Chasing the Monsters: 33 (adult)

Bitsy was making herself comfortable in her pink room, the same one she had stayed in before, and setting up her easel in the dim light of late evening.  After dinner, the Mannings had been persuaded, by her, to retire to the master bedroom and relax together after their long trip.  At dinner, the conversation, when the kids had left the table to go get ready for bed, had gone to the Chicago trip, and Bitsy had been horrified to hear of Todd's visit to Peter's house.  She wanted to make up for it; she wanted to give them time to regroup and be quiet, and had offered to take over as Grandma for the rest of the evening.

She had, first, bathed Jewel in her little bath tub seat, as she laughed and splashed and enjoyed herself.  Bitsy had dressed her in a new pink nightgown that she had bought for her, via Sister Rebecca Katherine, for the occasion of visiting the Mannings again.  In fact, each child had gotten a gift from Bitsy.  Of course, it was coming directly from the money that Todd was sending to her while she was at Mountainview, but she had saved every penny and planned to spend it all on the children anyway.

After putting Jewel into her crib, she turned her attentions to Raymond.  She would never let anyone know, but deep down, she loved him best.  He was so like Todd, and it made her feel as if she could undo the things she had done mistakenly with Todd when he was a child.  She felt as if she could fix things through taking care of him, and somehow, they had a deeper connection that she did with the other children, but she made sure she never let on.  He was her favorite; his need to run, his long hair in waves, his somewhat independent behavior and his dislike of rules reminded her so much of her own son.  

She'd gotten him into pajamas, because it wasn't his bath night, and tucked him into his big boy bed, in the nursery.  Then, she read him a story that he interrupted by jumping on the bed a few times.  She had, as she always did, just looked at him and gently sat him back down.  Without saying anything, she was able to get his attention and hold it more than most people.  And, he was putty in her hands, generally, and did what she asked him without hesitation.

After he fell into slumber, she had turned her attention to Jack, simply by saying she was glad to be able to get to know him and hoped they'd continue to do so.  She remembered how handsome he was, looking at her with a smile on his face, and how he'd removed his earphones to listen to her.  

Then, she had moved to Sam's room.  

He was getting ready for bed, and had his Spiderman doll next to him, his other toys set up, she noticed on the floor, and a makeshift tent, with a light in it, as well.  Immediately, she knew he was having trouble sleeping, and recalled that Todd had done things like that when he was young, just before she had left.  She'd gone in and sat on the edge of the bed.

"So, Sam, are you ready for bed?"

"Yeah, Grandma, I think so."

"Looks like you have everything covered."  She'd looked around.  He'd looked with her.  She said,"Tent, and everything."

"Yep!"  he seemed happy, and had moved under the covers, making himself comfortable.

"Well, should I read something?"

"No, I tell myself my own stories before bed."

"Really?  Are you a good storyteller?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty good.  Ray likes 'em."

"Oh, he does?"

"Yep."

"Well, what about telling a reverse bedtime story?"  she asked.

"Huh?  What's that?"

"Well, I tuck you in, but you tell the story to me."

"Sure, I can do that," he'd said.

Before she'd realized what she was doing, she had begun painting as she was lost in thought.  Her brush had brought out a very large, green dragon, with a kind but fierce face, and a backdrop of a wooded area.  Nothing else had really taken form.  She went back into her mind;

Sam had said, "Once there was a dragon, but he wasn't really mean.  He'd done some bad stuff sometimes, but just when he was sad or mad or protecting his princesses.  Anyway, the dragon's princesses were in trouble.  They were captured, being attacked by a mean, giant ogre with big hands and a mean face.  He was known all over the town for poisoning kids with needles, and the dragon didn't like it.  He used to ask the kids to come and have milk and cookies, and when they weren't looking, he'd take out his needles and stab them.  

One day, the dragon got one of the needles stuck in his foot, but he was too strong for it to hurt him, so he pulled it out with his teeth, and then went after the ogre.  He found the ogre in the back yard of a big house, and the princesses were hurt and bleeding on the ground.  When he caught the ogre, he bit his head off and buried it separate from his body so he could never ever come back."

Bitsy had just listened to him, and her heart broke.  She'd waited until he was done, and she said, "That dragon is not like other dragons in other stories."

"No, he's the dragon from Mom's stories."

"Is he, now?"

"Yeah.  He's the dragon from Mom's stories she told me when I was little, and she told those stories to Jack and Starr, too.  They said."

"I see.  He's a very different dragon.   I am used to stories where the dragons are mean."

"He's mean, sometimes, when he wants to be.  But mostly when he's threatened.  Or maybe when someone he loves is going to get hurt."

"But the ogre, he was very mean."

"Yeah, the ogre was evil and very bad.  He had a face that smiled, but his eyes didn't."

At that moment, a chill had run up her back, and all she could see was Peter Manning.  She'd tucked the sheet around her grandson.  "Well, that's enough of that story.  The dragon saved everyone.  And that's good."

"Right.  And he pulled off the ogre's head, too.  So he can't come back."

"Right."  She leaned over and kissed his cheek.  Before she left, she said, "Sam, I brought you a gift."

"You didn't have to get me a gift, Grandma.  It's not my birthday."

"I know," she'd said, "but I did.  I got you a gift that's in my room, and tomorrow, I'll show you how to use it."

"Paints?"

She nodded.  "Paints, and a small easel that you set on a desk, and brushes.  And there's a canvas for you to start with."

"Wow!  I wanted to learn how to paint, and you remembered."

"Sure.  I always paint to help me get things out of my head, and I thought you might want to learn to paint, too.  It works, sometimes, Sam, it really does."

"I'll try it!  I always wanted to."

"Good.  We'll try tomorrow."

Her thoughts, and her painting, which was almost involuntary, were interrupted by a noise outside her door.

***

Todd and Blair were in the bathroom, secluded, door closed, with candles set up around them, as they soaked in the hot tub, and leisurely floated in each other's arms.  She was against his chest, floating, and he was holding her around the waist, his head back on the rim of the tub.  He said, "This isn't so bad.  Momma was right."

"Momma told you to make love to me in the tub?"  she teased.  She began to hum.

"No, but she came up with the idea of us hiding away in here.  She was right on that one," he said, kissing the side of her face.  She'd secured her hair up off her shoulders with a spring-close claw clip, and tendrils of it were grazing her shoulders, and one in the back at the nape of her neck.  "If you keep humming that way, I'll be poking your back end again," he joked.  "The sound of you still makes me hard."

"Hmm, and that's a good thing, Mr. Manning," she said turning toward him.  Her breasts were right at the water level, and he looked away from her face for a moment to glance at them.

"You're just like you were back then, Blair," he said.  "Not much is different.  Your body, and your face, I mean.  You're like you always were."

"Well, so are you.  Not much difference, except for the scars," she said, absently tracing one of them.  "In fact, I think you're better."

"Better how," he said, running his hand up her back.  His hand dwarfed her body and covered almost the whole span of her waist.

"Better in all the ways that count," she said, kissing along side his mouth, gently.

"I learned what I lost," he said, "that's about it.  A man can't be that much of an asshole when he's being tormented every day.  Turns your life around, makes you appreciate things more."

She looked into his hazel eyes, and he looked directly into hers.  She said, "I wish it never happened to you, though."

"Me, too, but hey, something good came of it, if you think about it.  Look what it led to?  Me appreciating everything, this house, and us."

"I think you could have learned to appreciate us a better way."

"Hey, don't look at the bad side, look at the bright side.  A new, improved me," he said, playfully sprinkling a little water on her face.

"Hey, don't push me, Manning, I'll get you!"  She brought her hand back, ready to splash into his face.

"I give," he said, putting his hands up on either side of his face.  "I'm innocent."

"You're not, but okay, I'll be nice." She straddled him in the water, and leaned over to whisper in his ear:  What would you like me to start my niceness with?

He wasn't able to control himself, and immediately stiffened at her voice lilting in his ear.  He said, "Whatever you want," and she loved it; he had a gravelly sound to his voice, a slight rasp, that she associated with him being turned on.  

She said, "Really?" and put her hands on either side of his head on the rim of the tub, and moved up his body so that she slid over him and around him, until he was all the way inside her.  She used the tub to move herself up and down on him, and he closed his eyes. "You, My Love, could use some tender loving care, and I aim to please," she said, her voice breathy with excitement.

He was lost in her.  The softness of her breasts right above his face, her nipples poking toward him, almost close enough to take with his mouth.  She moved over him in soft, loving waves that brought him to the height of excitement.  After a few minutes, he looked at her, and swiftly moved her off him, guiding her in the water until he was in back of her, placing her hands back on the tub's rim, with his covering them.  He took her, passionately, from behind, then ran his fingers over her body, and rubbing at her until she came.  The feeling of her coming around him made his pleasure stronger, and he burst inside her, pushing himself to the hilt of her body.  He moaned in a whisper, and held himself there until he was spent, then pulled her back onto him, holding her again against his chest.  She fit perfectly between his knees.  He said, between breaths, "I warned you." 

"I like those kind of warnings," she said, putting her head onto his bicep.  For a moment, everything got very quiet in the bathroom, and he reached to turn on the jets, when she said, "No, wait, I think I heard something?"

"It's just one of the kids," he said, "and Momma is on duty, remember?"

"I almost forgot she was here," she said, and he reached across to turn the hot tub jets on.  Both of them sank a little deeper into the heating water.

***

Bitsy stepped outside her door, and looked both ways.  Seeing nothing, she almost went back in, when she heard what almost sounded like someone shivering to the left of her door, so she stepped out further and there he was.  Sam.  He was against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest, clutching his Spiderman doll.  His eyes were wide and he was sweating.  She said, "Sam, what is it?" and crouched beside him.

He didn't respond to her, instead he shook violently as if he were cold and wet after a storm.  She put her arms around him, and he started to cry.  She smoothed his hair, and said, "It's okay now, Sam, what is it, you can tell me."

"No," he said, through tears.

"Want to come into my room?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, and she helped him to his feet and took his hand, leading him in.  The lights were still on, and a pink glow was over everything because of the lampshade.  Her painting of the dragon was on the easel, where she had been working.  He was still breathing heavily, and sat on her bed, and she sat across from him on the chair.  She said, "It's all right, Sam," and she continued to hold his hand.  Since she could feel it still shaking, she beckoned to him to come to her, and he climbed onto her lap, and she held him.  She said, "It's over, it's just a dream."

The little boy continued to shake, until he caught glimpse of her painting, and he studied it.  He seemed distracted by it, and calmer.  She said, "Do you like it?"

"Yeah, it's good.  It looks like how my dragon looks in my head."

"Good, because it is your dragon."

"Really?  It's great, Grandma Bitsy," he said, and wasn't shaking anymore.

"I'm glad you like it, Sam.  It's like I told you, I paint what's in my head.  Helps me get it out.  Would you like your gift now?"

He nodded, and got up of her lap.  He seemed calmer, but he was still wet at the hairline with sweat.  She got up, went to her bag, and took out his items, and carefully placed them on the bed.  Opening the paper sacks, she showed him everything; there was a palette, paint tubes, brushes and a miniature easel, as well as a canvas, already stretched over a frame.  He said, "This is so cool, Grandma."

"I know, isn't it?"

He nodded again, and began to set up the easel on the bed, and then said, "Can we go to my room?"

"Sure," she said, following him.  When they got there, she saw the covers strewn all around the bed, a pillow on the floor, the tent, open, with the light on inside, his toys, comics and laptop all set up.  He set up the easel on his desk, and organized the paints and other items neatly.  She said, "Sam, you could paint what's bothering you.  No one has to see.  You could paint it and then cover it, with this cloth," she handed him a painter's cloth that she grabbed off her easel, "Or you can paint over it to make it go away."

"Paint over it?"

"Yes, that's why canvas is cool.  You can paint over it and start again."

He approached the easel.  "I will like this."

"I think so.  And remember my dragon?"  she asked, "he's waiting for me to create his scene, from my mind."

"Grandma?"

"Yes?"

"Remember when you used to draw those pictures of the little boy and the bad man?"

She swallowed, "Yes."

"Were those things in your head?"

"Yes.  They used to bother me, they were dreams.  I was having bad nightmares, and I used to draw them to get them out of my head and on paper.  Then, I could crumple them up or paint over and forget them."

He fingered the paintbrush.  "I don't know how yet."

"No, but you can draw," she picked up a notepad off his desk, "you know how to do that."

He took it from her and began to draw on the paper.  She watched him, and for a moment, thought to herself about calling Todd, but then, refrained.  

After a few minutes, he turned the pad toward her.  It was very simplistic, but was a shadow of a large man, with a small animal, possibly a dog, in his hands, and the dog was limp.  There was a small stick figure boy, with a circle for a head, with very large eyes and his mouth open in a scream.  She saw what might have been blood drops from the dog, and the man's back was only visible.  She said, "This looks scary.  Is this your dream?"

He nodded, "Yeah, but it's true."

"What do you want to do with this drawing?"

"Make it go away."

"Okay, let's go to the fireplace, then," she said, holding out her hand.

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