The Detwiler Boy – Part 2 [MF] [Supernatural]

**Writer’s Note:** This piece of fiction contains mature language and content. If this is not what you want to read, please choose something else.

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Part 2

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When she got home late that afternoon, Callie sang out, “Lucy, I’m home! I gotta lotta ‘splainin’ to do!” She shed her jacket, and it floated to the coathook.

Something smelled really good. The table was set. It looked like he had used a sheet in place of a tablecloth. A large candle stood burning on a little saucer in the middle of the table. She tried to force down a smile. It was a sex candle – it was meant for dribbling wax on a person – it was kind of kinky, and she hadn’t had the guts yet to try it on herself. Despite some mis-steps, he was setting up a nice dinner. She recognized what he was doing and started to get emotional. Dinner was in pots and pans on the stove.

“Who’s Lucy?” asked Chris.

“You don’t know Lucille Ball…?”

“I’m kidding!” A paper napkin waved in the air over the chair closest to her. “Please have a seat, ma’am.”

Chris served her a spaghetti dinner with a salad. There were meatballs to go on the spaghetti. There was creamy Italian dressing for the salad. Callie’s eyes teared up. Nobody ever made me meatballs before, she thought. The kitchen was so cozy – then she realized Chris had removed one of the lightbulbs in the overhand lamp. He had thought of mood lighting. It was so warm too… The oven was on. As Callie sat there with food on her fork and tears in her eyes, the oven opened and a loaf of bread floated out, settling on a cutting board.

“You made bread?” She heard the wobble in her own voice.

“Yes. Kneading the dough was a bitch… But I wanted tonight to be special.”

Callie ate slowly, not because she was savoring it, but because she was trying not to openly cry about it. She thought, First decent guy I get to know, a guy who cooks and cleans, he does everything for me, and he’s d- She shook off the rest of that thought. The meatballs were actually good, so she concentrated on them.

“Callie?”

She didn’t quite know where to look, so she just looked up and to her right. “Yes.”

“I have some gifts for you. They’re in the middle of the table.”

Sure enough, there were three things right by the sex candle, on the other side. They were: an earbud – just a single earbud with the cord cut off-, an old shotgun shell and a spray bottle. Puzzled, Callie reached over to pick each one up and put it next to her plate.

“Put the earbud in,” he said.

Callie stuck the earbud in her left ear, didn’t like the fit, and stuck it in the right ear.

“Can you hear me?” he whispered in her ear, making her jump.

“Oh my God. I can hear you.”

“I’m not too loud?”

“No.”

Then he said, “Put the shell in your pocket. I want to try something in a little bit.” She put the shell in the right front pocket of her jeans.

“Now… I know you would like to know where I ‘am’, even though I am not exactly ‘here’, ‘there’ or any ‘where’ in a physical sense. Aim the spray bottle across the table at the chair and spray.”

Callie pulled the trigger. It must have been set at mist. She pulled the trigger a couple more times and watched as a man’s figure appeared in the mist. She kept spraying, and the image grew clearer. That was when the tears started in earnest.

“Please don’t cry.”

She couldn’t answer him. What she wanted to say was that she was falling in love with him – but she had never said that to anyone. It was as if her mouth wouldn’t work right. The mist faded, and Callie felt arms wrapping around her, a face nuzzling her hair against her cheek.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” he whispered. “You’ll see. Everything’s going to be fine.” He kissed her hair.

“How did you appear like that?” Her voice was still shaky.

She felt the shrug she couldn’t see. “I just controlled the drops of water. I made it look like me.”

He is amazing, she thought.

“Callie, are you done eating?”

She looked at the plate of food forgotten in the gifts, his voice in her ear, his image in the mist.

“Oh.”

“Do you want me to pack it up, and you can eat it later?”

“Yes.” She watched as food was put into containers and stacked in the fridge, sure that Chris would heat it for her if she said she was hungry. Why was the only good guy gone…?

“I want to try something,” Chris said.

Standing up slowly, Callie said, “OK.”

As if he could sense her hesitation, he assured her, “It’s not creepy or dangerous. I just want to see if I’m anchored to the shell in your pocket.”

That made perfect sense! It only took a few seconds, but by the time Callie entered the living room, her jacket was hanging in the air ready to put on. Outside her apartment door, Callie quickly made her way to the stairwell and trotted down to street level. She went through the front door.

“Can you hear me?” he whispered.

“I can.” She wanted to do a dance. She could feel him, too – he was happy. He wasn’t stuck in the apartment with the rifle anymore. “Does it matter how far I go?”

“I don’t know.”

Callie’s bus pass was in her coat pocket. She grinned. They were going on an adventure! She glanced at her watch. A bus would be at her stop in less than 5 minutes! She made it just in time to climb on and find a seat. She chattered under her breath about the buildings they passed. There was a park. The university. A graveyard (and no, he wasn’t buried there). He never said whether he could see the things she was pointing out, but he kept telling her how much fun it was.

When Callie exited at the very same stop she had boarded at, the driver gave her a weird look. She had sat close to the front, so he might have heard her mumbling under her breath the entire time. She flashed him a wide, kooky smile, and hopped off the last step onto the sidewalk. Once she was inside the apartment, she was still a bit breathless from all the excitement and non-stop talking.

She closed the door and turned around, just as her coat came off and floated into the bedroom. Suddenly, she felt Chris’ arms around her – he was twirling her around and around.

“I feel laughter in the rain,” he sang, turning her around to the beat of the song.

Laughing, Callie said, “Stop! You’re making me dizzy.”

Laughing himself, Chris started to sing, “I’m so dizzy-“, but he didn’t get past that, because Callie tripped. He picked her up, while she shrieked, “No, no! Put me down!” Still laughing, he put her on the couch and covered her in kisses. She wasn’t screaming “Stop” anymore. When he did stop kissing her, she said, “Don’t stop.”

Kisses landed all over her body, and Chris made quiet, smoochy sounds in her ear.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and she did.

Then Callie heard a familiar buzz. She peeped one eye open and had to bite both her lips to keep from laughing when she saw her bullet floating toward her. The buzzing stopped and the vibrator hung over her.

“You cheater…” he said. “You peeked! Now you’ll have to pay for it.”

Relentlessly, he tickled her. He spared no spot from her armpits to the soles of her feet, and no amount of struggle helped her. She elbowed and kicked without landing any blows or breaking free, shrieking in laughter.

“If you’re laughing, that means you want more,” he warned before he started another less aggressive tickle attack.

“Please stop!!” she finally pled.

“Say uncle.”

He tickled her gently until she said uncle. Then he kissed her until she was breathless. Her clothes came undone and were pulled off. All the while, he kissed her. She heard a buzz, and Chris held her bullet against her clit until her body spasmed. She tried to sit up, but she was held down, and she came again. Then he hugged her. As he held her, it seemed like she was laying her head on his chest. In her head, she knew it was him manipulating the afghan and the couch cushions to feel like “him”. In her heart, she felt him hold her tight and nuzzle her hair.

She whispered, “I love you.”

As she fell asleep, his voice sweetly filled her dream. “I love you too.”

In the morning, Callie had leftover spaghetti for breakfast.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to heat it up?” Chris asked.

She looked up and aimed the squirt bottle, pumping the trigger a couple times. Chris’ image flickered in the droplets of water.

“No,” she said, “but I do have to tell you something. I think I’ve figured out a way to search for clues about your killer.” She told him about her plan to change her major, and then she asked, “Where were you when he attacked you?”

“I was on a hayride.”

“A what?”

“It’s where a tractor pulls a wagon filled with bales of hay. People sit on it and ride around. Sometimes there are other things. Punch. Hot dogs. Pony rides.”

“Is it a Halloween thing?”

“It can be. But some hayrides are just hayrides. People like to do them in the fall.”

Callie suddenly blurted out, “It’s a country thing. You were at a farm, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the name of the farm?”

“Dougal’s Farm.”

Callie got her tablet from the counter and searched. She wasn’t happy with the result.

“That place closed down 30 some years ago. 38 years.”

Chris was silent.

“For archeology, the digs are local – but they have to have historical value, so they can’t be too recent. 38 years is too recent.” Callie went silent.

“It was an old farm,” Chris said.

“How old?”

Chris said, “They say it went back a hundred years or more in their family. Before that, there was some kind of fort on the land. Like an outpost.”

“That’s it!” she shouted. “That’s the answer! When I get to campus, I’m changing my major and signing up for core classes.” She would have to find out who was the adviser for archeology majors, and find a way to suggest a dig at Dougal’s Farm.

Callie found it was a little more effort to change majors than she thought, but it all came together. Many of the non-major requirements for archeology were already met by classes she had taken or classes she was currently taking. It would take another year of study for her to graduate. But it turned out to be a good move – and not only because she might be able to suggest a dig location. There was another scholarship she could qualify for, a scholarship funded by a group of female scientists specifically for female students majoring in archeology. Applicants needed to hand in some paperwork – she got that from the adviser right away – and write an essay about their studies. The adviser suggested that Callie take a look at some of the essays that had been turned in by scholarship recipients to get an idea of the caliber of essays they were looking for. He helped her change some of the courses she had pre-enrolled for in the coming fall semester, adding a 3 hour “Onsite Research”. As she left her adviser’s office, she started planning how to approach suggesting a dig for research.

“Chris?” she said under her breath.

“Present!” he answered, making her smile.

“Did you hear all that?”

“Yes, but I didn’t get it all. You changed your major and got a new scholarship. Something like that?”

“Sort of. I changed my major, and I can apply for another scholarship in addition to the one I have. So – good news.” Then she detailed her plans for a dig at Dougal’s Farm.

“Do you think they’ll take your suggestion? Will they go for it?”

“I’m going to keep at it until they do!”

After they got home, Chris started to make dinner. He cleaned as he went. For a few minutes, Callie stood in the kitchen watching everything move. It’s like a movie, she thought. I’m in Fantasia… She left to write the report that was due in her writing class. It was the type of thing she hated, because it didn’t relate to anything that mattered to her. She had a bunch of data, and the assignment was to write about the data, compiling it, contrasting it, comparing it – she had to pick one of those methods. The data was a list of sales people and their sales for a month. She glanced up from her laptop at the kitchen. This report was going to be torture from start to finish.

As she pecked away, trying to find the first sentence, Chris said, “I can help…”

“You are not writing my report for me!”

“No. I don’t mean that. I’m thinking about finding more stuff about Dougal Farm. So they’ll want to dig there.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I can use your tablet. I don’t know what to call it, but it is like a screen with https or www at the top. Sometimes it just looks like gibberish after that.”

“You mean search online?”

“Yeah, with the google-thing.”

Callie thought about that. It was so ironic that a ghost was helping find his killer.

“Ok,” she said. “I think it would be a good thing for you to help with the research, because I still have classes and tests and stuff. Just make sure you’re not going on sex sites. For one thing, you probably don’t want to see a lot of the things they show. For another, those sites are full of viruses.”

There was such a long silence, she wondered if he had left the room.

“Chris?”

“Right here.”

“Why are you so quiet?”

“I’m trying to figure out what you’re talking about… And who says I don’t want to see sex? And isn’t a virus like a germ?” Confusion was in his voice.

“Yeah. Sex is great, and you can find a lot of great sex videos, but then you can find some really creepy shit. So if you want to look at sex, I’ll show you a good place to look. And what to search for. But you don’t download anything. I mean anything at all. You can watch the free videos.”

There was another silence. Then:

“Free sex movies? That is far out!”

“What?”

“Bitchin’. Dope. Dynomite. Cool.”

Callie ended up laughing. “Yeah, it’s really cool. I thought you meant ‘far out’ like ‘really out there’, and the sex videos I watch are not ‘really out there’!” She paused, and said in a more serious voice, “The viruses I’m talking about aren’t really germs. They aren’t physical things. They are more like computer programs that do bad things to your computer. Just don’t download or save anything, ok?”

“Ok. But you’ll have to show me how to download and save so I know what I’m not supposed to do…”

“Ha, ha. Jerk.”

That started some tickling which led to snuggling and rolling around on the couch. A sizzling sound in the kitchen was getting louder.

Chris lifted a smoking pan off the burner.

Callie was still on the couch, blinking her eyes. One second Chris was in the living room hugging her, and the next second he was lifting a pan off the stove in the kitchen. She was never going to get used to some things…

After she ate and finished her report, she looked up.

Chris misted himself into visibility, and Callie could see his lips moving as he said, “Close your eyes, Callie. I want to make love to you.”

Closing her eyes, she wondered what he was going to do. Slowly she felt something she couldn’t quite identify or even describe. It was like feeling someone else breathe for her – that was the best description she could manage. Then the sensations changed. She felt an enormous headrush, and then there were fireworks in her head. Pops. Flashes. She realized vaguely that her arms and legs were jerking, but the sensations were so fulfilling, she didn’t care what her limbs did. She heard a deep groan and realized it came from her.

Then all the sensations stopped. Callie lay there sprawled on the couch, one foot on the floor, the other leg bent with her foot nearly at her butt, trying to catch her breath.

“I love you,” Chris whispered in her ear. Inexplicably, Callie had a wrenching orgasm.

After gathering herself, Callie sat up, and pulled her clothes all around her.

“What was that..?” she asked him.

Chris sounded embarrassed. It was hard for her to hear him. He said, “I can’t make love to you like you want me to. This was the only thing I could figure out how to do without using your bullet.”

She said, “I didn’t mean I didn’t like it. I did! I loved it. I just don’t know what to call it. What was it?” She paused, “I mean – what do I call it, if I want you to do it to me again?”

Relief in his voice, he said, “I don’t know what to call it either. I guess I just, um, tickled your brain.”

She laughed. “You tickled my brain?”

“Yes. I sort of felt this thing inside your head, and I knew it would be good for you if I gave it a sort of tickle.”

My pleasure center? she thought.

“Do it again…” she said.

Chris did it over and over, and Callie didn’t want him to stop. Each time he stopped to let her gather herself, she asked him to do it again, her voice weaker each time. Finally, he said, “I don’t think I should keep doing this…” Callie couldn’t argue with him, because she couldn’t speak any more. She lay there blinking slowly as she felt Chris curl up next to her, wrapping his arms around her and throwing one leg over her. That was how she slept until morning.

The next day, Callie presented her idea of a dig at Dougal Farm. At first the professor was unconvinced, but he later emailed her student account that he was going to go forward with it. He was interested in the earlier fort, but anything found that related to the old farm would be good practice for his anthropology students. He was going to have several digs planned, and it would involve more than just her class. Freshmen through Masters level classes would be digging at Dougal Farm.

Callie was already home when she got the email. Chris bear-hugged her, and she started begging to get tickled.

“I haven’t even started dinner.”

“I don’t care. I’m not hungry. Just tickle me. Please,” she said.

He sighed. “OK. But just one tickle. Sit down.”

Within seconds, Callie had writhed off the couch onto the floor, her heels drumming the wooden surface. When Chris stopped, she asked, “Why did you stop?”

“I think you need to have some dinner,” he stated, flatly.

“But-”

“But nothing.”

While Chris was cooking, Callie fidgeted on the couch. Then she came into the kitchen, sat on a chair, and continued to fidget.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“All I can think about is getting tickled again.”

“I don’t think it’s good for you…”

“Not good? It’s fucking amazing!”

“Will you eat some dinner now?”

“Only if you tickle me later!”

“I’m serious. I don’t think it’s good for you.”

Callie cried after dinner. It was like a rejection. All she heard was “No” – the reason was left unheard. She wanted a tickle. It was something no one else could do for her. She couldn’t even do it to herself. She needed that release. What did she do that he didn’t want to tickle her any more? Was he falling out of love with her?

Chris tried to cuddle with her, but she only turned away. He knew she was crying, but there was no way to get through to her.

In the morning, Callie left without taking the shotgun shell with her. She left the earbud on the kitchen table. She didn’t go to class, though. Instead, she went to a coffee shop and sat outside with a cup of coffee she never drank.

She didn’t even want to go home. But she couldn’t afford to just amuse herself or shop. She got on the bus and headed home.

Chris said into the mic, “You’re home at a weird time.”

She turned and said, “I guess I’m just weird.”

“Why are you angry?”

“Why won’t you tickle me?”

Chris sighed. “This again. I don’t think it’s good for you. You just go somewhere when I do it, and I think you’re getting used to it.”

“You have no idea how good it is.”

“I just don’t like doing it any more.”

At that, Callie lost her temper, stomping into her bedroom and closing the door. An earbud wiggled under the door and floated toward her. She threw a pillow at it.

“Just leave me alone. You don’t want to have sex with me. You don’t love me.”

The mic got very loud. “You have no idea how bad I want to have sex with you. I can’t. You know that. Tickling you was the closest I could get, but you get so weird. Like aggressive or trippy.”

“All I know is, you changed!”

“I changed? Callie, you are a completely different person! I can’t even talk to you. That was the first thing I loved about you – talking to you.”

The yelling didn’t last long, because Callie put in earplugs and laid down on her bed, with the pillow over her head.

She refused dinner.

“So now you’re going to punish me by not eating?”

“Fuck off.”

“We need to talk. I have to tell you something.”

No answer.

In the morning, Callie left for the coffee shop. She didn’t have much money left, so she didn’t order coffee. She asked for a glass of water and sat there sipping. That was how she spent many mornings after the big fight. When she didn’t sit at the coffee shop not drinking coffee, she went to the library and didn’t read. Mid-afternoon, she would go home.

She existed on peanut butter. She didn’t even put it on bread. She would eat three spoons of peanut butter and barricade herself in her room.

One afternoon, Chris said, “You know, I could be sitting next to you right now. Just because the mic is in the living room doesn’t mean I am.”

Callie grunted.

“I am getting kind of worried about you.”

She stood up and opened the door.

“There. Happy now?”

After a few exchanges, Callie said, “You know what would make me happy? Just use my vibrator on me. Like you still love me.”

“I do love you.”

No matter what Chris did with the bullet vibrator, Callie couldn’t come.

“Just tickle me. Just this one time. I can’t get there by myself.”

She felt him enter her head, felt the gentle touches, a little tickle. He blew her hair against her ear, and her body started to shake.

He stopped.

“Why did you stop?”

“It didn’t feel right.”

This time, Callie didn’t just stomp into the bedroom. She crushed the earbud under her heel and tried to do the same to the mic, cracking the plastic handle. Then she grabbed her purse and stomped out the front door.

The apartment was quiet when she got back.

“Chris? Are you there?”

Her tablet was on the table, and he had left a note. “Another love note,” she said. He told her that he done some online searching and found the name of the man who killed him, and the name of his girlfriend. He told her to look through his bookmarks. He named the bookmarks: Eric Michael Ford and Amy Patricia Andrews. He had a third bookmark, Amy Andrews Pike. He also let her know that he made an email account so that he could send the police an anonymous tip about his murder, even referring to himself as “that Detwiler boy”.

He wrote: “My reason for staying is gone. I never meant to hurt you or upset you. I didn’t mean to change who you are, but I think I did that. I’m so sorry, Callie. I love you.”

Callie sat with her tablet. Finally, she picked it up and took it to the couch so that she could lie down with it, hugging it like a teddy bear. From time to time, she cried really hard and she yelled, “Over a stupid tickle! He left me over a tickle.” Other times, she wiped her face dry and tried to see her life in a year. “I’ll be three quarters of the way done with school.” But that was a hazy picture for her. She tried to see her life in six months. In a week. Tomorrow.

He left her. He just left her. The only guy she ever loved.

Although she played at going to class and studying, it was too much. She dropped out. She found a job, and that was too much. She quit. She drank. She partied. She went home with men she didn’t know. No name sought, no name given. Nothing ever touched that part of her mind. Everything was too much, and nothing was enough. Nothing was Chris. That Detwiler boy.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/hetljx/the_detwiler_boy_part_2_mf_supernatural