Transgression (Prequel #1)

22 - New Beginnings

"Hey, sleepyhead. Wake up." A murmur attempted to pierce the cloak of his slumbering mind.

Faint, each word traveled a hundred empty miles to reach him. He stirred, unaware.

"There he is." The same voice calmly greeted.

His blurry vision washed over the scenery, unable to distinguish anything until his brain caught up with the rest of him.

. . . Reports from last night say they. . .

Sitting up from the couch, he groaned in discomfort.

"I told you not to sleep on the couch, it isn't good for your back."

Now sitting properly, he scooted to the middle cushion and allowed her to sit by his side. She moved in close, and placed a hand on his back, giving it a light scratch. He sighed loudly and placed his left hand on her thigh.

"Sorry. Just tired from work."

. . . body of a. . .

His vision adjusted slowly, a distracting vignette obscured details. The TV across the coffee table played some news program that he promptly ignored. Instead choosing to place his attention to her. A shared smile between them, he submerged himself in her radiating eyes; endless blue compassion completely enveloping him.

"Maybe you should ask Paul for a day or two off. We need some time to ourselves." She suggested sweetly.

. . . foul play suspected. The young. . .

"Are you kidding, if I wasn't there, the rest of the crew wouldn't be able to find their way out of a wet paper bag." He joked.

"Well that didn't sound conceited at all." She giggled, continuing to run her nails up and down his back.

"It's not conceited if it's true." He smirked.

. . . looking . . .

A crackling static.

She then patted his back and stood up from the couch. As she moved towards the kitchen, Alex focused on her butt and took a deep breath.

"I'm gonna make some breakfast, what do you want?"

. . . for Alex Avery. . .

Deep, concise syllables punctured his ear drums. His attention latched onto the TV at the sound of his name. To his surprise, the box and the stand were gone. In its place was an empty chair, facing him.

"What do you want for breakfast?" She repeated from the kitchen.

He looked over to her and then back to the chair. "N-noth-. . . Maybe coffee?" His teeth started to ache.

Strangely enough, the audio continued to play despite the lack of television. Now, the program spat incohesive babble. Words seemed random, meaningless yet somehow still fed guilt down his throat.

After a few seconds of him staring at the chair, she returned. When he turned to greet her, he saw Rachel standing there in skimpy underwear with a seductive smile.

"You are tense." She gripped his shoulder. Then slowly leaned in and whispered into his ear. "Maybe, I can help with that."

She then lifted one leg up and over his body and straddled him on the couch. Without another word, she began kissing his neck and pressing her body against his; stealing all of his attention.

If only for a moment, he allowed his eyes to close in ecstasy. A gasp of pleasure slipped free as she rubbed up against him, but before the act could go on, his eyes peeled open again. That's where he saw it, the corpse of TJ sitting upright in the chair, static chunks of the news program playing on a loop in the background.