A/N: Jad expressly for your amusement…
Chapter 316: Cheli XI—No Turning Back…
Floral scent… intense… deep so much that it hurt his chest, he could feel the pain in his lungs and the ball in his throat that would blossom into a sob.
Chris, listen to me, hands on his cheeks, warmly scented, Chris please if you do this there won’t be any turning back, please, you wouldn’t want to live with this. You couldn’t! You’re a decent man you were trying to help…
Chris gasped and opened his eyes. When he did his nostrils were filled with a strong, fragrant scent, and his eyes focused on… Malts? Chris narrowed his eyes and he curled his lip. “What the hell are you doing?” He could see Maltby had his eyes closed and in his hand he had a small open vial of something scented that he was waving in the air by the bed.
Kirk opened his eyes. “Good you’re awake, how do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been woken up,” Chris snapped, “Now what the hell are you up to?”
Maltby quickly fell to his knees by the bed and he leaned forward, pinning Chris with the blue of his gaze. “Don’t think… now think! Quick what are the first images on your mind, tell me now!”
A flash of peachy skin, wet, wet, wet, moans, scratches, squawls indecipherable from that of a cat. The images flooded Chris’s mind immediately, almost as if on cue from Kirk, they spun in his brain before funneling and disappearing into blackness, the scream cutting off into sharp silence. Chris swallowed. He saw a line of eyes sketched in black and white, blink, flick, flick, now nailing him with their gaze. “I don’t see anything, what are you talking about?”
Kirk frowned. “You saw something, Chris; I could see it in your expression. You have to tell me!”
“Why’s it so important to you? Nosy.”
Maltby shook his head. “Not to me, to you! But I guess I’m not the one you should be telling so I’ll let it go. The point is we have got to draw this bad blood out of you.” With that, Kirk proceeded to wave the oils around his face, letting the scent, the heavily familiar scent flow into his nose.
“Get that away from me,” Chris snipped. He wanted to sit up and slap that smelly shit out of his hand but he was too tired for that. He sunk his chin into the mattress and realized he was lying towards the foot of the bed, how had he flipped over backwards like that? Unless that’s how he fell asleep last night, he couldn’t really remember. “What is that anyway?”
Kirk corked the vial. “A mix of Ylang-ylang, Geranium and Rose in an almond oil base, pure and unrefined, and the best mixture to draw out grief and repressed memories. If used to awaken someone, it will help with dreams, nightmares and Chris, buddy, let me tell ya, you need it. You were jabbering on in your sleep again, screaming at things, you need help. I can’t believe Tracee let it go on this long.”
Chris closed his eyes and groaned. He let his face hang off the bed, he wanted to go back to sleep, a black, long sleep without dreams. He heard Maltby walking over the carpet, he went into another room, came back in and he heard something placed on the carpet. When he opened his eyes, he saw an empty bucket beneath him. “Now what?”
Before Chris could protest, he felt the weight of Kirk’s body press onto his body, the inside of his thighs was straddling the back of his waist. Maltby’s hands then began to rapidly pat on his back, firm and solid and invigorating.
“What are you doing?! You weirdo!” Chris screamed. But he didn’t move at all, for one he didn’t want to just knock Malts onto the floor and give him another concussion, and two, well… it felt kinda good.
“Cleaning you out,” Maltby replied between light pants. His hands were moving faster now, heavier on his back. “I need to loosen all that crap you’re holding in your chest, you’ll thank me for it, you’ve probably never been cleaned out like this.”
Chris rolled his eyes and then closed them. Since Malts seemed to be pretty skilled at this he decided to let him. A good massage was never something to turn down or waste and as long as he made sure Malts didn’t tell anyone, well what’s the harm in it? He breathed out slowly and then in slowly, feeling the blood beginning to rush under his skin, warming him from the outside to in. He breathed in again and then… then… Chris’s eyes widened and he felt it crawl up his throat, a big slimy wad, as big as if he were on the player’s bench. He leaned forward, horked and spat a huge ball of phlegm into the bucket. “Jesus!” He gasped and then another one slid up and he spat that too. “Malts what the hell did you poison me or something?”
“It’s working!” Kirk exclaimed and he began to go faster. Chris spat again and then he pushed Kirk off his back. Kirk rolled onto his butt and from the carpet he smiled. He held up his hands in rounded shapes. “See you use your hands in like a cupping position and you go vigorously off someone’s back while they’re lying down and it cleans you out, it keeps you from getting colds, see? Simple.”
Chris opened his mouth to say something else but instead another huge ass loogie slid up and he spat it into the bucket. He sat up, “Got any other weird voodoo up your sleeve Malts?” He cleared his throat and spat again.
Kirk nodded. “Sure lots.” The grin on his face spread slowly. “Astrid left a lot of shit behind you know.”
Chris laughed. “I bet.”
The sun had barely risen; the early news had the breaking story alright, however. Chris Chelios arrested in a domestic incident at his home, 911 hang up call, and taken into custody, evidence his wife had been attacked. Chris sighed and sank back into the couch, the only good part being that he could smell bacon and eggs sizzling from the kitchen. Bailed out soon after his arrest, whereabouts not immediately known to the news bureau, we will keep you posted as soon as fresh information comes our way.
He didn’t really care about how everyone else would see him, his teammates or his fans or the media, none of that mattered to him. They weren’t important to him. What did matter, however, was that Tracee’s eyes, her betrayed, angry eyes had also shown fear. Perhaps, for the first time in their marriage, Tracee did not know if her husband was capable of hurting her or not.
That’s what mattered. And the children. His daughters, his son, what would they think? What was she telling them? He cared about them too. Everything that he could be accountable for, all of it could mean the destruction of his family, and who deserved that? Not them, not him, and who would pay for this? Not him.
Tracee came over that afternoon. Malts let her in and then left the house. Chris didn’t even leave his position on the couch to go to her. As soon as he saw her face, drawn and tight, her throat hidden in a cashmere turtleneck, his heart trembled, he became afraid and he couldn’t even move to go to her. All he could feel inside was shattering, humbling, trembling shame.
“Don’t you
dare cry,” Tracee said, her bottom lip trembled. “You don’t deserve to
The trigger pushed, Chris felt tears fall, his throat opened, he could smell the memory of Maltby’s scented potion in his nostrils. Tracee’s entire body trembled, and she closed her eyes and she began to sob. Chris went to her and hugged her tightly. He felt her fingers pressing into his back, almost as if she were clawing him. “Oh God,” he sighed and he pressed his wet face into her cheek and he kissed her.
She pushed him back and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Look at this Chris,” she pulled down the collar of her sweater and showed him. Chris began to cry harder when he saw the damage. Her throat was bruised, purpled, distinct finger marks, his finger marks.
“Baby, I’m sorry, God I’m so sorry!” He turned away from her but the image was burned into his mind.
“I know you’re sorry,” Tracee said in a light voice, trembling, “But Chris sorry can’t undo what happened last night. What am I supposed to feel for you?”
Chris coughed and grabbed a Kleenex from the coffee table. He mopped his face, if Tracee had stopped crying than he would too. Shit, the only reason he still blubbered like this was cause of Maltby’s stupid witchcraft, cleansing, releasing potion shit! He looked at her, and her cheeks were red, her eyes were red. “I love you, and what I did to you last night, Baby, there’s no excuse for it and I’m glad you called the cops on me, okay? GLAD! Because it fucking shows that you’re not gonna take any shit and you’re teaching the kids not to take any shit.”
Tracee shook her head. “Why? Chris tell me why.”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes you do,” she whispered.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes you do.”
“I DON’T KNOW!”
“YES YOU DO!”
Chris tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He saw Michele’s crooked smile, her nasty gaze. “Yes I do know.”
“Then what is it?” Tracee asked and he felt her arms around him, her lips were at his throat. “What is it? This is going to tear us apart if you don’t just… just come clean with what happened all those years ago.”
Chris felt his stomach fire with fear and guilt. “You know?”
“You know I know,” Tracee snapped and she stepped back from him. “I know not to believe a word of those flimsy excuses you kept filling me with, I’m not stupid. I just don’t know exactly what happened. And it’s not fair that your wife and your children get tortured because of it.”
Chris shook his head. “God there’s going to be so much shit because of this…”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tracee sighed. “I’ll tell the police the truth as I told them last night, you were having some sort of nightmare and you attacked me. You’ll have to spend some time in a sleep clinic I bet, it’ll blow over. But the root of the problem won’t,” her fingers on his cheeks now. She smelled sharp, Earthy, not a trace of floral flippancies and lace. “Chris you have to get rid of this thing eating you from inside.”
“I wish I could just go back,” he sighed. “I would have done things differently, if I’d only known. I wish I could…”
“There’s no turning back on anything we do,” Tracee sighed. “You know that. There’s no use just wasting ourselves with it. But you keep dwelling on this, and it’s killing us, Chris if you don’t get rid of it I will leave you, honey I love you but I’ll leave you and I’ll take the kids.”
“But I did get rid of it!” Chris cried. “I did! She didn’t want it, I didn’t want it so I got rid of it, and I thought it was gone. Okay? I thought it was gone, everything was fucking fine until last night, and I don’t know what to do now. I did what I thought I had to and now I don’t know what to do.”
“And do you think she’s suffering?”
“I don’t know.”
“She isn’t.” Tracee snapped. “She’s fine, she’s living her life and living it like a Queen, so if she’s okay why can’t you be huh?”
Chris felt stuck and he shrugged. “I don’t even know if she’s fine, I doubt she is.”
Tracee pressed the side of her hand into her mouth; her eyes watered again, a tear fell. “Honey, please, you need to do something, and I think you know what it is, and even if you think she won’t let you, just do it okay?” She kissed him, wet kiss, and quick kiss. “Please if you love us, if you love me, please.”
By late afternoon, Chris left Maltby’s apartment, he kept his sun glasses on, a bulky woolen cap and his jacket pulled up to his ears. The radio blared with his incident, every station between songs, the DJ’s were talking about it, and women were calling in. Fed up, Chelios put in a CD and he tried to drown his brain out. He had a purpose, and Tracee had set him to this, he felt sure of himself. Shit he even breathed easier and he supposed that was because of Malt’s cupping remedy.
Whether she wants it back or not, Chris thought, I need to give it back to her. I don’t believe in curses, I don’t believe in ghosts, but there is something real about this, it’s symbolic and it has to be done. She knows that, that’s why she won’t fucking take it back cause she just wants me to suffer, that bitch.
“What do you mean you don’t have it?” Chris asked in disbelief.
The jeweler looked at him. “I sold it, the day after you sold it to me in fact.”
“What… I thought… I thought it was an important piece of history or some shit, the news or anything didn’t say shit about it, what do you mean? Who bought it?”
The jeweler shrugged. “I don’t know. I keep all my clients names confidential.”
“You better tell me or I’ll…” Cheli snarled.
“Or you’ll what?” the jeweler asked. “I’m not as fragile as your wife, Sir, think carefully about that.”