The Tree Within. Stephen Campana

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      When it was over, they pulled the cross back up into the ceiling, wiped the smoke residue off their vestments, and made their way back up the stairs, where they would continue business as usual.

      11

      Jack lay there on his bed, head propped against the headboard, thinking about the day’s events. Mostly he was thinking about his conversation with Diane, which had ended with a kind of silent, mutual agreement not to discuss the matter any further that evening. The rest of the evening’s conversation pertained entirely to mundane matters of mutual interest, like the dinner they ate together, the job they shared, and the movie they watched on the sofa before retiring to their respective bedrooms. Some more consideration was given to the matter of naming their cat, and they finally decided to call it Smokey.

      He rolled over to his side and stared at the watch on his dresser. It was twelve P.M.. He had already been lying there for an hour, thinking. They covered a lot of ground at dinner, but there were so many things they didn’t cover. So many questions he still had. Were they still trying to kill her too? And if so, why? Why were the two of them regarded as threats, and to whom? And what about their mission? What was it exactly? When was it to begin? And what about them? Did she dream about him the way he dreamt about her? Did she have feelings for him? Those were just a few of the questions he had; there were many more, and right now, they were playing and re-playing in his mind like a record with the needle stuck, blocking him from sleeping.

      To make matters worse, he did not even have the cat to curl up with; the darned thing had taken a decided preference for Diane and had chosen to spend the night with her. Of course, cats never were never known for their loyalty; that was more of a dog thing. But at least he did have a bed tonight. That was a substantial improvement over a park bench. And while the cover of the night sky might have a certain charm, it was no substitute for an actual brick and mortar ceiling. In point of fact he had it pretty good right now, if he could just quell the crush of questions that were crowding his brain. If only he had a fraction of Diane’s faith. Or her commitment. But he didn’t, and he doubted that he ever would. But then again, he had never really expected to see Diane in the flesh, and here he was, so what did he know?

      The questions continued to swirl in his brain, but gradually, they slowed down, until finally his eyes grew heavy and slumber overtook him.

      Moments later he was dreaming.

      He was in a garden, alone, surrounded only by the sights and sounds of nature. In the distance a woman was walking toward him. Like him, she was naked. She walked slowly, with great deliberation. Her arms were slightly outstretched, palms facing up. Her hips swayed with each long, graceful stride. As she got closer, a small, wry smile crept onto her lips. She stopped just feet before him, drinking him in with her big, brown eyes, then brought her hands up slowly to his cheeks, tickling his skin with the tips of her soft, tapered fingers. Her touch was like an electrical current, sending waves of pleasure through his body. She began to draw his face toward her waiting lips. As she did, she slid one hand behind him, down his back, and began moving it in circles. The warmth from her hands was like nothing he had ever felt before. By the time their lips touched, his legs were like jello; he realized he was not even standing up on his own power; she was holding him up. As their lips touched he felt himself on the precipice of an ecstasy beyond anything he had ever imagined; he needed only to move a little further, a little deeper into her. But just as that was about to happen she drew back, like she always did at this point. Then she moved her head back and forth in a gesture that said no. And when he reached for her, she was gone.

      12

      Clad in a T-shirt and a pair of short sweat pants, Kanye sat at the foot of the bed, remote in hand, trying to find something to watch before turning in for the night. This would be his last night at the motel. His last night at any motel, chasing Jack Horn around, tracking his movements, planning to kill him. He had made up his mind. He was leaving tomorrow morning. Leaving the town of Silverton, leaving this mission, and leaving the church he had served for twenty years. He would have left tonight, but he had a slight headache and he preferred driving during the day.

      There was a knock at the door—a soft, almost apologetic tapping, as if the person really didn’t want to bother him. That was good; he didn’t want to be bothered. He walked over to the door and opened it. Standing before him was a beautiful young woman in a sliver robe, cinched at the waist, holding a bottle of wine. She had a purse slung around her shoulder. She was black, like him, with a gorgeous mane of white hair that flowed gently down her shoulders and neck. She had sparkling turquoise eyes, full lips, and skin like glass. On her feet were diamond encrusted slippers that matched the color of her robe, and in her hair, a few inches above her left ear, a solitary short stemmed flower.

      For a moment Kanye could not breath; he just stood there, mouth agape, staring at this heavenly vision. She smiled at him, revealing pearly white teeth that glistened marvelously against the backdrop of her black skin. “Got a little something for you,” she said, holding up the bottle of wine. “I heard it was your favorite.” It was a red Merlot. It was his favorite. “Yes,” he said in a shaky voice, “It is. How did you know?”

      “Oh, I know things,” she said, running a finger down his arm as she stepped into the room. She strolled over to the bed and placed her purse on the night stand. Then she got into the bed, resting her back against the headboard, and patted the mattress, saying, “Well, aren’t you gonna join me?”

      Kanye did not know how to respond. For thirty years, he had kept his vows of celibacy. And now, on the eve of his intended departure from the church, comes this temptation. As if reading his mind, the woman said, “One drink isn’t going to hurt, is it?”

      “Well . . . I suppose not,” Kanye said, approaching the bed. He got on it next to her. “That’s better,” the woman said, smiling, then retrieved two wine glasses and a cork screw from her purse. “Would you like to do the honors?” she asked, handing him the bottle and the cork screw. He took them from her, his hands quivering slightly. He steadied himself and dug the cork screw into the cork, wrestled with it for a bit, then popped it. A little spilled onto the mattress.

      She took the bottle from him and poured some into one glass, which she handed to him, and some into another, which she kept for herself. She held her glass up and said, “To pleasure” and took a big sip. He did the same. Then she opened up her robe a little, revealing the inner outline of her breasts. She took another sip and moved closer to him. “Do you like it?” she asked, smiling coyly. He didn’t know if she meant the wine or her, although he suspected that she had both things in mind. “Yes,” he said weakly, feeling very much like a teenager during his first sexual tryst. “Good,” she said, sliding her free hand behind his head and pulling it toward her lips. Just inches before they touched she whispered, “I want you to enjoy yourself.”

      As he sat there frozen by a mixture of indecision and pleasure, she took his glass in her fingertips and placed it on the nightstand, along with her own. Then she pulled her robe off. She was naked underneath. Her breasts were like two perfectly round melons and her legs long and shapely. Looking at him and smiling, she licked two fingers and slid them slowly down her torso, beginning at her breasts, moving to her navel, and finally between her legs, where she began slowly rubbing, as a series of soft, sensual murmurs of pleasure escaped her full, moist lips. The whole time she kept her eyes locked on Kanye’s—a kind of warm, invisible embrace that he could feel almost as intensely as an actual physical touch.

      “Well,” she asked, “Aren’t you going to join me?” Quivering, he undressed and fell into her arms. Her embrace was like nothing he had ever experienced, or even imagined, before. Her lips, pressed against his, sent ripples of ecstasy СКАЧАТЬ