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<1st attachment, "FASCINAT.TXT" begin>
What's so implausible about "the Bridges of Madison County" is not the
story, but the notion that two lovers might find a love so deep as to last
their lives- and do it in a weekend. It's a fantasy, but one that women
have found delicious, because reality returned at the end: the woman
refused her lover and went back to being a housewife. The love story is a
fantasy that, at the end, graciously returned to being a fantasy.
Genre romance novels have always fascinated me. The heroine is often
imprisoned, humiliated, beaten, whipped and even raped- all this by the
arrogant six-foot lump of muscle and testosterone she somehow can't help
but love. All of this is gussied up in the florid language of such novels,
and the hero is always as pretty as his victi- excuse me, heroine. These
novels are immensely popular though (the only genre that is consistently
and extravagantly profitable) but what redeems these whippings and rapes is
not the fact that the perp is blond, six-foot, to-die-for. What redeems
them, what is most appealing, is that it is all fantasy.
Fantasy. There is a profound difference between "what if" and "if
only." Fantasy is an experience in itself, sought after for itself. It
isn't a frustrated wish, although it can certainly contain a wicked taste
of "if only." Fantasy is fantasy, an experience in itself, and as such, it
can enrich anyone's life. Florence in "Bridges" returned to reality after
her fantasy fling; an implausible situation, but there is a greater truth
there.
This story likely has more in common with slasher/ horror films (another
inexplicaby successful genre) than it does erotica. You may find it
distasteful. Read it if you will, all of it, and regardless of your
reaction, take a moment to reflect not on the story, but on the feelings
you have towards it.
Love those you love honestly, well and gently, and for the rest of it-
use your imagination!
A Certain Fascination
Chrutli
"In particular, one gentle-mannered girl, whom Williams had undoubtedly
designed to murder, gave in evidence that once, when sitting alone with
her, he had said 'Now, Miss R., supposing that I should appear about
midnight at your bedside armed with a carving knife, what would you say?'
To which the confiding girl replied, 'Oh, Mr. Williams, if it was anybody
else, I should be frightened. But, as soon as I heard your voice, I should
be tranquil.'"
(Thomas DeQuincey, "On Murder Considered As One of the Fine Arts,"
Random House, 1937; pp. 1034-1035)
Psych 102 was Kelly's first class Friday. If had been any other class,
she would have been impatient for it to end. Professor Hawthorne was such
a hunk though. Scott Hawthorne. She liked the name. Scott. He was
black, tall, muscular, and his British accent and deep voice made all the
girls sit up. Short salt-and-pepper hair, a boyishly handsome face and a
gentle manner. He was absolutely to die for. Kelly fantasized about him
more than once, and especially today, since Ted was gone for the weekend,
but it was hopeless. There were nearly a hundred people in the class; he
probably didn't know she was alive. Once, just once, she thought he looked
at her directly, his smile frank and warm. She dropped her eyes, though,
and when she looked back up, he was looking elsewhere.
Her next class was composition, with foxy Ms. Randall, who was likely
more Hawthorne's speed. The last class was intro geology, which Kelly
liked well enough, but it was a sunny Friday afternoon, and she was glad
when classes were over.
Kelly was cute. More than cute; she was short, 5'6", but she had a
pretty figure, a sexy behind and a tight little waist. Her boobs were
okay, she thought, high and pointed, but not really huge. Auburn hair,
wide face, blue eyes and a strong nose. She was okay. Pretty, she
thought. Ted said she was gorgeous, but she was still only eighteen, and
sometimes Ted was such a child. She wished he was a little more romantic,
a little more, god, *aggressive* or something, but he was considerate and
sometimes he could be sweet. Anyway, he'd gone home for the weekend, so
she didn't need to worry about him now.
She daydreamed about Dr. Hawthorne as she walked back to her dorm. He
would be aggressive, she thought. He'd fuck her every which way, make her
do things. She'd do it too. He was so damn gorgeous. She'd do anything
for him.
At the dorm, the empty halls echoed her steps. A lot of girls still had
classes, and those that didn't were out enjoying the sun. Kelly went to
the room she shared with Jennifer Kale and tossed her books on her little
desk. It wasn't until she flopped down on her narrow bed that she noticed
the note, folded once and tucked under the door. She got up and got it,
then flopped back down before she read it.
The note read: "Kelly- Go to the coffee shop in the square and call this
number. I intend to kill you this afternoon, and I must have your willing
cooperation. Go to the Campus coffee shop as soon as you receive this.
Take this note with you and one quarter for the call. Take nothing else,
and talk to no one, except cordially, until we speak."
Kelly sat up, astonished. It was some kind of joke. Kill her? It had
to be a joke. It was a pretty sick joke if it was, but kill her? That's
what it said. Kill. Her willing cooperation? It was too weird. She read
it twice and examined both sides. There was nothing else on the paper, nor
any indication of where it had come from.
Jennifer wasn't around; Jen had been here already and dumped her books
on her bed, so she'd probably gone to the lake or to a bar. Jen loved the
weekends. She wasn't a very good influence, really, but she was fun. Ted
had gone home yesterday for the weekend. Kelly wanted to show the note to
someone, but who?
I intend to kill you. Right. She threw herself on her narrow dorm bed.
It was almost too stupid to be frightening. She read it again, vaguely
annoyed. Maybe she should take it to the dorm mother. Naw, it was too
stupid. Somebody's stupid, sick joke. It made her angry.
Ted maybe. Maybe Ted hadn't really gone home for the weekend. Maybe he
had some kind of kinky fantasy thing for her. It was hard to imagine- god,
just about impossible- but maybe Ted. She did kind of hint about him being
more manly. Well, if it was him, she sure didn't want to show it to the
dorm mother.
She read it again and looked at the ceiling, frowning. For a long scary
moment, she considered that somebody really did want to kill her. But if
that was true, why tell her? And why this mysterious stuff about go to the
phone and call her killer? You could just as easily replace "kill" with
"take you dancing," or "bonk the daylights out of you" and it would make as
much sense. More maybe. It had to be something like that.
She tossed the note on her nightstand. She had to write a paper for
comp, and read two chapters in her psych text. And Jen would come back
sooner or later and they'd probably go drinking. Go to the Campus coffee
shop and call. Why not? If it was Ted and he had something kinky in mind,
she wouldn't want to miss it. It sent a small spasm of lust through her.
Unless of course it was some stupid joke of his. She could just as easily
skin him if it was.
She picked up the note and read it again. Nobody was going to kill her
on the phone at the coffee shop, with all those people around, and she
wasn't going to find out what the note meant unless she called. If it was
Ted- well, okay. She could go to the coffee shop. She washed her face,
brushed her teeth, and for good measure, put on the tiny red lace bra that
Ted liked, just in case. Her fleshy nipples were stiff, and she drew her
shoulders back and smiled at the effect in the mirror. "Do you want this
body?" she sighed, then laughed. She put on baggy shorts, a work shirt and
tennis shoes, and left.
***
The coffee shop was as busy as ever. The phones were in a row in back
corner, and Kelly went to the first one and hesitated only for a breath
before she put her quarter in and dialed.
A man's voice answered after two rings and spoke immediately. "Hello,
Kelly. I'm pleased you found my note. You must follow my instructions
promptly. The success of this venture depends on you."
"Who is this? What venture?" Kelly stammered. It startled her.
"Your murder, of course. Who I am is not yet important."
"You're joking, aren't you? Why do you want to kill me? Do I know you?
Is this supposed to be a joke?" It startled her more than frightened her;
he sounded so casual.
He ignored her questions. "When you leave the coffee house, walk three
blocks north. Go west from there two more blocks. You will see a dark
blue mercedes parked on the left side of the street. There is a cell phone
in the driver's seat. Get in the car. The phone will ring when you
arrive. We'll talk more."
"Why? Why should I? Are you nuts? Do you know what you're asking me?"
"You don't have to, of course. I hope you do. I promise you, Kelly, I
will do it as gently as I can. Tenderly, as a lover might take a kiss from
you."
"I don't have to talk to you. I should hang up."
"If you like, certainly. Look around you. You're surrounded by busy
people. The afternoon is warm and delightful. There is no harm in talking
to me a while, is there? Aren't you curious?"
"Why should I let you kill me? That's insane."
"Perhaps. You brought the note?"
"Yeah. Who is this anyway? Are you somebody I know?"
"In due time, Kelly. Please, I want you to take the note, fold it in
quarters, and place it in the left pocket of your shirt."
"Why? Who are you?"
"Your questions will be answered according to your courage. Why,
though, why- for my pleasure, I suppose. If there are other reasons- well,
you might want to know if I have some vendetta or hatred towards you. I do
not. On the contrary, you are fresh, pretty, intelligent and really quite
lovely. If I wasn't going to kill you, I believe I could become quite fond
of you."
"You asked me out once? And I said no?"
"Nothing of the sort."
"Why? This is really weird."
"Perhaps. First the note. Fold it in quarters and place it in your
left shirt pocket. Will you do that?"
"Why?"
"Please? Do it, and I will explain."
Kelly looked around her; the square was sunny, peopled and busy,
completely unremarkable. She folded the note and tucked it in her pocket.
"Okay. Now what? What's the big deal about the note?"
"The note is the single thread that might be traced to me. It's
important that you have it with you when you come to me."
"When I come to you."
"Yes."
"So you can kill me. I'm supposed to come to you so you can kill me."
"Think of it as a lover's tryst. A secret tete-a-tete. I will give you
gently what no other man would dare. I'll take what no man would dare
ask."
"Right. Sure. I suppose you're going to rape me first. Then what?
Shoot me? Stab me to death? Like I really want that."
"No. No, I won't rape you. I'll make love to you, tenderly, if you
permit me. If not, I'll have your body after you're gone. I will not rape
you. I want you to believe that. We must do this gently."
A thrill of fear went through Kelly's body; and, unbidden, a strange and
different thrill. "No. You're crazy if you think I'm going to get myself
killed. I won't. I just won't."
"Aren't you curious?"
"No. No. I'm not. This is too- you're weird. I don't want to talk to
you."
"As you wish. I do want you to understand, though, that I will not
force or trick you in any manner. I want you to come to me willingly. You
have a choice, and I want you to understand that you can exercise this
choice at any moment. You may hang up now, if you wish, but I surely hope
we can continue this conversation."
"No. I don't want to," Kelly said, a pout in her voice. She still held
the phone, though.
"We might have a bottle of wine. We could spend the afternoon making
love; most women find me reasonably attractive. Then we could sleep
together, until evening. We could share dinner; perhaps we could prepare
it together. Then after, we could talk, and then, in the dark of night,
make love one last time, as deeply and passionately as two lovers ever
might."
"You make it sound like a really good date," Kelly said dryly. His
voice had an odd lilt, almost foreign. Had she heard it before?
"No, not merely a date. A passion, an experience of ultimate passion."
"I think you're nuts. I'm going to go now." The hand that held the
phone was trembling. Passion, he said. God. But her hand was trembling,
her belly taut. She didn't hang up, and for a full minute neither of them
spoke.
Finally, he broke the silence, his voice soft. "Three blocks north,
then two west. Can you remember that?"
"Sure."
"Good. The next step for you is to go there, and get in the car. Don't
think about it too long or too carefully, Kelly. This all seems appalling
and strange to you, I'm sure, but it needn't be. I'm hanging up now.
We'll talk more when you reach the car."
The phone went dead. Kelly hung up and sat at a cafe table and ordered
a cappuchino. For a moment, all the normal, sunny-afternoon bustle around
her faded, and a primitive animal thrill went through her, fear and desire.
She saw a dark image, black silk sheets, her body impaled on some powerful
lover, him wanting her so much he had to- She caught her breath, and shook
her head, her nipples tightening.
The moment passed. She took the note out and read it again. She should
go to the police. If some guy wanted to kill her, she should take the note
to the police, and tell them about the conversation. It was as simple as
that. Let them deal with it.
What if it was Ted, though? He could have disguised his voice or gotten
somebody else to talk maybe. There had been something odd about the voice,
like a strained accent.
Ted had tied her to his bed once; she'd let him. She'd expected he'd be
kind of rough, or something, but he lost his nerve and seemed embarrassed
as he screwed her. He'd lapped between her legs a long time, and that was
nice, then pinched her nipples as he screwed her. He might have done more.
He should have done more; she'd been helpless, and there was no excitement
in that if she was helpless before a nice guy.
What if he hadn't left for the weekend? What if he just had some weird,
kinky idea to try out? The cops would have a great time with that. It
wasn't Ted on the phone though. She knew that. She was pretty sure,
anyway.
'Don't think too much,' he'd said. She finished her cappuchino and
stood. She touched the folded the note in her shirt pocket; she shivered,
surprised as it brushed her erect nipple. 'Quite lovely,' he'd said. It
was a weird compliment that a man could want her so much he wanted to kill
her.
Ted was thin, but he had a nice body. For an instant, she could imagine
it, straddling Ted, riding lightly, his chest against her breasts, and
then- what?- his hands on her throat, or a knife. She shivered,
embarrassed and disturbed at the thrill that went through her.
She left the coffee shop, standing in the sun. North, three blocks. It
occured to her to be angry with Ted; it was really a nasty joke. If it was
a joke. She had let Ted tie her, and she had expected him to do cruel
things to her; maybe he'd finally gotten his nerve up. Three blocks north.
Don't think too much. Her nipples tingled, erect and expectant.
***
The street was lined with trees and modest, well-kept houses. It was a
neighborhood for tenured profs, well-off, but not wealthy. A dark blue
Mercedes was parked under a spreading oak, not out-of-place in that
neighborhood. Two doors down, kids were playing on the sidewalk. A young
boy on a bicycle rode past her as Kelly approached the car. It was empty,
though there was a cell phone on the passenger seat. Kelly wiped her
sweaty palms on her jeans, looked around one last time, and got into the
driver's seat. There wasn't any reason not to; she didn't see any danger.
The car smelled of rich leather. The key was in the ignition switch.
The phone trilled almost as soon as she settled in. She answered it.
"You're a brave young woman, Kelly. I'm pleased with you."
"I was just curious, that's all. What is this about? You don't really
want to kill me, do you?"
"Of course I do. That's precisely what this is all about."
"That's just crazy. I'm not going to let you. Why would I want to?"
"Perhaps it isn't so crazy. Perhaps I can persuade you." He paused.
"Perhaps you will find your own reasons to give me your life."
"No way. Forget it. It's crazy."
"Then talk to me for a bit. Will you do that? You're not in any
danger, you know. You'll have to come to me, and when you do, you'll find
me exquisitely gentle with you. Can we talk?"
Kelly bit her lip. "Where are you? Are you somewhere close?"
"If you're concerned, then drive the car. The tank is full. If you
think I'm close, you will be driving away from me. You can watch behind,
to see if you're followed."
"Is this a trick? Is the car boobytrapped?"
"No. I want you close to me when you die. Intimate."
"Naked, I bet," Kelly snorted.
"With your permission. Otherwise, I will undress you and make love to
your still-warm body, after you've given me your life."
A surprising rush of pleasure washed through Kelly, and she caught her
breath. She could picture it, her body naked and limp in her lover's arms
as he thrust into her; it was powerfully erotic. "That is so weird," she
gasped, shivering.
The man chuckled. "Start the engine. Drive. Go anywhere you like.
We'll talk, and perhaps I can persuade you to come to me."
"Fat chance," Kelly muttered. She bit her lower lip, then turned the
ignition key. The Mercedes purred to life, and she put it in gear and
pulled away, driving towards the center of town. "Nice car," she said.
"Really nice."
"I'm pleased you like it. I was sitting where you were sitting not so
very long ago. The seat is soft as a glove, isn't it? It's a sensual
pleasure, driving a Mercedes."
"It's nice, yeah." She stopped at a corner, then swung into traffic. It
was nice. "So. You want me to go somewhere so you can wack me."
"Kelly, please don't trivialize this. You're a sweet and lovely girl.
Your life is precious. What I am asking is that you give me your life
gently and willingly. That is no small thing."
Another thrill went through her, fear and desire mingling strangely.
"You're serious, aren't you? You really want to kill me."
"Yes. I am, and I do. Will you come to me directly, or shall we talk a
while?"
"I can't believe this. I'm just supposed to drive somewhere so you can
kill me? Why would I do something like that?"
"That's what we're going to discuss. Tell me, have you ever watched any
vampire films?"
"Sure, I guess." She drove past the coffee shop, and then the dorms,
heading for downtown.
"There is always a scene with a bodiced woman, enthralled by a vampire.
She stares in a terrible fascination as the fanged mouth descends on her
throat. You know the scene. It's always a pretty village girl, and she
always succumbs, her breasts heaving sensually."
"Yeah," Kelly said. "So?"
"She gives a little gasp when the fangs pierce her throat."
Kelly touched her throat, gooseflesh rising on her thighs. "So. You're
a vampire?"
"No. But consider that fascination in her eyes, consider that little
gasp. She receives her death like a lover penetrating her. That's how I
want it to be between us, gentle and erotic. I want to draw your life from
you gently, the way a vampire might draw blood from your throat, the way a
lover might draw a kiss from your mouth."
A hard shiver went through her. "That's sick," Kelly sighed, resisting
yet another strange thrill. She missed a parking spot near the police
station, and drove on. She found a parking spot about a block away, and
pulled into it. "I'm downtown. I'm going to the police. Do you hear me?"
"Good. You're at the police station now? Excellent."
"Why excellent?" Kelly asked warily.
"You should feel safe where you are. You do feel safe?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess so." People were walking past on the street, kids
sprawled on the courthouse lawn chatting, napping, studying. The day
outside the car was unremarkable, a sleepy, sunny Friday.
"I want you to feel safe. I know how this must be for you. What I'm
asking of you is remarkably precious, and I want you to understand that
there is no malice nor cruelty in my intentions. None. I want this to be
as loving and gentle as we can make it. I don't want you to be afraid."
"I'm not afraid. I'm practically at the police station. I don't have
to be afraid."
"You needn't fear me anyway, Kelly. That's what I want you to
understand."
"You want to kill me. I don't want to die. I mean, duh."
"You're afraid of dying. I understand that. I'll be there with you.
You needn't be afraid of me, though. Up until the moment I ask you for
your life, and you consent, the choice will be yours. You will know the
moment is right, and you'll say yes. I will wait for you to say yes. It
wouldn't be right unless you consented." The man hesitated, then his voice
dropped and softened. "You're so sweet and unassuming, so vibrant with
life. I want you, Kelly. Please. Come to me."
There was a note of urgency in his voice, and it moved Kelly to a kind
of sadness; sadness and desire. She wanted to make him feel better. She
wanted; oh, god, that was too crazy. Someone she knew from her drama class
walked past on the sidewalk, but he didn't notice her sitting in the
Mercedes, and she didn't try to get his attention.
The man spoke again, his voice quiet, but controlled. "Kelly, I think
it is time for you to decide, and act. You can either walk to the police
station, or you can drive west, out of town. What shall it be?"
"I could go to the police. Why shouldn't I?" She wished her voice
didn't quaver.
"I might tell you the car was stolen in Chicago yesterday, and the only
fingerprints in it are yours. How will you explain all that?"
"It doesn't matter," Kelly said tightly. "I don't have to. I didn't
steal it. Is it? Is it stolen?"
The man said nothing. She shook her head, looking back at the police
station yet again. "I could just stop somewhere. Walk away."
"You could," the man said. He laughed, a deep, warm laughter that sent
an odd chill down her spine, not entirely unpleasant. He had a nice voice,
confident and deep.
"It won't make any difference, will it?" Kelly asked weakly. "You still
want to- to-"
"Yes. I will still want you," he said smoothly. "I'm a patient and
gentle man, Kelly, but it would be better if you came to me sooner, rather
than later." There was a curious note of threat in his voice, or maybe she
just imagined it.
"I thought you said you were going to be gentle."
"I want you, Kelly. You know how it is for a man to want you. The
promise of satisfaction makes a gentle lover; frustrated desire can lead to
darker purposes."
"Geez, you want to kill me. Isn't that dark enough?"
He laughed softly, and said nothing. Kelly glanced back at the police
station one last time, then started the engine. She didn't know what she
was going to do, but she knew she didn't want them involved. She wasn't
quite sure why she didn't want them involved, but she almost felt
protective towards this strange man, this man who wanted her life. She
pulled away from the curb, turned two blocks past the police station, and
drove west on Madison. She didn't have to go all the way to where ever he
wanted. She told herself that. She was driving. She had control.
"How are you going to do it?" Kelly asked softly.
"I have my preferences, of course, but if you would like to chose the
method of your death, I will most certainly respect that."
"I don't know," Kelly said, her voice quavering. "This is so strange."
"At the next opportunity, open the glove compartment."
Kelly pulled onto a sidestreet and stopped. The glove compartment held
a .45 automatic pistol, a new ice pick, and a heavy hunting knife.
"Are these my choices?" she asked softly.
"Some of them."
"The gun is heavy. Heavier than I thought. My dad has one of these,
but he never let me touch it."
"Pull back the breech, the top of the pistol. That will load a
cartridge in the chamber."
She'd seen her father do it; it only took a moment to figure it out, and
as the slide moved back she could see the bullet angle into the chamber.
"Okay. I did it."
"Good. How do you feel about guns? Would you like me to use that
pistol?"
Kelly looked down the barrel; she saw only blackness. She pointed it at
her thigh, then at her belly, the mass of it awkward in that position. It
was cocked; she had cocked it pulling the breech back. A soft shiver went
through her when she realized that, and she set in on the seat quickly. "I
don't know. No. Do you want to shoot me?"
"I'd rather not do anything to damage your body."
"You want me. I mean my body. What are you-" her voice caught- "What
are you going to do with my body? After I'm gone?"
"Is there some certain thing you would prefer? I will improvise, I
suppose. What do you think I might do?"
"I don't know. Stab me? Stab me all over. My boobs. Or you could
like preserve me, so you could do it to me for a long time. Or- heck, I
don't know. I don't know. I don't *want* to die. I don't."
"You were doing fine there for a moment. Then you lost your nerve.
This is about sharing and pleasure, and yes, even love, Kelly. An act of
supreme passionate desire. Do you have the courage to share this with me,
Kelly? I know how precious the thing is I want from you. Will you give
yourself to me?"
"No," Kelly whimpered. "I don't want to die."
"Of course not. I understand that. But you can imagine it, can't you?
A mysterious lover taking you, gently at first, sweetly, then with
increasing passion and urgency. You will call out the moment, Kelly. You
will know when you're ready. Then, and only then, will I draw your life
from you, gently and passionately."
"But I don't want to die," Kelly whispered.
"There are worse things than giving up your life, Kelly."
"Sure. Like what?" She was trembling, and tears were welling freely.
"Loving someone and knowing that love will never be returned. That can
be hell, Kelly. Come to me. I'll love you, and I'll give you passion, and
then peace."
"I don't want to die," she said softly, tears washing her face.
"Hush. Hush. Don't think about it. Feel the sun; it's wonderful,
isn't it? The sweetness of the air? Breath it deeply, calm yourself,
savor the life around you. Clear your mind, and come to me."
"You're going to kill me."
"I'm going to love you, gently and passionately. Then I'll take you
life. We'll do it together."
"It's going to hurt," she whimpered.
"Yes. I'll be there. I'll be with you. I'll help you through it.
I'll kiss your tears away and ease you past the hurt. I'll hold you close
and dear until the hurting stops, until you're still and at peace in my
arms."
Kelly looked at the big automatic pistol beside her. He could put it
between her legs and shoot her there. Or shoot her in the breasts, in her
nipples. But she had the pistol. It was with her. He'd been talking, and
she focused on his words again. At peace in his arms: she could picture
it, her body limp and naked.
"...Kelly, don't be afraid. Don't be afraid. I'll be there to comfort
you, to make it easy. It will be quick and gentle. We'll do this thing
together. Take a deep breath and clear your mind."
Kelly shook her head, refusing, but took a deep, shuddering breath
anyway; it did help a little. And she had the gun.
"Good, good. Another deep breath."
She took another deep breath, a clear one, filling her lungs and letting
it out slowly.
"How do you feel now?"
"Better," she said, oddly touched by his concern. "A little better.
I'm still kind of scared."
The phone filled with crackling and fragmented sounds, then silence. He
didn't say anything more, and after a moment, Kelly panicked. "Hello? Are
you there? Please, are you there?"
The battery on the cell phone was dead. Cursing, she scrabbled through
the contents of the glove compartment. There it was, a second battery.
Relieved, she changed the batteries. After a moment, the phone rang, and
she let her breath out; she realized she'd been holding it. "Hello? Is
that you? Are you there?" Her voice quavered.
"Yes. I'm here."
"God. For a second I thought you'd hung up."
"I am here, Kelly, and I'm not going to hang up. It won't take you long
to come to me. West on Main, all right?"
"Good. Yeah. Thanks." Her panic subsided. "I like your voice. Deep
and, I don't know, kind of sexy." She glanced at the big pistol beside her
and then pulled back onto the street. Main Street, going west. The car
swung around the corner easily. Her hands were shaking subtly.
"You think my voice is sexy?"
Kelly laughed nervously. "Yeah. I do. You sound strong and, I don't
know, comforting. Yeah, sexy." She took another deep breath. "God, that
sounds weird, doesn't it? You're going to kill me and I tell you you're
sexy." She had the gun; it was so obvious that she felt a little foolish.
She had the gun. She could use it to protect herself. It made her feel
less helpless, and somehow, more aroused.
He gave her further instructions, and Kelly followed them, maneuvering
the luxurious car through the afternoon traffic. "This is so strange," she
murmured into the phone. "Here I am, going to meet some guy, a guy with a
sexy voice who wants to kill me. Can you hang me? Like with a noose and
everything?"
"I'd like that, though you should consider carefully. It's a slow way
to die. Perhaps that would be a good way, though. You are certainly a
beautiful woman, Kelly. One of the loveliest I've ever met." He paused.
"Would you like to make love with me before I kill you?"
An intense thrill went through her. "Yeah," she said softly. "I think
I'd like that." Then, "'I've ever met?' Have we met? Do I know you?"
"You'll find out soon enough, Kelly. How do you feel now? More at
ease?"
"Nervous," Kelly laughed. "I don't know. Kind of sexy. I guess I'll
be naked when you kill me." The gun was beside her; that made it all so
easy. She had the gun.
"Yes, I hope so."
"Will you be gentle?"
"Gentle? When I make love to you, or when I kill you?"
The image of her dying, naked in his arms, was somehow fervently
exciting for Kelly. She shivered, and didn't answer for a moment. "Both,
I guess," she said. "The sex anyway. I don't know how you can kill
anybody gently."
"I'll be as gentle as you like, all right? Loving you and killing you.
I won't be needlessly cruel."
"How long now?"
"Not long. You'll come up on Felder Road soon. urn left there." It
wasn't far; the traffic around her had already thinned, and Felder was just
outside the small college town.
"Okay." Kelly paused, more aroused than she realized. "I guess I don't
understand why you have to kill me. It just, I don't know. It doesn't
really make sense."
"Perhaps it doesn't. I suppose its rather strange, but I can't take my
pleasure of a woman unless she's dead. Or at least unless her death is a
complete certainty."
He sounded pained. Kelly turned at Felder, and didn't say anything for
a moment; it seemed so sad. "Kelly, I am sorry. I'm truly sorry. I wish
it were otherwise, but that is how I am. That is why you have to die. I'm
sorry."
Kelly pulled over and stopped, tears blurring her eyes again, but for a
different reason. "I'm sorry too. You must be so lonely."
"You'll come and take that loneliness away for a time, Kelly. It's
going to be something sweet and gentle when we are together. You're not
far now, Kelly. Come to me."
"Yeah. Okay. I will." Kelly rubbed her tears on her wrists. "I just,
oh god, this is so weird. I wish I could do something to make you feel
better."
"You can, Kelly. You can come to me and give yourself lovingly. Tell
me you will."
"I will," she whispered. "I just. Give me a minute. Everything is
blurry. Wait."
"There are tissues in the glove compartment."
"Thanks. Geez, my nose is all red now. I hope you don't mind."
He laughed again. "I don't mind. You're doing fine. I'll kiss the
tears away when you arrive."
Kelly sniffed, then sneezed. She had the gun. It was as simple as
that. She had the gun. "I'm going to kill you," she said softly. "Do you
understand? I'm going to come there and kill you."
He gave a low, rich chuckle. "So," he said, "You're finally beginning
to realize the possibilities."
"What possibilities? What do you mean?"
Soft laughter. "Will I be naked when you kill me? Will you make love
to me first?"
"No. I don't know." She shook her head, confused and excited. "Maybe."
"Then you'll start the car again and come to me now?"
"Yes." She shook her head, something growing in her as fierce as desire.
"You watch me. I'm going to kill you."
"Turn left at Freeman. You're as exciting as you are beautiful, Kelly.
I like your spirit."
It was an isolated cottage, well off the road, almost entirely
concealled from neighbors by trees and shrubs. The cottage was small,
carefully maintained, even charming. As Kelly pulled up the dirt road to
the house, she saw an extensive rose garden behind the house. That, too,
was neat and precise.
She picked up the .45 automatic and got out, lifting the heavy pistol in
both hands, pointing it in front of her. Even with both hands, the pistol
shook, and her knees felt weak. She started around the side of the house.
He had on white satin jogging shorts, and nothing else. He was boyishly
handsome, tall, well-muscled, his skin smooth and black. It was Scott
Hawthorne, smiling at her engagingly, a cell phone in one hand.
For a moment, Kelly panicked, a headlong rush into fear and desire. She
wanted him, of course she wanted him. Those powerful hands on her body.
On her throat. She never imagined that. She'd never thought it could be
him, his gorgeous body, his boyish smile. She pointed the pistol; her
hands trembled and the barrel of the pistol wavered.
"I'm glad you came, Kelly. Very pleased. Is that how you want me to
kill you? With the pistol?" He didn't seem to notice she was pointing it
straight at him.
"No. I don't want to die. Please. I'm so scared."
"Kelly, forgive me. I didn't intend to startle you. You don't need to
be afraid. Come here now. Let me hold you. It's going to be all right,
really." His voice was soft and deep, his smile gentle.
Kelly sobbed, shook her head furiously, then ran to him. He took the
pistol and then his big arms closed around her and she sobbed into his
chest. "I don't want to die. I don't want you to kill me. Please."
"Hush," he said, stroking her hair. "Shh. Hush now. You're thinking
too much. You're scaring yourself. Shh. It's going to be all right."
She buried her face in his neck, smelling his body, feeling the strength
of his arms and the mass of his chest against her, against her stiff
nipples. "We'll do this one step at a time, all right? You're giving me
something precious. Precious and beautiful. I want to accept it gently.
Gently and lovingly. Don't think too much. Savor the moment."
He held her until she stopped sobbing, then held her a bit longer.
Kelly clung to him as her panic subsided. His broad chest, his massive,
cradling arms surrounded and embraced her. He was comforting; god, he was
sexy. She sniffed and smiled tremulously when he brushed the tears off her
cheeks. "Better?" he asked, smiling down at her.
She nodded, sniffing. She held her breath when he took her face in his
hands and kissed her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks. He licked the tears
off her cheeks, and she laughed softly. It was a dizzying thrill when he
kissed her mouth, and she returned it eagerly; his lips were warm, his
tongue bold and exciting.
"Well," he said, breaking the kiss. "When we go inside, we're going to
make love, and then I'll take your life. But there is no hurry. Would you
like to see my garden, and talk a bit?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I would. Thanks." She felt dizzy; she had expected
something worse, something dark and ugly. She wanted to kiss him again,
but she felt shy.
"You were surprised it was me."
"Yeah. Really surprised. I guess I thought you would never notice a
girl like me. And here- god, this is so weird. You want to kill me? I
don't know what I'm doing here. I've got such a crush on you. God,
Professor Hawthorne, I shouldn't tell you that, should I?"
"Call me Scott. You can tell me anything, Kelly. I noticed you from
the first day of class. You're fresh and sparkling. I think, if you
weren't going to die today, you would grow up to a woman of beauty and
sophistication."
"Why do you have to keep saying that? I know that's what you want. You
don't have to keep saying it."
"Yes. I do. You're so full of life and energy." He brushed his fingers
past her breasts, and Kelly shivered. "Your nipples are erect, swollen
with hot blood. In some sense, you want this too, don't you?"
Kelly didn't answer; she looked up at him with dark eyes full of
questions and desires. He led her to a bench in the garden, underneath a
sheltering sycamore, and they sat . "Scott-" she paused, embarrassed to
call Professor Hwathorne by his first name- "I expected. I don't know. I
thought you'd be like some fat ugly guy, and you'd rassle me down and tie
me up and do mean stuff. Hit me and cut me up and stuff."
"I may yet do those things." Scott smiled gently. Kelly shivered and
looked up at him, her soft eyes full of fear and desire. She lifted her
chin, and Scott took the kiss she offered, drinking deeply from her. She
touched his bare chest, drew back, then touched again as he explored her
mouth. Smooth brown skin, powerful muscles moving beneath; she brushed the
small pip of a black nipple, and squeezed it lightly. Kelly swallowed hard
when he broke the kiss, then leaned and licked his nipple. He smiled
darkly at her and she giggled shyly, then kissed each of his nipples wetly.
She sat back with a sigh, but kept a hand on his rippling belly. "You're
gorgeous," she said softly. "Scott."
Scott chuckled and put an arm around her, gathering her gently against
him. Kelly sighed again, relaxing against him, and neither spoke for
several minutes, the small sounds of the warm afternoon filling the air.
"You've sure got a lot of roses," Kelly murmured. She felt safe and
sheltered against the powerful mass of his body. It was funny; he was
going to kill her. He said he was. She almost felt like she was in a
dream. She glanced at his trunks and smiled despite herself. He had a
nice big one, the length of it laying along his thigh beneath the thin
fabric. It wasn't a monster, but it was way bigger than Ted's. She wanted
to touch it, to kiss and suck it, but she felt shy, like calling him Scott
made her feel.
Scott squeezed her shoulder and she laid her face against his chest.
"Do you like roses?" he asked.
"Yeah. I do."
"I have a new rosebush for you. I've already dug a hole. Would you
like to see it?"
Kelly swallowed. "A hole? For me? Or for the roses?"
"Both, of course."
"But there are already so many-"
"Yes. I've been a bad boy."
A hard shiver went through Kelly's nubile body; Scott felt it and
recognized it for desire. When he lifted her chin and kissed her, she
kissed him back fervently. His big hands caressed her throat, then passed
lightly over her shirt, her breasts and belly, cupping her sex through her
shorts, then continuing down her thighs. His gentle touch thrilled her
breathless.
"Are you ready?"
"No. I'm not." Kelly caught her breath and shrugged, pulling back.
"I'm kind of scared. I don't understand why I'm here. Why."
"Why?"
"Yeah. I mean, why did I come here? You told me what you were going to
do. I knew it from the start. Now here I am, and you want to kill me, and
I don't know why I came. I let you take the gun. Am I some kind of
sicko?"
"No," Scott said mildly. "I don't think you are."
"Then why did I come?"
"Because I asked you."
"That's stupid. I don't want to die. My dad's birthday is next week. I
want to go home to my Dad's birthday next weekend. I'm young. Why did I
come here?"
"I can't answer that, Kelly. Look in your heart."
"Yeah, right. You're going to look *at* my heart. Chop me up, cut my
boobs off, I bet. And, I don't know, all sorts of kinky stuff."
Scott chuckled. "I'd much rather your body was intact and unharmed.
You really are quite lovely."
"Great. You're not going to chop me up."
"Is that what you want? I've done it before."
"You have?" Another shiver went through Kelly's body.
"Yes. You likely can't imagine the things I've done to the bodies of
young women, women like you, as lovely and generous and brave. I've taken
the life of every woman who has loved me."
"I don't feel so brave. I'm pretty scared, tell you the truth."
"You needn't be. We'll go at this slowly and gently." He lifted her
chin and kissed her. Kelly hesitated, then kissed him back; after a
moment, she ran her hand through his hair, nappy, softer than she expected.
His mouth was warm and liquid, gently demanding.
"You kiss nice," she said when he pulled away.
"So do you. You have a wicked tongue." Kelly giggled and swung her
legs, embarrassed. "May I touch you? Your body?" Scott asked.
Kelly nodded, blushing. Like he needed to ask. One hand around her
shoulders, he explored her with his free hand. He stroked her brown
thighs. Kelly tensed, then relaxed as his gentle fingers moved inside her
thighs, moving upward. She spread her knees as his knuckles nudged the
crotch of her shorts. He cupped, and she opened her knees farther as he
stroked her vulva.
His hand moved over her belly, then her ribs and breasts, touching
through her clothes. He pinched her nipples lightly through her clothes,
and Kelly caught her breath, then pressed her face to his bare chest. He
unbuttoned her shirt, so gently she barely felt it, and opened it to her
shoulders, pushing her back to admire her. "Lovely," he murmured. His big
hand stroked her belly, bare now, and then her breasts, a tracery of lace
between the black of his hand and the white of her breasts. He loosened
the catch between her breasts and pushed the cups back. Her nipples stood
out like a couple of lemon halves, tilted upward. Kelly leaned forward,
blsuhing shyly, and squirmed out of her bra, pulling it through a sleeve of
her shirt. Scott smiled his approval as she settled back against his arm.
A single finger traced her aureolas gently, urging them to further
engorgement; Kelly was panting, squirming delicately from the pleasure he
was giving her.
His hand moved to her knee, and she opened her thighs when he pressed
her knees apart lightly. He stroked her bare belly a moment, then slipped
his hand beneath the elastic of her shorts. He cupped her wet vulva at the
same time he gently slipped a finger into her, and Kelly gasped and
squirmed, rotating her hips to give him easier reach.
"Come for me," he said softly in her ear.
Kelly closed her eyes and came, eyes clenched shut, buttocks shivering,
rocking against the finger working gently inside her. She sobbed once, and
then subsided, her head whirling.
Scott's finger continued working. "Again," he murmured. She came
again, more urgently, crying out and pressing against him. "Again," he
said, and she came again, sobbing, grabbing at his wrist weakly. "Again,"
Scott said.
"No, wait," Kelly gasped. "This is too- you're making me-" She came
again, and again and again, her vulva acutely sensitive, wailing wordless
protests to the pleasure he demanded of her. When he finally slipped his
hand out of her shorts, tears streaked her face and she was gasping for
breath. Scott pulled her gently against him, and she pressed her lips and
breasts to his muscular chest. "I don't want to die," she said softly,
calmly, though she was still panting. "I'm afraid."
"Are you afraid of dying? Or afraid of the pain?"
"Dying. The pain. I don't know."
"Don't be afraid. The pleasure will be as intense as the pain."
"Like you would know," Kelly snorted.
"I've seen it in their faces. I know."
Kelly looked off over the distant fields, for a moment putting aside her
desires, the ache in her breasts. I don't want to die, she thought, and
she knew it was true. Scott wanted to kill her, though, to make love to
her and kill her. She would let him, she knew she was going to let him.
She could envision his powerful black body looming over her, and her limp
and dying beneath his dark mass.
Kelly sighed. "Scott, this is so. I don't know. So weird. I sort of
want to. I do. But what if I change my mind? What if I can't- god, I
guess can't isn't the word. What if I wanted to wait? Like not right now?
Would you let me? Do I have any choice at all?"
Scott chuckled. His head dropped and he sipped gently at her nipples.
Then he kissed her mouth, tenderly. Kelly squirmed, catching her breath.
He kissed her forehead and stood, stretching. "Kelly, I want to have
you in a way few women experience. It is desire at its extreme, and I
think you want that too. I think you want to give me that."
Kelly touched the bulge in his trousers, tentatively at first, then more
boldy when he smiled encouragement. Then, abruptly, she drew away.
"Don't you feel like you tricked me into coming here?" she asked.
"Tricked you? How so?"
"The gun, in the car. It was loaded and everything. I wouldn't have
come here if it hadn't been there. It's like you tricked me."
"You had the gun. You could have used it. How is that deception?"
"I didn't use it. To shoot you. I couldn't. I just couldn't."
"Perhaps you're right. Perhaps there was an element of deception."
Scott sighed, rearranged and buttoned her shirt, and then carefully took
his note from her shirt pocket, pulling the shirt away from her so he
didn't brush her breast. Kelly thought it was gallant. She didn't know
why; she just did. "Kelly, we have time. There is no hurry here. I am
going inside. You may follow when you are ready." He stood.
"Scott, wait. Wait. Don't leave me here." Kelly grabbed his hips;
Scott paused, looking down at her. Kelly looked up, her eyes dark, then
pressed her lips to the front of his trunks. He stroked her hair. "I'll
do that, if you want. With my mouth. Ted says I'm pretty good. Would you
like that?"
Scott smiled. "Of course I would. Who is Ted?"
"My boyfriend. Sort of."
"Ah. Will he miss you, do you think?"
Kelly shrugged, frowning. Would he? "Naw. Probably not." Then she
grinned. "I bet he misses the blow jobs, though. I don't just do the
head. I can take it all in. You know?"
Scott grinned. Kelly touched the bulge, then eased his shorts down to
his knees. He was half-hard, his thick cock curving downward, blacker than
she imagined it and oily smooth, the foreskin folded loosely over the head.
She lifted the organ- it was hot and heavier than she thought it would be-
and kissed the heavy balls hanging from the tight nest of black hair. She
licked each, then took each into her mouth gently; she'd dreamed of doing
this. Scott touched her cheek, then put his hands on his hips. Kelly drew
away, panting softly, then lifted his cock to her lips. She gazed up at
him as she pressed her lips to the folds of foreskin. She tasted musk and
urine; she eased the skin off then head and ovalled her mouth around the
bulbous head, as stronger taste, the heat and substance of his cockhead
against her tongue.
He wasn't impossibly big, but he was bigger than Ted, and when she
lowered her mouth on his cock, she gagged, once, and drew back. He didn't
press himself into her face, and that was oddly reassuring. The next time,
the thick presence slid down her throat, and she pressed quickly, engulfing
his entire cock, not stopping until her nose bumped his wiry pelvic hair.
She held it there for a heartbeat, then rose and caught a breath. Again,
deeply, holding him inside her throat, and Scott grunted and shivered.
Then, to her surprise, he pulled her off his cock and stepped away, taking
his trunks back up.
"Scott," Kelly whimpered, "I want you." She reached for him.
"I know. Come inside when you're ready."
He loosed her hands and started away.
"Scott, wait. What if I run away? Are you going to leave me here?"
He came back, coming up behind the bench and cradling her shoulders. He
pointed past her. "If you follow the edge of that field, and go directly
through the woods, there is another house, about four miles distant. They
have a phone."
Scott turned and walked away, disappearing into the cottage. Kelly
stared at him, astonished, resentful, and surprised at the resentment; she
felt abruptly abandoned and betrayed. He was letting her escape; anyway,
giving her a chance to escape. She knew she ought to be grateful, but her
mouth was filled with the earthy taste of him.
She did nothing for several minutes, hurt and angry. He was toying with
her. She wasn't going to beg him to kill her. She wanted him, she didn't
want to die. She didn't want to die. She didn't.
Kelly stood then, defiantly, and walked uncertainly down a row of roses,
counting. She stopped at twenty-three; there were more. All of those
girls, she thought. She walked to the end of the garden. Follow the edge
of the field, he'd said. All of those girls. Had they died willingly? It
didn't seem possible. Kidnapped. Tied up and forced into a trunk.
Dragged into a dark alley and stabbed. She could imagine a thousand
possibilities, but the thought that he could have forced it on her made her
tremble, made her knees weak. He was so powerfully built. He was so
gorgeous. He hadn't forced anything on her.
She started down the field, walking slowly. He was going to kill her
now, she thought. He has some kind of rifle, and he's going to shoot me
before I get away. She wouldn't even get to fuck him, to feel that
beautiful black cock inside her, driving her to a frenzy of pleasure.
She walked slowly, cautiously, certain that he was watching her. Would
he shoot her in the head? She couldn't imagine what that would be like,
but he could shoot her in the back just as well; she looked at her breasts,
jogging lightly with her hesitant steps. Would her chest explode in gore
from an exiting bullet? Her nipples were stiff. He might shoot her belly,
and her hands went protectively over it; it was silly, though, doing that,
and she laughed quietly and nervously.
Maybe he'd shoot her in the leg, cripple her, then drag her back. Maybe
he was just toying with her. Her knees went weak; she stumbled and fell, a
rush of pleasure washing through her as she landed on the soft earth.
There was no shot, though. She crawled a few feet, feeling safe close to
the ground, then took a deep breath and stood.
A hundred yards into the woods she stopped. He couldn't see her from
here. She looked back; the cottage was well out of view.
Her legs began trembling violently; she collapsed in the soft duff
beneath a tree and cried. She cried for a long time, uncertain why,
sobbing and shaking. She felt empty, finally, as as her tears ebbed, she
dried her face and began walking again. She reached the edge of the woods.
Kelly could see the farmhouse halfway up the next ridge. It would only
take her fifteen minutes or so to get there. They had a phone. She could
call the police.
Call them and tell them what, she wondered. She felt for the note, but
it was gone. He'd taken it from her. What would she tell them? That the
professor had asked her to come all the way out here so he could kill her?
That she had come, willingly, driving there herself? That he had killed
dozens of girls already, just dig up his garden? It sounded stupid to her;
it would sound worse to them.
Abruptly, she realized that it had all been some sort of bizarre joke,
or perhaps some kind of twisted psychology experiment. He wasn't going to
kill her. Scott had made all that stuff up, about the rose bushes and
everything. He wasn't going to kill her. God, it was crazy. Whatever
stupid shit he was up to, she thought, she knew he wasn't going to kill
her. He wouldn't have let her get this far if he'd really meant to kill
her.
Relief washed over her, and she laughed, almost light-headed with the
burden of her thoughts gone. It was just some bullshit psychological
thing. He had never intended to kill her, it was just some weird mindfuck.
A flame of anger rose in her chest, but the fact was, he had chosen her.
He was a hunk, and he had chosen her. For his stupid, mean trick, sure.
But he thought she was beautiful. He'd kissed her and touched her body.
She sucked his cock, that big black mass sliding down her throat.
She paused, gazing across the fields at the distant farmhouse. Some
stupid mindfuck. It had to be that. It had to. The afternoon sun was hot
once she'd left the sheltering trees; a light breeze shifted the wheat
subtly and a cicada called, commonplace sounds in a commonplace world.
She could fuck him, she thought. She wanted to fuck him, even if he was
some kind of twisted jerk. She was horny like she'd never been before.
She wanted that big old cock in her belly.
Kelly turned and started back purposefully, feeling light and relaxed.
How many times had she fantasized about fucking Scott Hawthorne? Now she
could. She was so wet she could feel her secretions working between her
buttocks, but she relished the sensation. She returned more quickly than
she had left.
She stopped at the edge of the rose garden. There, on the other side of
the garden, was mounded dirt, a shovel, and a hole. A hole. Her breath
caught in her chest and a raw shiver of pleasure rippled through her belly.
A hole, for a rose bush. For her.
The hole was three feet square, about five feet deep. It was neither
wide enough nor deep enough to stand her up or lay her out in it. She'd
have to be folded, up, knees to her chest, to fit down there. Maybe he'd
cut her into pieces. She could almost picture it, the way he'd lay an arm
or a leg on a stump, the way her breasts would snap and bounce when he
chopped.
Her knees went weak, and she dropped to the edge of the hole. It wasn't
a joke. Scott was going to murder her. She sat quietly for a moment,
savoring the sun, the sounds of birds and silence about her. Then she
stood and went to the cottage.
Kelly knocked, and the door moved; it wasn't fastened. She pushed it
open. "Scott?" she called softly. She didn't dare enter. She waited, and
presently, Scott came to the door.
"You're ready," he said.
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am." Her voice caught, then, "Scott?"
"Yes?"
"Why did you just let me walk away? I might have told. Gone to the
police. They'd kill you for sure if they found out about you killing all
of us."
"'All of us.' I'm pleased you've already included yourself." He stroked
her cheek and Kelly started, them smiled timidly and took his hand. She
kissed his palm, then slipped one of his fingers between her lips, sucking
it gently, looking up at him.
"You want to use your mouth." He smiled.
"I want you to be happy with me. I want to make you happy. I want to
be special. Do it the way you want. Okay?"
"I could be cruel, if you offer me that much freedom."
Kelly nodded, almost eagerly. "You let me walk away. You gave me my
freedom. What if I had called the police?"
"I would be found out, of course. Arrested, tried; very likely I'd be
executed." Scott reached out and pressed his fingers to her breasts, one
and then the other, gently. Kelly's nipples were erect and he found them
easily through her shirt, squeezing briefly, thumb and forefinger. Kelly
stood motionless, rich pleasure following his touch. "What I do is a
terrible thing, Kelly. I should be stopped. One day, I will be. I am a
monster, you know."
Kelly shook her head. "No. You're not. I don't think you are." She
paused. "It makes me sad."
Scott smiled warmly. "Don't be. You might say death is a companion of
mine. I flirt with death, mine and yours. There's a certain symmetry to
it, don't you think? In a few hours, you shall be dead, and I'll have your
body to enjoy. Why shouldn't you put me at a similar risk?"
Kelly shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "Scott, You don't have
to kill girls. Why do you do it? Can't you just stop?"
Scott stepped over the threshold, outside, and drew close to her,
caressing her cheek with thick, gentle fingers. "Kelly," he said softly,
"You were safe. You didn't return to persuade me to stop."
He lifted her chin gently, and for a long moment, Kelly looked into his
dark, sad eyes. "No," she said in a whisper. "I guess I didn't."
"Shall I carry you over the threshold? Like a bride?"
Kelly sniffed and laughed softly, but nodded. He lifted her easily and
she slung her arms around his neck. A wet shiver went through her body as
they passed the door. "You're going to carry me out again, too," she said.
"Afterward. Aren't you?"
He studied her for a moment. "Yes," he said. "I'll have to."
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