Tuesday, 10 November 2015


Just to reiterate my comment from last night, i will be doing a rewrite of this and posting under deborah_martinsson on ao3. RL really got in the way in the last 2 years...

Thursday, 27 June 2013

hi I have just reread this story to get it back into my head and will be updating very soon. thank you so much for your continued patience. much love celtic cross

Wednesday, 7 September 2011

Chapter Twenty Two

“Abby?”  Jon called out as he roamed through the upstairs of the seemingly overlarge house.  Although he loved living in the Hamptons he was seriously thinking about selling up and buying a smaller property.  When all of them had lived there the house had been filled with love and warmth and happiness and now?  All it seemed to be filled with was his bitterness and anger.  Abby hadn’t deserved his wrath; she had done nothing to warrant it.  She had done nothing at all, except step out in front of his car at the wrong possible moment and catapult herself into his life.  The house groaned and creaked in the silence, pressing in on him, making him feel suddenly claustrophobic.  There were twenty one rooms in total in the house, and he felt like he’d searched all of them.  There was one room he hadn’t been in but he knew he wasn’t ready to do that.  He wasn’t ready to confront the overwhelming emotions locked up inside him that threatened to destroy him with every waking moment; he kept them carefully locked up inside.  His breathing was erratic and wild as he walked; locked in his mind.  Why had he gone out that day?  Why hadn’t he let Dorothea go as she’d wanted to?  Why had his mind wandered at that particular moment?  A lone tear fell from his eye before the steel cage of his mind snapped shut and his face hardened slightly.  Not here, not now.  He wasn’t ready damn it!  He stopped walking down the heavily carpeted hallway and looked at the door in front of him.  He reached out a hand, tentatively, and brushed the wooden door, tenderly. Surprised as it swung open slightly, Jon looked inside and all but snarled as he saw Abby sitting on the bed.

“What the… you have no right to be in here!” he shouted, storming into the room, “Get the fuck out of here right now.  You can’t be in here.”  He made a move towards her but she held her ground, sitting on the spacious double bed, crumpling the smooth white comforter.

Sunlight streamed through the white muslin curtains, illuminating a thick layer of dust.  Posters hung lopsided on warm peach walls, make up lay strewn haphazardly across shelves and a laptop sat, open, on a desk.  The chair and the floor underneath were covered in clothes and shoes lay strewn under the desk.  A hairdryer, still plugged in, lay on the desk at an angle, next to a hairbrush containing short blond hair.  An open pot of hairgel had dried into a thick plastic blue gunk.  He stiffened as he heard laughter and smelled apples. He stood in the middle of the room, looking around as if he had never seen the contents before.  Everything seemed foreign to him.  He ran a finger over the nearest shelf and stared at the thick dust on his finger. 

“I need to tidy this room up.  I had no idea it was this..” whatever he was going to say was lost as another tear ran free and rolled down his face.  He stumbled to the bed and sat down, blinded by tears.  All the anger and fury he’d kept inside was trying to leak out and he battled the urge to scream and rip up everything in the sunny, bright room.

Abby looked up at him.  She was cradling a photo frame tightly to her.

“Jon?” she said softly, keeping her arms wrapped around the photo.

“Jon?” she repeated, watching as he raised a tear stained face to hers.

“Whose room is this?” she asked, her voice full of choked emotion

“Hmm?” he murmured, not listening to her.

“This room.  Who did it belong to?”

“Stephanie.” Came the reply, so low she had to strain to hear it.

“Who’s Stephanie?” she asked, dreading that the answer what be what she thought.

“My daughter.” The tears were flowing freely now and he blinked to clear them, his blue eyes dulled with pain.

Abby swallowed hard.  She knew the answer but had to ask him, all the while not really wanting confirmation. 

“What happened to her?”

Fury rippled across his face and he tensed.  Abby’s eyes widened and she shuffled back across the bed.

Jon sprang up and paced, relentlessly across the pale pink carpet with its red rosebud inlays.

“What happened?  You want to know what happened.  What happened to my beautiful, wonderful, funny, loving, smart, kind daughter who I love with all my heart?  My firstborn, my child; the one woman I would have done anything for with no questions asked?” His voice cracked and he swallowed the lump in his throat.  Pure, raw emotion fought with his steel cage for a moment before overwhelming his defenses.

With a roar that scared her, he shouted “I killed her! That’s what happened! I took a corner too fast and slid on black ice.  The car hit a tree and she was killed.”

Jon was crying fully; the emotional freeze had thawed and he slowly crumpled into a heap on the floor.

Abby looked down at the photo she had cradled, protectively, in her arms; at the young woman smiling up at the camera, her arms thrown around her proud, loving, laughing dad and laid it on the bed.

She cradled Jon’s head on her lap as he wept.

Tuesday, 31 May 2011

Message from CelticCross

I have now finished my exam - particle physics and astronomy here I come - and will soon be getting back into this story. Missed you guys


Monday, 30 August 2010

Chapter Twenty One

Detective Luke Sutton opened his eyes. His head was pounding and his mouth felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton wool. He moved his head slowly from side to side and winced as his brain made a bungee leap inside his skull. Blearily he tried to focus on the bedside clock but gave up after a few seconds as the digits all blurred into one red light. He thought of getting up but his eyes began to close again. Soon he was fast asleep.

When he opened his eyes for the second time he looked at the clock again.

“Fuck!” he swore loudly, then froze as he felt movement in the bed next to him.

As quickly as his hangover would allow him, he turned over to a mass of platinum blonde hair and the evenings events rushed back.
‘Oh shit, Veronica…’ he thought, biting back a groan. Although Veronica wasn’t a suspect per se as no body had been found, there was an unwritten rule that you didn’t get involved with anyone on a case, not until after the case, and sometimes not even then.

He berated himself as he pushed back the quilt cover and swung his legs out of bed quietly, so as to not wake up Sleeping Beauty.

His phone started to vibrate loudly from it’s place on the wooden bedside table and he lunged for it, hissing at it to be quiet.

He grimaced as he looked at the message

Sutton, get your ass to the morgue asap. Another body has been found. CP

Oh was he in the shit or what? A text message from Captain Philips. He dressed in haste and crept out of the gothic crypt otherwise known as Veronica’s flat. He snicked the lock shut quietly. Veronica turned over in her sleep and slept on.

This was the part of the job he hated the most. Looking at the sad remains of once vibrant people, though looking at the track marks and grey puffed skin of the latest victim, Luke was sure she hadn’t been that vibrant in life. She lay naked under a sheet on a metal gurney, the bottom of which was moulded in order to catch the blood. The ‘V’ incision at the top of her chest indicated that the autopsy had already taken place but he wrinkled his nose to indicate he could still smell the rankness of the room.

“So Doc, what do we have?” he asked, clearing his throat to try and dislodge the stink of death that coated the back of his throat.

“You’re late, so I started without you,” Doctor Benson peered at the younger man over his half moon glasses, a wisp of greying hair peering out from under his surgical hat, “Female, late teens to early twenties, undernourished. The track marks would indicate some form of IV drug abuse, possibly heroin but the tox screen will tell us which drug. I’ve sent the samples off to the lab already.”
“Anything on cause of death?” Luke asked, bristling slightly at the rebuke on his lateness.

“Yes.” Dr Benson replied, pulling down the sheet.

Luke tried to look dispassionately, like a consummate professional as he viewed the malnourished, skeletally thin young woman, laid out on the slab, but couldn’t. Four slashes adorned her torso. He sighed. Another Slasher victim.

“Ah, the slash marks. Nasty yes, but not the cause of death, oh and they were inflicted pre-mortem so she would’ve felt every cut, poor thing.” Dr Benson looked at the young woman with a tenderness that Luke had never seen before.

“She reminds me of my grand daughter.”

Luke remained silent to give the old man a moment to recover.

“Anyway, as I was saying, the slash marks are not the cause of death.”

“then what is?”

“Patience, Luke patience. I’m getting to it.” the older man replied.

He bent over the body and lifting her left arm up, pointed to a long thin line along the side of the torso.

“That is your cause of death. A sharp thin blade into the liver. She would’ve bled out in minutes and the one thing about the liver is, if it’s cut it doesn’t stop bleeding, it has no clotting abilities. Even if she had been rushed into surgery there’s a good chance that she wouldn’t have been saved.”

“Any ideas on the murder weapon?” Luke asked, intrigued, in spite of himself.

“A long thin blade. A stiletto or a scalpel at a push, but I’ll tell you, this guy? He’s had medical training. It takes training to find the liver on the first try.”

“Have you got her belongings? We need to ID her.”

“Over there.” Benson indicated a small, sad pile of manky looking clothing.

Luke took a deep breath and rummaged through the smelly clothes. This was his second most hated job, rummaging through dead clothes. He gingerly pulled out a grubby canvas wallet and opened it carefully, not sure what he was going to find inside. Back when he’d been a rookie he’d opened a purse to find three used condoms and a used tampax. Since then he’d always been careful.

He pulled out a tattered, bent up library card with a faded name scrawled on the back. He peered at it and could just make out a name of sorts. Johnston…something Johnston…Miranda…no, maybe Matilda…no that wasn’t right, that was an e after the M. Melinda? Melissa?

Luke had a sudden light bulb moment. He looked back at the sad remains of the young woman. The junkie he’d interviewed on his missing persons case. Luke didn’t believe in co-incidences. He’d interviewed her about one case and then she turns up dead, in another case. But what was it that connected the two?

Friday, 27 August 2010

Chapter Twenty

He looked around at the once bare plaster walls now covered with posters and magazine cut outs. It wasn’t fair that this man, this blond, blue eyed man had his kitty. He knew from the internet that the blond man had a house in the Hamptons. A wave of anger swept through him and he wanted to kill. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins, the drowning sound of his heart beat, thundering through his ears. She was his and anyone who stood in his way was going to suffer the same fate. He smiled as he thought of the word suffer…oh yes he was going to make Blondie suffer…His kitty cat needed to be taught a lesson. He could hear sirens outside and smiled. No one knew about this place. He looked down at the terrified woman strapped down on his bed and smiled at her. Large, unfocused eyes stared back at him and she began to struggle, muffled shouts coming through the gag.

“Well well Melissa, this will teach you not to touch my kitty cat’s things.” he bent down to whisper into her ear. The young woman was hyperventilating, her eyes darting about in absolute terror, her breathing was heavy and panting as sweat dripped down her brow, through her greasy, lank hair and onto the stained sheet beneath her. She felt like her limbs were being ripped apart and her veins were being chewed up by insects with metal teeth. She needed a fix.

He smiled as he thought how easy it had been for him to get to her. He had found her, with the rubber still wrapped around her upper arm, floppy and unresponsive. It had taken him a matter of minutes to pick her up and carry her back to this room. His special room. Stiffly, he turned away from her and walked over to a small metal tray that seemed out of odds with the rest of the room. Large brown splashes dotted the walls and the cold, concrete floor. An old, cracked porcelain sink stood over in a corner, with a rusted tap coming out of the bare plaster. Water dripped slowly but insidiously into the sink. The sound of the water soothed his mortal soul.

Light glinted off metal. He smiled, the rank smell of iron, from the blood on the walls and floor, in his nose. Today was a good day. Slowly he turned back to Melissa and walked gradually; deliberately over to her, holding his hand out in front of him until she could focus on the scalpel. Her whimpers turned to screams as he advanced on her, all the while smiling at her.


“So what are we doing for Christmas day? Are we going over to your parents or staying here?” Abby asked as Jon began to pack away a few food items he’d had delivered from a nearby supermarket.

“Why?” he asked, as he pulled open drawers, before switching the kettle on.

“Because if we’re staying here we need to get some food in, like a turkey and all the trimmings and then you need to teach me how to cook it.” Abby smiled, “I’m certain I’ve cooked one before but I’m buggered if I can remember how.” She poured coffee grounds into the large cafetiere that was sitting next to the kettle. Jon had managed to get an irish cream flavoured brand and she was itching to try it, having had a Baileys the previous night.

“I swear sometimes you use your amnesia to get out of all the interesting jobs.” Jon murmured as he looked in the cupboards, pulling them open one by one.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I meant I can’t remember if I’ve ever had to cook a roast dinner, not that I couldn’t do it. I can read instructions you know and I’m certain turkeys have big stickers on them with instructions on how to cook printed on them.” Abby stepped back, stung by Jon’s words. She’d been in a strange mood since Jon had woken her up that morning. Not that it wasn’t a nice way to wake up, she just felt on edge and irritable.

“Ok, I was just saying…” he said, a hint of irritation in his voice

“Well don’t,” she turned to look at him, as he poured hot water into the cafetiere, “Don’t you think it’s frustrating for me to have holes in my head. To not be able to remember films and books and people and things?, to have all these problems and not a single person out there can help me with it!!!” she stared at him, her voice getting more and more shrill with every word until she was shouting at him.

“What the fuck?” he turned to look at her, his arms slightly raised, palms up in the universal What the Fuck gesture. He turned back to the cafetiere that was resting against the terracotta splash back tiles and calmly poured himself a cup of coffee before flinging it, cup and all, across the kitchen, narrowly missing Abby, who froze where she stood.

“Problems? You think you’ve got fucking problems? What the fuck do you know about problems?,” he intoned, raising his arms up to the heavens, “Oh yeah, right, I forgot…you can’t remember your fucking problems…” he drawled, heavy sarcasm leeching out, his eyes wild and heavy, his chest heaving with exertion and anger.

Abby felt tears well up as she looked at him. Who was this man? She felt scared stiff with the realisation that she’d just been playing house with this man. That this wasn’t real, that she had a life somewhere out there. Slowly she back away and fled up the stairs.

Jon stood, sagging as the anger slowly left him, until he slid down the cupboard to sit on the floor.

You are such a fucking asshole… His conscience was back and gunning for him.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” he whispered to himself as tears flowed down his cheeks and he sobbed for the first time in a year.

Thursday, 26 August 2010

Chapter nineteen

Abby woke to find herself encased in Jon’s warm embrace. She smiled and snuggled closer to him, pushing the heavy quilt away. Jon woke and, opening one eye, looked at the woman in his arms. He started to say something then the events of the previous night came flooding through and he couldn’t get any words out.

“What’s wrong? You looked like you were going to say something then stopped?,” she asked, before continuing, “or are you just Mr sleepyhead this morning? I feel like I’ve slept forever. Can’t remember the last time I slept so well,”. She sniggered slightly, “Must be you, you make a wonderful pillow.” she sighed and, closing her eyes, snuggled her head down on his chest, feeling the soft downy hair sponge against her cheek, as she burrowed down beneath the warmth of the quilt; protection against the slightly frigid air. It was early morning and the heating had not yet kicked in.

Jon tightened his grip on her slightly as he tried not to think about Obie’s report. Tenderly he pressed a kiss against her forehead, closing his eyes against anger that flooded through him. He took a moment to compose himself before opening his eyes again and looking at Abby, who was looking up at him quizzically.

She could see his eyes had darkened slightly. She took in the tenseness in his jaw and the thinning of his lips and knew he was angry about something. But what?

“Jon? Have I done something to upset you?” she asked, wondering whether he was still annoyed about the whole trip to his parents and running into his ex.

“What?” he looked at her, his features softening slightly as he looked at her face. She was chewing her bottom lip, something she always did when she was worried about something; usually Jon.

“No Abs, it’s not you, just something Obie told me last night. Something that I need to get to the bottom of.” he knew that he would as he said it, even if it cost him Abby. He needed to find out what had happened to her and who had done it.

“Oh ok,” she smiled, her face lighting. Sunlight streamed through the open curtains, illuminating her hair into a red gold halo. Jon reached out and grabbed a handful of the soft curls. He loved the smell of her hair; even though she used the same shampoo as he did, the smell seemed different.

She raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly at him. The invitation was not lost on him and he slowly reached down until his hand was resting on her shoulder. Slowly he peeled her away from him until she was lying on her back, smiling sensually at him.

“You are just edibly gorgeous, you know that…right?” he said as his eyes raked over her. Abby licked her lips and smiled at him. The quilt had been pushed off the bed and she was feeling the coolness in the air. Unconsciously she rubbed her arms, forcing her breasts to squash together. Jon’s eyes were almost black as he looked down at her. Abby smiled and slowly pulled down the straps of her top until she was bared before him. His cock leapt.

“You are just so fuckin’ sexy.”, he growled as he bent his head to kiss her. Her tongue duelled with his for dominance; knowing all along who would win. Jon spread his hand out over her breast before squeezing softly, feeling the taut nipple begging for release under his palm. “When I said edible…I meant it…” he whispered, his voice husky, as he bent to lave her breast.

Abby moaned softly, feeling the coolness of the air on her exposed skin where his tongue left saliva. She shivered as he licked and sucked on her skin, working his way down from her breasts to her belly. She reached down and ran her fingers through his thick lustrous bed head hair. Jon tilted his face so that he was looking her straight in the eye. It was all she could do to just lie there and watch as he traced his tongue lower and lower, his dextrous, nimble fingers untying her pajama pants with ease and lowering them with consummate skill. Abby smiled as she lifted her hips slightly to allow the material to be pulled off her.

“Commando?” he murmured, looking at her freshly shaven pussy. Abby looked at him through her lashes as she bit her bottom lip, her eyes half closed, unaware of how wantonly adorable or adorably wanton she looked to him.

She hissed in pleasure and surprise as she felt his tongue lave her pussy in one long, slow swipe. Jon gently placed his palms on her inner thighs, pushing them open, opening up her pelvis until she was totally exposed; open before him.

“Good thing I’m starving…” he murmured before burying his tongue inside her. His tongue laved the tight yet soft muscles inside, loving the taste of her juices that began to run slowly down into his mouth. Using his elbows as leverage he softly pinched her clitoris, feeling the sensitive nub harden under his touch. He spat gently onto it and began to rub; softly at first then harder as he felt her begin to struggle under his weight. A soft yet full fragrance hit him and he breathed deeply, his cock hardening even more at the scent of her arousal. She was all vanilla and chocolate and strawberry musk and he bit down, harder than he’d intended, as Abby shrieked at him.

“Jon! Fuck! That hurts…“

“I’m sorry baby, make it better…“ he murmured, his strong, husky voice reverberating through the soft thin skin of her clitoris. He laved the sore spot and she moaned. Smiling to himself he bit her inner thigh, revelling in the soft fragrant skin. Abby moaned louder, as he began to bite and lave her inner thighs, his thumb circling her over sensitised clitoris.

“Oh my god…Jon…I think I’m going to cum…” she whispered through gritted teeth as he bit and sucked her silky flesh, feeling faint ripples.

Abby panted, keening through her teeth as silver snakes shit through her abdomen and groin. Her breasts ached to be squeezed and pinched.

Jon knew he had to fuck her soon or her was going to lose it. It was hardly his fault that she was so damn hot she made him hard even when she was wearing sweat pants.

Abby was almost but not quite at the abyss when Jon pulled away. She groaned in shocked outrage. She looked at him. How dare he pull away when she was about to orgasm. She glared at him, her eyes screwed up in absolute outrage.

“Jon? What the…” what ever she was about to say was lost as he plunged himself deep inside her, causing her shocked muscles to flutter spasmodically. Not giving her a moment to catch her breath he set up a relentless rhythm, driving his hard cock deeper and deeper into her. He hadn’t broken eye contact once.

“Abby, open your eyes, look at me. Look at me!” he commanded as her eyes began to flutter closed.

She opened her eyes, feline style, and looked up into darkened indigo eyes. She was panting hard as he ripped into her, his muscled forearms locked on either side of her, sweat dripping down. She smiled softly as she looked up into the eyes of the man she loved. She was lost in sensation, feeling silver snakes writhing all around and through her body, smelling his scent as it wound its way around her, entrapping her within his essence. Her legs were shaking, her skin goose bumped with cold sweat. Her stomach began to clench involuntarily as her orgasm neared.

Jon looked down at the woman he loved and knew she was nearing orgasm. He loved knowing that he was giving her pleasure. He pulled his torso up slightly and angled himself so that his pelvic bone caught her clit with every thrust. He only had to thrust once before she was a mass of writhing nerve ends, screaming out his name, her tight, hot flesh clenching around him. He only had to thrust one more time before he joined her.

“I love you.” he whispered as he rolled off and lay down beside her. Abby was very sensitive and he knew not to crowd her after an orgasm as she could get jittery and irritable. He had discovered that to his chagrin.

“I love you too.” she said, reaching out to pull him close to her.

“I thought you didn’t like to cuddle after sex?”

“Ah, I changed my mind, besides, I’m cold and you’re warm.” she laughed.