The Last Flight. Chapter 20 - Sex Stories

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The Last Flight. Chapter 20

Date: 7/13/2015, Categories: Lesbian, Author: Annamagique, Rating: 5, Source: LushStories

trembling and I felt so light headed and nauseous. I couldn't speak and slowly, everything around me felt distant and vague. I closed my eyes in an effort to stop my head from spinning and took deep breaths. When I opened them again I was in my bed. I felt cold and shaky and my forehead felt wet. I reached up and found a wet cloth had been placed there. “Karen?” I heard my name. Pascale looked worried as she stood beside her mother and sister. My father was there too. “I'm so sorry,” he said and I could see he had been crying. “I never wanted to hurt you.” “I thought you were a good man,” I whispered. “I believed in you...” He stood before me, head bowed. “As you told me about your dream, particularly about Harry Simmonds,” he said quietly. “I had to tell you. I couldn't lie any more to you.” “We should wait until tomorrow before we discuss this, I think,” Francoise put her hand on his arm, “Karen has had a terrible shock. She should rest now.” “No!” I took the cloth from my head and passed it to Dominique who took it but stayed where she was. I pushed myself up into a more comfortable position. “No, I want to know everything now! Is that why you didn't return home, in case you were arrested?” My dad shook his head. “Oh no. Apart from my memory, everything else I told you is the truth. It wasn't the law I ran away from, it was me, my past. Starting again allowed me to deal with everything. I wasn't Albert Farmer any more, I wasn't that drunken, cowardly Englishman who beat ... his wife and once struck his beloved daughter. Albert Farmer was as dead as he could possibly be. You and your mother could start again too and live in peace and I, apart from the guilt of what I had done could do the same. I stopped drinking and worked every minute I could, giving myself no time for thinking about the past.” “How did you feel when you killed him?” I asked coldly. “Scared, frightened, sorry. I hadn't intended to. I hardly put any pressure on the trigger but it must have been just enough. I was surprised as I had used that rifle many times before and it had never fired with so little effort before. I suppose I must not really have been in control of my senses.” There was a pause. Françoise and her daughters said nothing, trying not to disturb us as he went on: “Simmonds was right, I didn't have the nerve to do it, I wasn't a murderer but I suppose that having been through two wars and killing so many...” “Wait!” I stopped him. “Where were you standing when you shot him? Facing him?” “Erm, yes,” he replied, stunned at the sudden interruption. “In front of the window?” I pushed him. “Yes, why?” He was puzzled at my questions. “You said his brains splashed up the wall beside him. Did you mean behind him?” My father pondered for a moment. “No, there was no wall behind him. We were on the first floor landing of the house. The wall was beside us, opposite the window.” “Don't you see?” I exclaimed, “Don't you get it? You didn't kill him!” “Of course I did, Karen, I ...