Scout and George returned to Farraway Mist on a sunny, mild January afternoon. They'd spent the night in Surrey, with George's parents, and picked up the car, where Dennis and Brenda swore that, in the space of a few days, Scout and George's baby had gotten bigger, much to George's delight.
The first night back in their home, when they came together to make love, George was surprised to find that he couldn't comfortably reach when he pushed inside her. He hovered above Scout on the bed as she waited, finally rolling off of her as she asked, "What? Change your mind?"
"No, I haven't changed my mind," he replied with a laugh. "The baby's too big today, I can't reach from this position anymore!"
She went up on her elbow to look at his face. "Seriously? It's too dark for me to see your face, I can't tell if you're joking or not."
"Jesus, Scout, I'm so hard it hurts, we haven't fucked in days," he responded, though he was still laughing. "I'm not joking, you're going to have to take my word for it." He grasped her by her waist and lifted her on top of himself. "You're also going to have to get on top, mm kay?" he murmured, rising up to kiss her, groaning as he lost himself in the kiss. "God, hurry up before I just go off all over your belly, please."
Scout laughed comfortably as she rose up, making the sexiest sound as she came down and closed her soft heat around him. They slowly clasped hands as they came together in the darkness, their breathing becoming syncopated as they established a comfortable rhythm.
George released her hands so he could rub her when he realized he was going to finish really soon, so he wouldn't leave her behind. And because she was pregnant, Scout was swollen and engorged, with much more blood and tissue than usual, and therefore easier to bring to climax, and she came nearly as soon as he touched her, twice in quick succession. This in turn reminded her of her great-gran and she started laughing, even as she called out "George, George," as she bent over with the strength of her orgasms.
She felt George, deep inside her, shooting off hot and wet as he gripped her hips tightly with his strong hands and sat up a little, holding his breath. She waited without moving, her hands on his chest, until she felt him relax and lie back.
"What the fuck was that laughing about? Hm?" he asked breathlessly, laughing himself as he gave her a little shake. "Talk about bad timing, you little vixen!"
"Sorry! I'm sorry," Scout said, trying to control her chortling. "It's just that I came, like immediately, you know? Twice, and it made me think of gran--" she looked at George in the near darkness, becoming nearly helpless again with laughter.
"Hey, that's a good thing," he said earnestly, as Scout shifted off him, snuggling in next to his body. "I don't think you should be laughing about my prowess as a masterful lover, you know?"
His words only made Scout begin to snort with fresh giggles.
"Jesus, George, stop, or I'm going to choke to death," she begged, tears streaming out of her eyes. "I can't breathe," she gasped, struggling to draw breath.
"You're such a mean person," he remarked, stroking her beautiful back. "I take such wonderful care of you in every way, including in the sack, and you take every opportunity to just laugh at me, honestly."
Eventually Scout made so much noise that Jess and Bandit came to investigate, eyes big, sniffing curiously at the edge of the bed, which only caused her to laugh even more.
They finally fell asleep all wrapped up together, after getting dressed first, because it was so cold at night. They were awakened the next day by the workers outside, who had finally come to begin work on the new path and fence that had crumbled on the night Scout and George had nearly fallen to their death on the cliffs.
George had decided to just pave the entire pathway, and put in brand-new, reinforced, wrought iron handrails with re-bar that went into the actual rock cliff face. It was much more expensive and involved than what had been there before, and required geological survey work from the local oceanographic society or something, but George didn't care. He'd paid to have all of the fieldwork expedited, the permits pulled, and the surveys completed, and they'd finally gotten the okay to begin construction two days before. When it was finished, it would be much safer, not to mention much prettier to look at.
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"So, you excited to find out?" Scout asked George. They were headed to Dr. Summerville's, hopefully to finally learn the gender of the baby.
"Of course I am," he responded, reaching over to grasp her hand.
"George," Scout began.
"Yeah?" He looked over at her. "Should I pull over? You sound serious."
"No, I just want to ask you something, not a big deal," she reassured him. "Um, if the baby's a boy, would you, that is, do you think your mom would--"
George looked over at her, brows drawn. "Jesus, what?"
"Would you guys like to name him Oliver?" Scout asked. "Is that something you'd like to do? Or would that be weird? I mean, I wouldn't mind, I think it would be really nice, but not if it would be painful for you and your family, you know?"
George kept his eyes on the road, blinking from time to time.
"You are such a sweet and lovely person," he finally said, lifting her hand to place a gentle kiss on it. "Yes, if it's a boy, I think Oliver would be a lovely name," he concluded with a nod, looking over at her briefly. He took a deep breath.
"Now what if it's a girl, hm?" he asked with a shake of his blond head.
"Well, I do actually have a preference," she said. "It's an old family name, kind of plain, but I've always loved it." At his raised eyebrows, she said softly, "Alice?"
He grinned. "I actually love Alice!" he declared. "But would you mind if we spelled it the Welsh way? A-L-I-S? My mum's people are Welsh, and it would make her really happy," he explained.
"Alis," Scout said happily. "Alis Mathilda? Would that be all right? My favorite aunt was named Mathilda," she explained. "She made the best caramel in the world, one of my favorite memories."
"Alis Mathilda it is," George declared.
And when they got to Dr. Summerville's, and she put the transducer on Scout's tummy and moved it around, she confirmed that it was indeed Alis Mathilda who was growing inside her, who would be making her appearance in the world in about three more months.
"Oh my god, Scout, a girl!" George repeated, and Scout could see the unmistakable joy on his face as he said the words. He smiled as he kissed her, over and over. "I was hoping it was a girl," he admitted as he wiped his eyes.
"And she's fine? Everything looks good?" Scout asked.
"Everything looks fine," Dr. Summerville reassured her. "Lots of activity, as you can see and feel, size well within normal range, fingers and toes all accounted for, all looks lovely, my dears."
George couldn't stop looking at the monitor, and was disappointed when the doctor finally removed the transducer and wiped Scout's belly. She did send them a couple of photographs, though, so he'd have something to look at.
Once again they walked down the High Street of the village when they left the doctor's office, and George bought her a huge bouquet of flowers from the greengrocer's. Scout knew he would, because of what she'd told him at Christmas about the flower petals. In fact, on that day, he insisted on buying her two bunches of flowers, one for her, and one for Alis, he said, and nothing she said or did would dissuade him.
"We're having a baby girl!" he crowed to the old gentleman who sold them the flowers.
"Oh, well, these are on me, then," the kindly fellow insisted. He also put some beautiful fruit in a bag for Scout, because, "A wee one needs fresh vitamins, don't you know," he said, smiling into his generous mustache.
"Thank you," Scout said with a smile, kissing him impulsively.
They motored home with their flowers and fruit, and Scout prepared a lovely fruit salad, eating most of it in front of the fireplace while reading a book.
George was in the music room, noodling around on his equipment, when the calm of the afternoon was pierced by the most horrifying sound. At first he didn't recognize what it was, and he thought one of the workmen was dragging something heavy across the flagstone terrace. It was an awful, screeching, noise that went on and on. Then it slowly faded and began to repeat, and realized that it was an organic noise, produced by a living thing. Around this time he remembered that the workmen had already left for the day, anyway.
He dropped his guitar and ran outside, jumping over the flower bed that separated the side yard from the terrace outside the lounge where Scout had been reading. The French doors stood open where Scout had obviously run out when she'd heard the same noise. She stood near the gate to the path, staring at something so awful that at first George's brain refused to see what it was.
Jess was lying on the flagstones, stretched out in an attitude of repose, looking for all the world like she was enjoying the last little bit of the thin, winter sunshine on this chilly January day before the fog moved in. Her tail was thumping weakly, her breathing labored and audible, even from where George stood. He took a few steps closer to his dog.
"George, don't come any closer," Scout said in a terrible voice. "Just don't, okay, dear?"
George could see, even from where he was, that there was a huge piece of shiny, black, wrought iron fencing, wickedly, viciously pointed on one end, sticking out of Jess's chest. It entered on her back, as if some huge person had just driven it in with all his strength. Red air bubbles grew and popped around it with every breath Jess took.
Oh dear god.
Scout knelt next to Jess, murmuring useless words of comfort, and her tail sped up its weak thumping.
George took a few steps closer.
"George!" Scout said sternly. "Don't," she continued softly.
"I have to," he replied, approaching. "She's my girl, Scout, she's my Jess." He took a sobbing breath and knelt next to her. Scout put a hand on his back as he reached for her muzzle.
"Oh, my darling Jess," he said softly, stroking her head. "My good, good girl."
Suddenly there was a huge racket in the bushes, and Bandit came crashing through. He had a hunk of ancient, frayed rope knotted around his neck, which had obviously been freshly chewed through, with bloody teeth marks to prove it. His muzzle was a bloody, frothy, mess. He must've been chewing on the rope for a long time to get free.
He went straight to Jess, whining and sniffing around her head. He looked anxiously at George and Scout, asking them to help her.
"Oh god, Bandit, there's nothing I can do, fellow, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," George said, reaching out a hand to pat the black and white dog.
Under his hand, Jess took a deep, heaving, breath, causing fresh blood to bubble out of her chest. This obviously caused her pain, and she whimpered.
"Jesus," Scout murmured, absently wiping the tears from her face.
"George? Darling George?" She put her arm around him. "You have to say good bye, okay? Can you do that? You have to let her go."
George looked at her, horrified. "I can't, Scout, I can't do it," he whispered, shaking his head.
"It's okay, George, I can do it," she said softly, nodding her head. "You just say good bye." Scout rose and went into the lounge.
George looked at her retreating figure uncomprehendingly, then looked back at Jess. "I love you, Jess. You're a good girl, you were always the best dog, you know that." He bent down and kissed her.
Jess licked his face and thumped her tail twice.
George looked up when Scout came out of the lounge, carrying one of the shotguns and two shells.
"Scout, no!" George said, aghast. "No, you can't!" He rose. "I won't let you, I won't!"
Scout wiped her face again.
"Honey, what do you suggest?" she asked softly. "Look at her. She's in agony. She's suffering, so much. Every breath is hurting her." She touched George's face. "Did you say good bye, darling?"
George blinked at her and nodded, swallowing.
And that's when they both heard it.
A woman laughing. Low. Mocking.
George looked around.
"You bitch," he said in a low voice.
Scout sighed, and walked toward Jess. She knelt, and kissed the dog.
"Good bye, sweet girl. Thank you for eating all of those horrible biscuits for me, hm? I love you, Jess."
Scout stood, and loaded the shells, and placed the muzzle just behind Jess's sweet, floppy ear, and pulled the trigger on both barrels.