. I’m seeing someone who has a daughter Naomi’s age, and I dunno, I want to make it more permanent, but I don’t think I’m ready to take on someone else’s kid. I don’t even think I’m ready to have my own.”

Slow sat staring at him mutherfuckingly, uncertain if the old demon who hung out next to him had been replaced with a new guardian from Hell with an offbeat sense of humor. He asked, “And why, dear Jesus, are you sharing this with me?”

“Because you are a man who can keep a secret,” Luca confessed. “I need to talk to someone and my father, God bless his soul, is so desperate for grandchildren, he’s thinking about adopting one of them babies from overseas. In a couple of years, he’ll be in his own diapers talking about changing some on his grandson. Listen, I just want to talk to a man who understands the weirdness of being a girl-dad.”

“Dude, you have no idea the amount of weirdness coming your way if you go through with this, but follow your heart,” Slow said. “If you can find it in you to love the child as your own, then talk to the woman in your life about timing and planning your own biological to give the girl a sibling.”

“You make it sound so easy. Are you and Abigail trying for another to give Naomi a sibling?”

“Honestly, that is none of your business,” Slow said, rising, giving Luca the cue that his time was up.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to overstay my welcome.”

“You were never welcomed; you just barged in. Take your present,” Slow said, passing the pretty wrapped gift box to him.

“No, and you can’t make me,” Luca said, sticking his tongue out at Slow. “Tell Naomi the head bully on your playground made you bring it home. And thanks.”

“Whatever,” Slow said, looking at his watch. It was time to head home. Naomi had an early rehearsal tonight which meant Cherry had picked her up from daycare. All he wanted was a hot shower, possibly a cold beer, and eight long hours of sleep. “If my wife throws in a quick and dirty, I’d be okay with that as well.”

All the way home, his stomach rumbled, and he prayed that Helen hadn’t decided to cook dinner. As far as he was concerned, he secretly prayed his wife hadn’t either. The two beautiful women were both menaces in the kitchen. Every meal they cooked rested on a sheet pan, drizzled in olive oil with a bit of Mrs. Dash for seasoning, making each meal taste exactly the same as the last. It didn’t matter if it was chicken, fish, or pork, all of it tasted like greasy lemon peppered bad habits. He arrived home, taking his vehicle to the garage to park. He trudged slowly across the yard to the back door. He noticed the pile of wood was smaller, not by much, but Helen was working on it. She’d be sore tonight from her efforts.

He stepped inside the home to smell the wonderful scent of seared beef with onions. Inhaling deeply, he followed his nose to the dining area, his breath catching at seeing his wife. His eyes went from Cherry to the dining room table and back to Cherry, uncertain which to look at first. On the table, which was decorated with a white tablecloth, deep green napkins, and plates he’d never seen before rested the single most gorgeous cowboy steak he’d seen in a long time. A small bowl of sauteed mushrooms sat next to a container of brown gravy along with a steaming bowl of green peas with the butter dissolving into the perfect circles of goodness. A brown wicker basket held crusty brown rolls next to slices of aged white cheddar, and a beer, so cold there was condensation en mass e on the side of the bottle, but the baked potato, loaded with sour cream and chives made his mouth water.

He turned to look at Cherry. She stood before him in a piece of lace with spaghetti straps to hold it on her shoulders, but the rest allowed him to see everything he loved about the woman. His wife even wore a pair of high-heeled strappy sandals to show off her amazing legs.

Slow swallowed hard, “This…and wow…you, amazing.” He paused, looking around, “Bunny?”

“She and Helen are having dinner with your parents. We have about three hours alone,” Cherry said, lifting the lace. “What would you like to put first in that filthy mouth of yours, Mr. Neary?”

He chuckled while removing his tie. He slowly removed his shoes, then his jacket. His eyes went to the table as he picked up a mushroom, sighing in delight as it hit his tongue. He took a swig of the beer, cold, refreshing, and delightful to the taste buds in his mouth, which felt rewarded after a long day.

“Listen, wife, you’re going to mess around for real, and tonight, when I’m done, you will most definitely be pregnant,” he said, reaching for her.

“Well, we are alone, and you can be as loud, as nasty, and as physical as I can tolerate,” she said, reaching for the bulge in his pants.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Mrs. Neary,” he laughed, lifting her into his arms.

He carried his wife to the bedroom, tossing her on the bed like a rag doll and diving in behind her. In one motion, his pants were off, and with the next, the sheer negligée she wore became shreds. Slow leaned over her and whispered in her ear, a command so nasty, so raunchy, so debaucherous, she felt her girly parts leak with anticipation. It was all the encouragement he needed as he spent a solid hour non-stop making her wail like a three-dollar hooker auditioning for a starring role in an upcoming adult film.

“Damn, Michael Isaac Neary!”

“Baby, if it wasn’t for that steak in the other room, I would start on Round Two,” he said, kissing her passionately, as he disengaged their bodies.

He ate his meal with pleasure, looking across the table at his wife. Twice he reached for her, offering a passionate kiss, and finally after he’d eaten half the meal, they cleaned the kitchen and waited for the return of their family at the nine o’clock hour.

Naomi entered the front door, yawning, “Hey Daddy. Hi Mommy? Did you miss me?”

“Of course we did; we missed both of you,” he said, looking at Helen and nodding his head in appreciation. She in turn offered a mock salute.

“I’m going to head home,” Helen stated. “Good night, everyone.”

Slow spoke up, “No, stay for story time. Pour yourself a glass of wine, and Cherry will walk you home when I put Naomi to bed.”

“I don’t want to impose,” she said softly.

“You’re family; you are supposed to be here,” he said, reaching for the book on the coffee table.

Cherry rose to pour her cousin a glass of wine as Helen took a seat in the additional recliner he’d purchased for Helen when she came over on Friday nights to watch movies. She had a place in this home, and she understood where she fit in. Tonight, she’d done something small for him that had meant a great deal. Once a week, if she could, based on her new schedule, she’d give back to them in any way she could help.