Unfortunately for those rape gangs it was play for pay and my bill was usually fatal. Once it was my turn to play, I had a high old time snapping necks, tearing out throats and generally sending the survivors screaming into the woods to spread the word about this horrible monster with the magic pussy that turned into a killing machine. I have never understood that part of my program that forced me to allow survivors, but I have been told that this caused significant morale problems for the Red state folk to hear first hand just what we zombies were capable of doing to them.

 To this day it puzzles me about the attraction my breasts have for these people. The reason I refer to them as squeezies is due to the fact that my sex or is it rape partners seem to have a fascination for squeezing or fondling them while we are engaged in fucking. Of course my external genitals take plenty of rough handling as well, but it's merely part of the hunting process, and of little or no consequence to me.

 Now to some little known facts about zombies and how they reconstitute themselves. The head is the key to reconstitution; separate it from the main protoplasm body by a distance greater than one hundred and ten meters (no one seems to know why this particular distance is vital), and there can be no reconstitution and subsequent reanimation of the body, no matter what the condition. Here's the hard part to believe, protoplasm that has once been animated cannot be destroyed. This is the other key to how we can reconstitute, no matter what as happened previously to the protoplasm. This may sound like heresy to the Red state believers, but you might as well say that the protoplasm animated in the Lightning Chamber is eternal. How do those apples taste?

 Unlike humans, what we start with is all we'll ever have. In combat it is inevitable that small amounts of protoplasm are lost from the body through one reason or another. Usually they are too small to recover due to the nature of our assignment which has us constantly moving and seeking out the enemy. Where the protoplasm goes is moot as far as a combat zombie is concerned. However when we reconstitute, our bodies are made whole, it's just that they are minimally smaller. For this reason it will take something well out of the ordinary for a zombie to leave a limb behind. It does however happen. I once met a Mariah class zombie who was less than 1.2 meters in height due to some horrendous damage in combat. Even at that reduced size she was quite effective, especially in ambush and reconnaissance situations, not to mention those Red staters into pedophilia.

 Up until recently I'm not sure that the Red state folks had figured this one out completely. I had heard through the network that on rare occasins a zombie had fallen into Red state hands. More about our zombie communication system at a later date once I'm free of all these little issues that always seem to demand my full attention. Some of the more sadistic Red state types just liked to mutilate a captured zombie to the point that there was little if anything left to reconstitute or reanimate, and then keep the head for a trophy, thus unknowingly leaving the protoplasm in a permanent neutralized condition. Those unfortunates and the other few combat zombies that managed to get sucked down into quicksand bogs, of which there were many in this part of the country, made up the total casualties to date.

 The first time I got into serious trouble was almost the last, and considering what I'm facing for the rest of my unnatural life, perhaps that might have worked out just fine for me. I was making my way through the woods after having sent a group of Red state folks to the hereafter of their choice, when I encountered a local deadfall that put me out of commission long enough for this band of inbreeds to take control of my body. I distinctly remember tripping the wire, but I looked the wrong way and was struck head-on by this massive log that had come swinging out of the trees and knocked me cold. A zombie can take all sorts of hits without accruing too much damage, but the end of a two hundred kilo log moving at perhaps thirty kilometers per hour is another story altogether.

 By the time what passes for my brain unscrambled itself, I found myself being carried deeper into the woods. These good old boys sure knew something about knots, so I just took it easy and let them do all the work. I sincerely expected to find myself pulling a train of inbreeds for many long days before someone made a slip and I killed them all. Was I in for a surprise! This gang consisted of eight decidedly scruffy individuals who said little and proved to be rather strong. I was hanging from a fair sized tree limb and I'm not exactly a feather when it comes to weight. Every hour or so, two more of these characters would take up the burden of transporting me toward their encampment. After three changes of carriers we arrived at a clearing surrounded by huge trees. I could hear the sound of water running nearby, and filed this away for future reference once I killed them and made my escape.

 The first thing I discovered was these swamp people knew a hell of a lot more about zombies than anyone else I had previously encountered. On the other hand those other folks were either fucking me or dying, so I never did get a good feeling for what they did or did not know about my kind. Well one thing these folk knew was a method of putting me out of order temporarilly. When I came around I discovered that in my absence they had taken me off the tree limb and refastened me to a large log similar to the one that did me in originally. I also realized that there was a substantial dent in my head such as might have been formed by being struck with a stone axe  very much like the one that was on the ground beside me. Since it was partly covered with some of my tresses, I assumed that it had been the item that put me away for a time.

 The way I was fastened to the log also gave me pause. There was some kind of a metal collar around my neck that was attached to the log by what seemed to be steel spikes, the very same kind that were holding my arms outstretched across the log. I could see that pairs had been driven through what passes for bones in my upper arms, elbows, forearms and wrists. A pattern of three spikes had also been driven through the palms of my hands. In this position it was very difficult for me to get any leverage, especially since my wide spread legs were teethered to the ground in like fashion. These folks knew their anatomy, I had to give them that. What troubled me more than the way I was restrained was the fact that it made it very difficult for them to get at my vagina, which kind of took the wind out of my sails. What happened to my animal magnetism and good looks on the way to the camp?

 It didn't take long for me to get an answer to this question. I heard a commotion going on at the edge of the camp site. At first it looked as if two of the inbreeds had gotten into a fight over something.They were both half naked and rolling around in the dirt. What was so strange about this was no one else paid them the slightest attention. Then it became apparent that they were weren't fighting, they were fucking....each other! Case closed, as far as my ability to seduce this gang of alien beings was concerned. If all the Red staters had been like this little band, we zombies would have become an endangered species by now. Immediately it became apparent that they had taken me to their camp not for sex, but something more basic, food! I was the catch of the day, and from the looks of things, they planned starting on me just as soon as the big kettle of water came to a boil.

 One of the band approached me with a weird almost childish look on his deformed face. I just sensed what he was up to and unfortunately he didn't disappoint me. Out came this big pig sticker of a knife and the next thing I knew he was carving away at my squeezies, cutting thin slices of protoplasm from my teethered body. The fact that I made no outcry or effort to escape that very sharp inplement he was using kind of spooked him. He stopped what he was doing and hollered a few unintelligible words to his brethren. Soon I was surrounded by the entire gang who started pointing and jabbering among themselves concerning what was not happening where part of my breasts used to be. Not only do we not feel pain, we do not bleed, which can be very helpful in hand-to-hand combat where you don't want to be distracted by a fountain of blood spurting from where your arm used to be.

 One thing we can do, but it is not known to the average Red state folk, is speak. I have a fairly decent vocabulary and thanks to another little addition to my body, I am also capable of emitting some of the scariest shrieks, moans, howls, screams and banshee wails that anyone has ever heard. When properly used, it can be a show stopper. You can imagine the type of reaction you get from an opponent  who has just cut off maybe a hand or an ear and you let out with one of these sonic blasts. It sort of stops them in their tracks for a moment, just long enough for me to dispatch them to whatever lies beyond this life. I was already preparing for that moment when some noise would give me the edge I needed to get rid of these weird folk and go on my merry way, spreading fear and terror into the hearts and minds of my enemy. For the moment however, I remained silent and let them have their fun, such as it was.

 Another of the inbreeds decided to check me out a bit further, and urged on by the peculiar grunts and whistles that passed for language from his peers, he proceeded to pull out an even bigger pig sticker. Without even asking, he rammed it into my vagina with one swift motion and then opened me up from vulva to my solar plexus, quite an impressive strength move on his part. I was tempted to reward him with one of my sonic blasts, but refrained. Still the foolish grin that was plastered all over his face indicated that he and I were bonding quite nicely. At this point he didn't know how to react to a woman who did not bleed or make any sound when cut. Undaunted he made some grunts and whistles of his own and a couple of the band took off into the woods, leaving me to heal myself as inobtrusively as possible under the circumstances.

 The one carving off portions of my squeezies resumed his activity, making small whistles and even an occasional sneeze as he worked away on my rapidly depleted breasts. By the time the other two returned with armloads of leaves from the local trees and bushes, the gash the other one had opened up was already starting to close, which caused more grunts, whistles and sneezes, plus plenty of fingerpointing. I'm opened once again,and none too gently. The gang starts stuffing me with leaves as well as the slices of breast "meat"  they've carved from my squeezies. As near as I can figure, this has something to do with their plan for cooking and eating me. I'm not at all familiar with this process, but there is enough in my memory background to make it appear that this is what they are planning for me. I have no choice but to bide my time and wait for some kind of an opening that will allow me to dispatch this bunch and be about my business.

 The head inbreed didn't make things easy for me and I began to understand that he was a moron leading a pack of imbeciles. Without any warning he hacked off my right hand, leaving it nailed to the log. Then he did the same to my remaining hand. As soon as he hacked off one of my feet, I got the picture. His plan was to incapacitate me to the point that I coud be handled for cooking. Not a bad plan for a moron, but it has one little flaw.I'm almost as dangerous with stumps since I am a dedicated killing machine with tremendous strength and speed, despite some lack of agility due to the temporary loss of my limbs.

 He made things a little more difficult on his next pass, which resulted in me losing more of my arms and legs, up past the elbows and knees as near as I could tell. Now I began to worry about this little game that he was playing. If it went any further, matters would have taken a decided turn for the worse. I might still be able to take half of them out with just my jaws and teeth, not to mention a few well placed head butts, but mobility would have become a serious handicap and likely prevent me from killing all of them.

 With the second round of amputations, the moron made a fatal mistake and I immediately capitalized on it. There was only one set of spikes holding what was left of my arms and legs to the log and the earth. The moron should have cut below the spikes, not above them! However that was the kind of error that a moron will make, it's no crime. However in his case it made life very easy for me and most difficult for him and his little band. I flexed and popped the remaining spikes from the log. My follow through caught the moron's throat between my stumps, instantly breaking his neck. I rolled and got up on my leg stumps and took out a pair of bug-eyed inbreeds, tearing open one's throat and fracturing the other's skull with a head butt. I'd finish him off at my leisure after taking out the remaining five who had no clue as to how to handle me.

 I derived no enjoyment from killing this group, it was just something that I was trained to do and so I did it. Then I rested in this isolated glade and waited for my body to reconstitute and reanimate itself totally, minus perhaps a few millimeters or so off my height. Once that was accomplished, I began to follow the stream that I'd noticed when the now dead band of inbreeds had brought me to this place. Sooner or later the stream would lead to more Red state people who would succumb to my wiles and lethality.

   ( To be continued - rolf palsy)

 

            “Rob-Meister.”

 

Jack Anderson bobbed his square, chiseled jaw in return and toyed with the gold fountain pen clutched in his manicured hand, clicking it open-closed-open-closed.

 

“Running late again, Buddy? Shit like that goes on your permanent record. You don’t want anything to screw up the big promotion. Know what I mean?”

 

            “Fuck you.” Rob grinned. “Buddy.”

 

Rob scooted the chair closer until his soft belly pressed firmly into the edge of the conference table, and pretended to sort through the thick ream of paperwork that was laid out in front of him. He absently acknowledged a few guarded hellos from the other well-dressed attorneys already seated around the gleaming, polished walnut table. The gentle buzz of excited conversation began again after Rob settled in.

 

Not a typical meeting this morning. Today held a different agenda. Rob had been waiting for this day for months.

 

No, longer than that.

 

Years.

 

Rob glanced at the vacant chair at the front of the room and checked the time on his diamond Rolex. “Where’s the old man? I didn’t notice him out front…”

 

            “Dunno.” Jack shrugged. “Waiting till you got here to make his grand entrance.”

 

            Rob grinned. He couldn’t help it. “Right.”

 

            “Good morning everyone.”

 

            The sudden hush of activity was broken only by the whoosh from the buildings air-conditioning. Rob checked his tie again, and along with everyone else in the room, sat up straighter as Vanden Smith himself (the Vanden Smith – senior and founding partner of the corporate law firm of Smith, Marshall, Adams and Rodgers – that Vanden Smith) breezed into the conference room. Rob felt an aura of great respect bordering on awe fill the room.

 

Smith paused at the door and whispered to someone outside the office before entering the room, and then he crossed to the head of the table and smiled down at his senior staff like a proud father on his child’s graduation day. Tiny laugh lines creased his face, tanned an even brown from weeks spent sailing in the Caribbean every summer, his iron-grey hair cut short, his dark blue silk suit immaculately tailored to fit his tall, trim frame. A large diamond pinky ring flashed as he adjusted the knot on his tie.

 

He cleared his throat, and at that moment, Rob swore he could have heard a pin drop.

 

            “Well. It’s been quite a while since I’ve had the privilege of being in your fine company, hasn’t it?”

 

            A low murmur of agreement rose from around the table.

 

“First, I want to take this opportunity to personally thank each and every one of you, for all the hard work you put in each and every day.”

 

            Bright smiles from everyone.

 

            “As you all know,” Smith went on, “since David Rodgers unexpectedly retired at the beginning of the year, several names have been bandied about as to who might be on the fast track for a significant promotion. One or two of those names, I might add, come from this very office.”

 

            Smith nodded in Rob’s direction. Rob flushed with pride, and for a brief moment, he felt every eye in the room on him.

 

            “Our core company values have never been better represented. We expect nothing less than tireless, selfless hard work from our attorneys. And in return…well.” He paused theatrically and grinned. “Well. Today I am very proud to both acknowledge and reward that very same relentless devotion to this firm from one very impressive individual.”

 

He paused for effect before continuing.

 

“A person who I believe exemplifies every quality this company stands for and stands as a role model for everyone in this room.”

 

            Rob beamed and nodded, letting Smith’s rich, deep voice fade quietly into the background and wash over him. This was his moment, the one he’d committed his entire adult life for. He leaned back slightly in his chair, the leather crackling under his weight. He was confident; waiting impatiently for Smith to finish up with his little speech while the butterflies bounced wildly around in his gut.

 

            Finally, he thought.

 

Finally.

 

Finally, he was going to hear the magic words that would vindicate the last twenty-five years of his life, his utter dedication, his resolve to succeed.

 

Smith’s dazzling smile grew even larger, exposing his perfectly even, white teeth. The teeth of a movie star. “And so, without any further formalities, I’d like to introduce you to our new senior partner…      

 

This was it! Rob felt the flush creep up his neck to his cheeks, burning the tips of his ears. This was the moment he’d been working towards since he was just a boy, a child, when his asshole old man first called him a fat, stupid loser.

 

Smith stood back, extending his arm, and Rob began to stand…

 

“Yvonne Craig!”

 

***

 

            “Wha…”

 

            Rob was halfway out of his seat before he realized what had happened.

 

            “No…”

 

            Mistaken as he was, everyone else took his cue. The entire room stood and cheered as Yvonne Craig bounced through the door, giving a victory salute with her hands clasped together, waving her arms around like a major league slugger after hitting a grand-slam and sending the ball flying over the ballpark fence. She was looking sharp and sexy in a coal black suit, her heavy breasts bouncing in her crème colored silk blouse.

 

More cheers and a few cat-calls as she hugged Vanden Smith and left an imprint of her lips on his cheek from an impulsive kiss. Next to him, Rob heard Jack laughing as everyone else in the room applauded loudly.

 

Rob fell back into his chair, confused and defeated. The room spun around him, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Sweat beaded his forehead and trickled down his back as he loosened his tie, unbuttoned his starched shirt; he felt suddenly claustrophobic, needing air, space.

 

He stared at the happy, smiling faces of the people he considered his colleagues, faces that suddenly seemed to mock him.

 

How the hell could this happen…?

 

He closed his eyes and tried to tune out, tried to escape to his quiet place, but he couldn’t concentrate; the sound of Jack’s harsh laughter rang in his ears. Rob squeezed his eyes even tighter and covered his ears with the palms of his hands, chanting under his breath until the others were seated again, listening intently as Vanden Smith continued to praise Yvonne Craig.

 

Smith droned on and on, until his deep voice blurred with the echoes of Jack’s laughter in Rob’s mind, slowly changing, until it was the voice of his father, taunting Rob’s latest failure from beyond the grave.

 

You stupid, worthless, good-for-nothing idiot…

 

***

 

…and I expect everyone to join us at MacTarahan’s tonight at six sharp and celebrate! I’ve been informed that Old Mac will have an open bar and grill ready for us, so don’t be late!”

 

“Hear, hear!”

 

“Al-right!”

 

Rob groaned inwardly and watched everyone file out, heading back to work and grinning with visions of drunken revelry. He gathered his things and stood slowly. When he reached the head of the table, Vanden Smith cleared his throat.

 

“Robert, I’d like you to stay for a moment.”

 

He indicated a chair for Rob, who blinked and sat, confused again.

 

“Now, then,” Smith sat for the first time during the meeting. “Robert.”

 

He punched a password into the computer built into the edge of the table and eased back into the plush leather of his chair. He steepled his fingertips under his chin, watching Rob with narrowed eyes. Rob squirmed uncomfortably.

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

Smith took a deep breath, exhaled. Tapped the computer screen. “Robert, when we hired you, we made you aware of the priorities of this firm. Yes?”

 

Rob blinked, not sure how to answer. “Um, yes. Yes, of course.”

 

“Good. You see, we’ve had Yvonne evaluate each of our attorneys’ performance over the last quarter.” Smith smiled, his teeth gleaming. “We’ll spend the next few days speaking with everyone.”

 

“Oh…I see…”

 

Smith punched up a file. “Looking at your caseload, we’ve noticed some issues.”

 

“Issues?”

 

“Mm. The LeineCorp case immediately comes to mind.” Smith raised an inquisitive eyebrow, one of his patented court gestures. “This was a settlement?”

 

“Uh, well, yes. They decided to settle after…”

 

“I’ve read the case files.” Smith waved his hand, turned to Yvonne. “How many billable hours did we lose by settling this out?”

 

“Hundreds, at least. Probably thousands.”

 

Smith settled his gaze back on Rob.

 

“Hundreds. Robert, do you realize how much money that translates to? Even at a low estimate?”

 

Wet stains appeared under Rob’s armpits and his mouth went dry. He shook his head, no. Smith just kept smiling, but the smile never quite reached his eyes. Rob felt like he was pinned to his seat, like a butterfly on display.

 

Smith tapped the table with a fingertip. “Yvonne?”

 

“Potentially?”

 

“That’s fine for our purposes.”

 

“Millions.”

 

Rob could almost literally see the walls closing in.

 

“Millions, Robert. Think on that for a moment. Mil-lions of dollars, lost. Because you allowed the idiots running LeineCorp to settle out of court.”

 

The door to the room opened, closed. A cool, air-conditioned breeze stirred the room, and a pair of heavy foot-falls thunked across the carpet and settled to a stop just behind Rob’s back. He resisted the urge to turn around. Smith speared him with another look, and continued with barely a pause.

 

“Robert? How many other clients have you allowed to settle this quarter?”

 

“Well, I…”

 

“Four.”

 

“Four, sir? I don’t…”

 

“Four. Four multi-million dollar cases.” There went the eyebrow again. “How about for the last year?”

 

Rob wanted to run, to hide. “I don’t…”

 

“Robert, Robert, Robert.” Smith swiveled his chair back and forth. “Not the kind of track record I look for in my attorneys.”

 

Rob felt like he was drowning. He glanced at Yvonne, hoping for a friendly face, some encouragement, but she just stared back at him, her beautiful tanned face cold and impassive.

 

Smith nodded at someone over Rob’s shoulder and a massive shadow appeared on the table in front of him. A large, scarred hand clamped tightly around Rob’s bicep, pulling him clear out of the chair like he weighed nothing more than a child.

 

“I’m sorry to say it, but we’re letting you go.”

 

“What? No…I…you can’t!” Rob stammered, dumbstruck. “I…my things, in my office…I…”

 

“Your personal effects are already packed and waiting by your car.” Smith waved his hand, dismissing him. “I believe we’re finished here. Yvonne?”

 

She shook her head. “That’s all.”

 

“Good. Well, then. Good luck to you, Robert. Clarence will show you out.”

 

***

 

Wednesday, 5:55 pm

 

At five-to six, a very drunk Rob sat in his Lexus outside MacTarahan’s restaurant with the stereo on loud and an open, half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels resting on the seat next to him. He was staring at the plain white envelope in his hands, turning it over and over.

 

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

 

I can’t believe it…

 

His last paycheck from Smith, Marshall, Adams and Rodgers.

 

They fired me.

 

Fired.

 

Me.

 

Why? Why? Why?

The same thoughts had been going round and round in his head for most of the afternoon, interspersed with the unshakable need to get rip-roaring drunk.

 

Rob couldn’t remember the last time he got drunk. Not like this.

 

            A sleek new black BMW pulled to the curb several spaces in front of him. The doors opened, and Vanden Smith stepped out and walked around to the passenger door. A moment later, the car alarm beeped and Smith escorted a smiling Yvonne Craig across the street.

 

Smith dropped the keys into her outstretched hand, and then, arm-in-arm, they disappeared into the restaurant.

 

            “Holy shit. Lookit that.” Rob whispered, open-mouthed. Suddenly, he knew. He understood everything. “That fucking cunt-hole got me fired.”

 

            Half a second later, tires screeched and horns blared as Rob ran across the street after them, bottle of whiskey in hand.

 

***

 

            Jack caught Rob as he shoved through the crowd in the restaurant lobby, making for the banquet room. He grabbed Rob by the lapels of his rumpled suit jacket and hauled him to a stop. Rob struggled enough that Jack had to shake him to get his attention.

 

            “Robster! Hold up man! Where do you think you’re going?”

 

            “Goddammit Jack, lemme go! I’m gonna fucking kill that skinny old sonofabitch…!”

 

            Customers standing, waiting in the lobby were staring. The Maitre de raised his eyebrow and reached for a phone. Jack shook Rob, making his head pound.

 

            “The hell you are.” He shook Rob again, glancing at the sloshing bottle clutched in Rob’s sweating hand. “Look at you, you dipshit. You’re so drunk you can barely stand up.”

 

            “Fuck you.”

 

            “Now that’s the Robster I know.” Jack grinned and guided him gently back to the door, nodding casually at a hostess. “Sorry everybody.” Jack tried a goofy grin, hoping he could diffuse the situation. “Just a little ruckus between us lawyers. You know how crazy we get at parties.” He dropped his voice and whispered in Rob’s ear. “C’mon man. You don’t want to do this. Don’t cause a fucking scene here. Go home and sleep it off.”

 

            Rob spun around and tried to push past him.

 

            “Hey!”

 

            “Fucker!” He shouted into the restaurant. “I’ll kill you, you fucker!”

 

“Knock it off!”  Jack manhandled Rob out the door and practically carried him halfway down the block before letting him go and stepping back. “Just go home and go to sleep. Everything’ll look better in the morning. Okay, buddy? Seriously.”

 

            “They fucking fired me, Jack. They fired me. He did it, ‘cause…because she’s sleeping with the sonofabitch, and….”

 

            “Shit. I know. I know.” Jack pushed open the glass doors and gently pulled Rob outside. He straightened Rob up and shook his head. “Go home, Rob. You don’t want any trouble, do you? You know what’ll happen if old man Smith see’s you here.”

 

            “Fuck.” Rob groped in his pocket for his car keys. “Fine. Fine.”

 

            “Shit. You didn’t drive here like this, did you?”

 

            “What the fuck do you think?”

 

            “Here, give me those.” Jack snatched the key ring out of Rob’s hand, pulled off the keys to the car and handed the others back. “Jesus, Rob. I’m not going to let you drive home like that. Here. I’ll drive your car over to your place later. Now, call a cab and go-fucking-home.”

 

            Rob glared at Jack for a second, then shrugged and took a messy swig from his bottle. Whisky ran down his chin, soaking the front of his suit.

 

“Arrrh!” he grunted, grimacing like a pirate as the fiery liquid poured down his throat.

 

            Jack watched him stumble across the street, tossing the car keys in his hand. After Rob melted into rush-hour crowd, he pocketed them, then adjusted his tie and rolled his neck. A second later, someone altogether different drifted after Rob like a ghost.

 

***

 

            Rob staggered back across the street and leaned against the brick wall of a hotel, drinking. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and decided he needed to take a piss. He groped his way into an alley behind the building, feeling suddenly like one of the bums he and Jack used to flick pennies at.

 

He belched and set the bottle precariously on the edge of an open dumpster. He unzipped his trousers, spread his legs and braced himself with his forearm on the grimy wall. Rob hummed to himself while he pulled out his dick, wiggled his ass around a bit to get the old juice flowing, and sent a warm, steaming jet of urine splattering onto the filthy pavement.

 

            “Well, well. Look at you, my friend.”

 

            Rob jumped, startled, the last drops of piss soaking his foot. A tall, well-dressed man stood at the mouth of the alley, blocking his view of the street. Underneath a shock of black hair, the man’s eyes seemed to glow a deep, fiery red.

 

            “That was quite a spectacle, back there.”

           

            “Holy shit!” Rob blinked. He grabbed for the bottle of whiskey and held it if front of him, like a club. The last of the booze ran down his arm. “Who the fuck are you?”

 

            The man just stood there, staring at Rob with his head cocked to one side, a snide little grin twitching at the edges of his mouth.

 

            “That’s perfectly good Jack you’re wasting, Rob. We could be drinking that.”

 

            “I said, who the fuck are you?” Rob shook the bottle menacingly at the stranger. “…And…and how the hell do you know my name?”

 

            The man stepped closer. His teeth flashed white, and his eyes burned against his dark face.

 

            “I know quite a bit about you Rob. I know what happened to you at work today; why you’re standing here now in a filthy alley, pissing on your foot, instead of across the street, in the bar, celebrating your promotion with your friend, Jack. As for me? Well.” He spread his hands, and the grin widened. “I ‘m the man that can make your dreams come true.”

 

            “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

 

            The smile grew even wider, until Rob couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. The rest of the world seemed to fade away, until all he could see was the smile, and the man’s eyes…

 

            “Why don’t I let you buy us a few rounds, Rob, and we’ll talk.” The man stood to the side and extended his arm. “How does that sound?”

           

            “You’re fucking kidding.”

 

            The man’s head tipped further to the side. “Why would I do a thing like that?”

 

            “You a homo?”

 

            “Now, please. Were all adults here, Rob. Was that supposed to be an insult?”

 

            “Huh?”

 

            “Oh, bloody hell. How did you ever graduate law school if you can’t answer a simple question? No wonder they fired you.”

 

            “Fuck you.”

 

            “Now, now, Rob.” The man sighed. “Are you a homo?”

 

            “Shit. You’re not a fag, you’re English.”

 

            “Ah. My accent. No, I’m not from that hellishly damp little island.” The man smiled his crazy smile again. “Well, that’s close enough for shits and giggles. Now, how about that drink, my friend? You can tell me your troubles. Perhaps afterwards there will be something I can do to repay my debt.”

 

            “Thought you said ‘drinks’.”

 

            “Oh, quite right. I did.” The man grinned about that, too. “Yes, drinks. Plural. Many. More than one. Several, in fact.”

 

            Rob tried to think his way through his drunken haze. What the hell, he decided, and tossed the empty bottle toward the dumpster. It shattered in a spray of glass. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

 

            “That’s my boy.” The man grinned and wrapped a long, thin arm around Rob’s round shoulders. “Let’s spare no expense!” He paused and sniffed. “Hm. I forgot about the urine. Well. Perhaps we can find a less reputable establishment that won’t mind the bloody awful smell.” He waved theatrically. “Now, let’s be off!”

 

***

 

Thursday, 6:45 am

 

            Vanden Smith checked his teeth in the mirror, licking the tip of one sparkling incisor with his tongue. He tightened the knot in his tie and stepped back, taking stock.

 

            Perfect.

 

As always.

 

            He turned and stepped back into the bedroom. Yvonne was still asleep, snuggled into the messy covers. Vanden stood over her for a moment, admiring her soft curves, the sleek muscles under her nut brown skin, the luxuriant mass of glossy brown hair strewn wildly about the pillows. Her hair was so dark; it looked almost black in the morning sunlight streaming through the open windows.

 

            What a lovely way to spend the last week, getting to know that body. And what did it cost him? A pittance. Barely. He was sure she believed the gifts to be extravagant, and who was he to dissuade her? Let her go on thinking she was…special.

 

            In return for his favors, she might actually do better work.

 

One of her feet stuck out of the bottom of a tangled sheet. He bent and tickled the bottom, until she flinched and mumbled something incomprehensible into the pillows.

 

“It’s getting late. You’ve got a busy day ahead of you, sweetheart. Time to get up.”

 

“Mmmn.” She sighed, and flipped over.

 

The sheets slipped down, exposing her exquisite breasts, her flat, muscular belly. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him close.

 

“Ohh, don’t go.” She touched his face with the tips of her fingers. “Why don’t you come back to bed? We could…”

 

“Sorry dear,” Vanden smiled and kissed her. “The limosine will be here any moment, and I can’t miss my flight.”

 

“Hmph.” She pouted.

 

He kissed her again, ran his hand lightly over her shoulder and squeezed one of those lovely breasts, until her hard, rubbery nipple poked his palm. Then he backed up, slipped out of her grip, and shrugged into his suit jacket.

 

“I must go.”

 

Yvonne gathered a sheet, wrapping it around her like a toga. She followed him into the front room, tossing her hair back, raking her fingers through it like a makeshift comb. Her feet sank into the thick carpet. He grabbed his briefcase and opened the door. She gazed up at him, looking again into those amazing eyes.

 

“When will we…”

 

He kissed her, cutting her off. Then he caressed her chin.

 

“Checkout time is noon, but you don’t want to be late for work.”

 

He smiled, and ducked out of the door.

 

***

 

Thursday, 7:31 am

 

The limo pulled into the terminal, and Vanden Smith waited until the driver opened his door before stepping out onto the curb. His luggage was already scooting to the baggage area. He pulled a twenty from the clip of bills he carried in his pocket and handed it to the driver, who nodded his thanks.

 

Vanden smoothed his jacket, and walked into the airport, briefcase in hand. He was in a good mood, until he reached the loading dock for his private plane, only to discover that his pilot was late.

 

“This is unacceptable.”

 

The fat cow of an attendant smiled up at him with an apologetic look that Vanden supposed was supposed to placate him. Perhaps smooth things over.

 

“I’m sorry sir. He phoned in. There was an accident on the freeway, something about a chemical spill, and he could be another hour or so.”

 

Vanden tried turning on the vaunted Smith charm.

 

“And you don’t have any other flights I could sneak in on?”

 

“Well, let me see…” The attendant blushed and checked her computer screen. She typed a bit, then paused and said, “There’s only one other flight this morning…” She shot a sideways glance at Vanden. “…with anything available in first class. But that flight won’t leave until eleven-thirty.”

 

Vanden swore to himself, but managed to keep the smile plastered in place.

 

“That’s all?”

 

“Mmn. Well, there’s a flight leaving at ten. I’ve got plenty left in coach, but there’s a two-hour layover in Denver.”

 

Vanden tried hard not to scream.

 

“So it would still be faster to…wait for my pilot to arrive.”

 

 “Yes, sir.” She nodded. “Probably.”

 

“Well. I suppose there’s nothing to do but get comfortable, is there?”

 

***

 

            Vanden grumbled about the help all the way to the bathroom.

 

            Somehow he found an empty stall without either a puddle of piss on the floor or a stinking load left by the last asshole who couldn’t be bothered to flush the toilet. He hung his briefcase on the coat hanger screwed into the back of the door and did his business.

 

            While he was shaking the last drips from his dick, Vanden heard someone else enter the bathroom and start checking the stalls. Someone whistling, doors opening and closing. He resisted the urge to check and make sure he’d locked the door to his stall.

 

The footsteps stopped a couple doors down, but the whistling continued, joined a second later by the unmistakable sound of a man urinating.

 

            Vanden sniffed. Using a public restroom…

 

            How pedestrian.

 

            But, he reflected, situations like this kept one humble. Just another reminder of how everyone puts their pants on one leg at a time. As his father used to say, you can’t lose touch with the average man.

 

            Feeling better about his latest contact with the rabble, Vanden flushed and made his way out of the stall to the row of sinks along the mirrored wall opposite. He set his briefcase on the driest part of the counter and turned on the faucet.

 

            The annoying whistling continued from the stall behind him as he bent to wash his hands. Vanden turned the water on as hot as it would go and lathered up – you could never be too careful. Places like this were absolute breeding grounds for germs – and rinsed.

 

            He glanced up as the stall door opened, and did a double take, staring into the mirror when he recognized the man emerging from the toilet.

 

            “You?”

 

            The man grinned, and ran a chubby hand through his thinning hair.

 

            “What the hell are you doing here? Are you following me?”

 

            The man casually stepped up behind Vanden, pulling something from the back pocket of his trousers.

 

            A new leather wallet fell to the floor, unnoticed.

 

            Vanden Smith turned to confront the newcomer, soapy water dripping from his hands.

 

            “I could have you arrested, you know that…”

 

            The man lunged, shoving Vanden against the counter. Fingers knotted in his steel grey hair and yanked his head back, exposing his neck. Vanden brought his hands up, but before he could react, a small blade flicked open and flashed through the air, once, twice.

 

Dark blood sprayed the mirrors, the walls.

 

The man’s face was serene, almost inquisitive. He held Vanden up with an iron grip as he struggled. Vanden tried fight, but the other man seemed inhumanly strong and held him still; he tried to speak, to call out for help, but a clot of bloody mucus gurgled in his throat, dribbled from his open mouth, drowning his screams. The other man grinned, and his eyes seemed to glow with an inhuman light.

 

And then his face melted away.

 

            Vanden dropped to the floor in a widening pool of blood, twitching and gasping. He pawed ineffectually at the knife embedded in his neck, his feet kicking at the slick tile floor.

 

            The other man watched him die, grinning with the pleasure of the hunt.

 

            The other man casually straightened his tie in the mirror as Vanden Smith’s life slowly ebbed away. He picked up the briefcase from the counter and stepped back out into the terminal, blending into the crowd, until he came to the escalator that would take him down two levels to the baggage area.

 

He dropped the briefcase on a partially full luggage rack, and left the confines of the airport without a backwards glance as the first shouts rang out from a restroom two levels up.

 

A few moments later, in the short term parking lot, a new Lexus roared to life. At the pay booths, someone who looked quite a bit like Jack Anderson handed the attendant a crisp twenty dollar bill along with a parking ticket.

 

The attendant counted back the change and raised the cross bar. The man who was now Jack Kennedy grinned and gunned the Lexus out onto the freeway. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

 

He had one other errand. And then his part of the bargain would be just about finished. He thought about all the fun things he had planned for Yvonne Craig.

 

But that would wait for later.

 

He cracked open a bottle of whiskey that Rob had left in his car, sipped.

 

He was in no hurry. He had all the time in the world.

 

***

 

Thursday, 10:41 am

           

Pounding.

 

            Loud, intolerable, insistent pounding woke Rob up.

 

            “Dammit, I’m coming!”

 

He groaned and peeled himself, still fully dressed, off the carpet of his living room floor. He carefully pushed himself up to a kneeling position, and when the room stopped spinning, he peeked out of crusted eyelids to find sunlight streaming through his picture window, along with the ugly, bearded face of a delivery man, shouting something garbled and smacking his fist on the window, over and over.

 

“Jesus.” He smacked his lips. His mouth tasted like something small and furry died a nasty death in it, sometime the week before.

 

Rob lurched to his feet and stumbled to the door, yanked it open to find a truck idling at the curb, and a large wooden crate balanced on the lip of a hand truck standing in his otherwise empty driveway. Rob wondered what the hell happened to his car while the delivery guy took his own sweet time walking up the steps.

 

“What’s going on?” Rob asked.

 

The delivery guy thrust a clipboard and a pen into Rob’s hands.

 

“Robert Wiltsey?”

 

“Yeah. That’s me.”

 

“Got somethin’ for ya.”

 

Rob stared at the guy, then down at the crate.

 

“What the hell is it?”

 

“I dunno. It’s for you. You don’t know what it is?”

 

“No, I don’t know what it is.”

 

The guy looked down at the crate.

 

“Looks kinda like a coffin.”

 

It sure does, Rob thought. “I don’t want that thing.”

 

“You didn’t order it?”

 

“What? No, I didn’t order it. I just said I didn’t know what it is…”

 

“Well, okay. Folks get stuff from family and like that all the time.” The delivery guy spat a green wad of tobacco juice onto the stoop and nodded at the clipboard. “Mind signin’ the delivery invoice for me?”

 

“I just told you I don’t want it.”

 

The guy shrugged. “I can’t take it back. There’s no return address.”

 

“You’re kidding me. I…ah, shit. Nevermind. Here.”

 

The delivery guy watched Rob scribble his name on the carbon paper.

 

“What if it is a coffin?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I mean, there could be a dead body in there, couldn’t there?”

 

Rob made a face. “I don’t think so.”

 

“Oh. Really?”

 

Rob frowned at him. “Really.”

 

“Oh. Okay. Hey, y’know, I thought you were dead for a second there, lyin’ there on the floor like that. You look like shit, man.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’ve felt better.”

 

“Tie one on last night?”

 

Rob handed back the clipboard and grimaced, holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. Bits and pieces of the previous evening were beginning to come back.

 

“Oh, yeah. I guess you could say that.”

 

“Right on. Oh, hey. Almost forgot. This goes with the crate.” He handed Rob a small manila envelope, then stuck his thumb back over his shoulder. “Maybe it’ll tell ya what’s inside that thing. Where do you want it?”

 

Rob sighed. “I guess you can bring it inside.”

 

“Mind helpin’ me drag it up these steps?”

 

“Now you are kidding, right?”

 

“It’s a heavy sum’bitch. Barely got it outta the truck.” He peered around Rob, into the house. “Hey, don’cha have any furniture in there?”

 

***

 

            Twenty sweaty minutes later, the delivery guy handed Rob a copy of the invoice and drove off. Rob stared at the crate propped up against his fireplace mantle and ran his hand through his thinning hair. He grinned ruefully.

 

            Bald and unemployed at thirty. Great.

He glanced around at his otherwise empty house.

 

I think I need a drink.

 

Rob shuffled into the kitchen and looked around in the fridge for a beer.

 

“C’mere, come to daddy…”

 

He found the remains of a six pack buried on the bottom shelf behind some leftover pizza. He popped one open and slugged half, dribbling foam down his shirt. He burped heartily and sighed, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket.

 

            “Damn, that’s tasty,” he said to no one in particular, and took another gulp before digging through a junk drawer where he kept the few tools he owned, hunting down a hammer. “Where are you, you fucker…c’mon…there you are…”

 

            Rob yanked the hammer out of the drawer and grabbed the last can of beer, dropping the empty on his counter along with all the crap he’d pulled out of the drawer. He cracked the new beer and shambled unsteadily back into the living room, drinking as he went. He stopped in front of the crate.

 

            “Now, let’s see what the hell you are.”

 

He set the can on the fireplace mantle and picked up the manila envelope. He sliced open a good chunk of his thumb as he slid it through the flap.

 

“Ow! Sonofabitch!”

 

He sucked at the blood dripping down his thumb and pulled out a single sheet of yellowing parchment. The paper looked ages-old, worn and delicate as fine lace. at first glance the paper looked clean, void of any writing. Rob turned it over, smearing it with a bloody thumbprint, and held it up to the light.

 

“What the hell…”

 

He could barely make out a few words, a note scrawled in the middle of the page in a spidery script that read, simply, “A small gift between friends. Thanks for the drinks.”

 

Rob dropped the paper with a confused shake of his head. He took off his ruined suit jacket and dropped it on the floor.

 

“Well, that’s for shit.”

 

He stripped down to his t-shirt and took another drink, then swung the hammer. The spikes chunked into the side of the crate, and he started prying at the boards. Long nails squealed in protest as they pulled loose from the rough planks.

 

“Huh.” Rob grunted as the crate’s lid pulled away.

 

Another box. But this…this was different.

 

It was a case made of some smooth, black wood; highly polished to a shine that reflected his haggard face, his stained and rumpled clothes. A small, chipped emblem made of pure white marble decorated the top half of the box.

 

The delivery guys’ voice seemed to float back.

 

Looks a lot like a coffin…

 

“No fucking way. Jesus. You can’t ship somebody a dead body. No. Uh-uh. Nope.”

 

Suddenly feeling strangely paranoid, Rob carefully reached into the crate and pulled, but the box inside didn’t budge.

 

“C’mon, damn it. Get out of there.”

 

Rob rocked the crate back and forth, grunting with the effort. The box inside tipped out, and it took all Rob’s strength to keep it from crashing to the floor. Somehow he managed to lever it to the ground. He stood over the gleaming casket with his legs spread, sweaty and panting, wishing he had more beer.

 

“That guy was right.” He whistled between his teeth. “It’s a fucking coffin.”

 

The box was about six feet long and three feet wide. It was hinged on one side with a sleek latch on the other, and it was definitely deep enough to put a body in.

 

“Unbelievable.”

 

Rob tried the latch, but he couldn’t seem to find the catch. It was a smooth, silvery metal plate set flush into the wood, with a small, oval groove in the middle. He pulled and prodded and swore at it, but nothing happened.

 

He picked up the parchment again, wondering if he’d missed part of the note.

 

“This can’t be that hard to figure out. I…Holy shit.”

 

The parchment was completely blank. Rob flipped the paper over in his hands again and again, wondering if he was still passed out drunk, dreaming all this. Then the cut along the side of his thumb throbbed painfully, and he remembered something his mom showed him how to do as a kid, a simple trick with paper, water and lemons.

 

“Invisible ink,” He grinned. “Must be. This is some corny shit.”

 

He tossed the paper aside again and leaned closer, studying the lock. He rubbed the chunk of metal. It felt almost…warm. And the groove…

 

He ran his bloody thumb along the groove, and pressed.

 

The latch clicked open…

 

“Huh.”

 

…and the lid swung out, slowly…

 

“Holy shit!”

 

Rob scuttled backwards on all fours until his back smacked into the wall. He sat, trembling, unable to take his eyes of the slim body nestled inside.

 

***

 

So she was sleeping with you?

Well, no, but we had drinks a couple times.

Ah. I see. And you didn’t know she was screwing your boss?

Not till today.

And she was fucking him to get the promotion you wanted?

Guess so.

And then she got you fired.

Rob sighed, shrugged.

Huh. Well, Rob, my friend. I’ll hand it to you. You got royally fucked. Just not the way you would’ve liked.

You can say that again.

The Big Bang.

Uh-huh.

But you didn’t even manage to get your dick wet.

Fuck you.

The dark man grinned.

 

Touched a nerve there, did I? Rob, did you know that pussy can make a normal, sane man crazy? Absolutely, completely, certifiably mental.

Yeah. Rob swirled a finger in the spilled beer, drawing wet circles on the tabletop. I think I’m figuring that out.

It’s all about control. You see?

Uh-huh.

Your situation is just one example.

One?

Mm.

What’s another?

 

The man leaned forward intently, warming up to his subject.

I can think of many examples of the war between the sexes to illustrate my point. Rape is a perfect example. Extreme, I admit, but still…

Rob peered at the man over the rim of his mug.

 

Rape? What the hell do you mean?

It’s the act of control, Rob. Rape is violent and disturbing, perhaps, but that’s all in one’s point of view, isn’t it? And where exactly does the act of rape stem from?

Control.

Exactly.

How do you figure that?

The dark man spread his hands and smiled benignly. Without going into much detail, I simply have some…practical experience regarding the subject, enough to make an observation.

‘Practical experience’? Oh, my God! You mean... you’ve actually raped someone?

The dark man grinned and drained his mug. He slammed the empty glass onto the table and wiped foam from his mustache with the tips of slender fingers.

Let’s just say that I am something of an admirer of human nature. Someone who appreciates and…well, occasionally indulges the more…base impulses.  The dark man leaned even closer. His eyes seemed to burn into Rob’s skull. How are you feeling?

What, about this fucked up conversation?

No, no…about what happened this morning. And since.

I’m pissed off. What d’you think? I mean, I lost my job because I thought I was doing the right thing for a client, and then I found out that it didn’t matter anyway, because I don’t have tits and a pussy.

Rob dropped his head into his hands. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, ran his fingers through his thinning hair. The dark man shifted in his seat, studying him intently.

So Rob, what do you want?

 

I don’t know. Rob whined miserably.

 

The dark man waved his empty mug at the waitress standing across the room at the bar. The waitress nodded and grabbed an empty, frosty pitcher and stuck it under a tap.

 

Her, perhaps? Our waitress? She’s quite attractive. What if you could grab her here, right now, and bend her over this table? Would you take her?

What are you, sick or something? Jesus. Is everything about pussy?

This is purely a hypothetical question, Rob.

You mean would I fuck her, or are you asking me if I’d rape her?

Let’s say rape. What if you could get away with it, without any sort of punishment? Would you attempt it? Would you enjoy it?

I don’t know. Sorry, but I don’t go around thinking, ‘Hey, she’s hot. Maybe I’ll put on a mask and break into her apartment later’.

But you admit that she’s quite attractive.

Rob considered the girl. She caught them staring and grinned.

Yeah, sure, but…

And if there is no punishment, no guilt, the act is one and the same, is it not?

The hell it is! Not if she doesn’t want it. Not if she gets hurt.

For some people, that’s simply a turn on. Do you realize how many women fantasize about being attacked? Even when, outwardly, a woman would say all the right things about the subject, all the appropriate things; but when they’re alone, needing release, their mind turns to the stock boy they glimpsed at the grocery store, or the delivery man, or the gardener. The repressed desires come to the fore…

 

The muscles in Rob’s jaw clenched and popped as the pretty redhead brought them another pitcher of beer.

 

Here you go boys. She took the time to fill both of their mugs; then sat the pitcher down on the table between them. Drink up.

Rob fumbled for his wallet. He couldn’t seem to get his fingers to work right. The dark man reached across the table.

 

Here. Let me.

He took Rob’s wallet, picked out a few bills and handed them to the waitress with a flourish.

 

Thank you, my dear. The dark man smiled up at her, catching her eye with his and touching her gently on the arm before she turned to go. Thank you so much.

Oh, for you two, anytime.

The dark man chuckled as she floated away, blushing, glancing back at him over her shoulder with dreamy eyes. He set Rob’s wallet down on the table, by his mug. Rob was staring at the girl’s ass, swaying a little in his chair.

 

You see? Such a simple thing, to get their attention. Just a word, or a caress, and they’re smitten, like a school girl with her first crush.  He glanced over at Rob out of the corner of his eye. You are attracted to her, aren’t you?

A statement, not a question.

 

Admit it Rob. It’s not a sin to desire someone.

Rob stared at the table, embarrassed.

 

Yeah. Sure. Of course. She’s beautiful.

 

I absolutely love redheads, myself – true redheads, that is. They’re born with a fiery nature.  The dark man took a sip of beer and sighed gratefully. Think about it Rob. Would you like to hike that little skirt up over that nice, round ass and rip off her panties? Can you imagine what her panties look like, Rob? What they feel like? What about her pussy?

The girl caught Rob staring again and smiled at him. Rob felt something inside him stir, something deep and primal. His eyes flickered and his breath caught in his chest as the dark man continued…

Would it be shaven as smooth as a child’s, warm and wet to the touch? Or do you think she has a nice, full bush of that fine, curly red hair? Would you like to rip open her blouse while you had her, or would you leave it on? Would you be gentle while you ride her, or would you take her pussy and fuck her like a man?

Shut up.

I’ll ask the question again: Rob, would you fuck her?

Rob glanced at the waitress again, feeling his cock throbbing in his pants. His voice was husky, lowered almost to a whisper when he answered, as if she could hear him from across the noisy room.

Hell yeah. Wouldn’t you?

The man sat back with a smug look and drank deeply from his full mug.

 

So. He smacked his lips. The truth wins out. You would fuck her.

Yeah. Yeah, you bet.

Now, would you rape her? Remember, there is no guilt, no punishment. Only the sweet release of those primal desires; the total pleasure one achieves by taking absolute control over another human being. No one is judging you here, my friend.

Rob blinked quickly, and took a drink to hide his embarrassment. He scratched the back of his neck and stared at the waitress as she bent over to clean an empty booth. Her skirt pulled up and he could just see the bottom of her ass cheeks, just make out her lacy white panties. Her breasts jiggled and bounced in her work shirt as she wiped down the table top.

Just like that?

The dark man nodded. Rob licked his lips. His throat was dry and scratchy, and something he’d never felt before was burning, deep in his gut.

 

Yeah. Okay. Yeah. I would.

Excellent, Rob!

 

The dark man grinned and rolled his head around, loudly popping the bones in his neck.

Ahh, that feels good. So. What is it that you want, Rob?

What do I want right now?

Mm-hmm.

Rob was quiet a moment. He took a long drink, savored it, thinking. Then he looked up again, and for the first time that night, he was able to meet those burning coals staring out at him from that grinning face.

What I keep thinking? You really want to know what’s been running through my head all day long?

Yes.

This is so fucked up.

Tell me, Rob. I can’t help you if you won’t be honest and tell me what you truly want.

I really wanted to screw Yvonne. My friend Jack – he worked with me at the firm – he and I used to bullshit about it all the time. I guess I still do.

A hate fuck. Revenge.

Yeah, I guess that fits. But right now, I almost wish they were dead.

‘Almost’, Rob?

 

***

Thursday, 11:32 am

 

“Omigod.”

 

Rob wasn’t sure how long he sat like that, with his back plastered against the wall, sweating, staring and gasping for breath.

 

“Oh God, oh God, oh God…”

 

He stared in horror at the girl in the box. Little bits and pieces of the night before were slowly coming back. He remembered the man with the burning eyes that seemed to pierce right into the back of his head, and their conversation about the waitress…

 

“Nononono…oh God, don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead…”

 

It was that fucked up guy at the bar. It had to be. He fucking kidnapped her and killed her, and... And packed her up and sent her here like some kind of sick birthday present…

 

Rob gathered his legs underneath him and crawled forward slowly. He reached out a shaking hand and gently touched her face, expecting…what, exactly? He’d never touched a dead body before, never even seen one; he only knew what he’d seen on TV, and in movies. If she was dead, she’d be cold, right? Like something in a freezer?

 

No, not like that. Cold, like a thawed steak, maybe? But, not…warm?

 

Rob jerked back his hand and held it like he’d been scalded. His breath hissed through his teeth.

 

Omigod.

He looked closer; saw the slow but steady rise and fall of her chest.

She’s alive! But what’s wrong with her? Why didn’t she suffocate?

Rob licked his lips, shook her a little. Her eyelids fluttered, but barely; hardly enough for Rob to even notice.

 

Drugs. He must’ve drugged her, with something that slowed her breathing down enough that she wouldn’t use up all the oxygen in the coffin.

 

The girl was still wearing the same clothes she had on the night before, at the bar.

 

What do I do? What…The police, I’ll call the police! And, and…and what? Tell them I’ve got a coffin in my living room, with a drugged girl that some freak with…with glowing red eyes kidnapped and sent to me because…because…

Why?

 

Rob groaned and dug at his swollen eyes with the heels of his palms.

 

Because I told him that I wanted to fuck her. That’s why.

Rob sat back on his haunches, shaking his head.

 

I wonder if anybody’s missed her yet. Or if her kidnapping’s been on the news? Maybe…maybe I could call Jack? Fuck. No way. He wouldn’t believe me unless he saw her, and then he’d just tell me to call the cops.

Unconsciously, Rob peered back into the coffin, taking in the girls rosy cheeks; the wisps of soft, red curls billowing around her face; the light spray of freckles across the bridge of her button nose.

 

Or he wouldn’t believe a word I said, and he’d call the cops on me.

 

A nasty, sick thought came to him.

 

Or, maybe…he’d tell me to fuck her.

 

***

 

A small piece of paper was pinned to the girls’ blouse, just above her left breast. A message, written in the same loose, spidery script on the same, fragile parchment as the other note with the disappearing ink. It read, Hi, Rob, I’m Sarah. Pleased to meet you. I brought a few things for a sleepover.

“Jesus. What a sick motherfucker. Did he follow her home?”

 

Rob unpinned the note and crumpled it up in his hand, tossed the ball into his empty fireplace. The girl fit perfectly in the coffin, with room to spare. Inside, Rob found a large knapsack stuffed under her feet. He gently raised her legs and pulled it out, then unlaced the flap and opened it up.

 

Maybe she has a purse in here, Rob thought, or a drivers license, or something with a phone number…

 

Rob reached inside and pulled out a fistful of lingerie: bras and panties and stockings… He swallowed and reached in again, found more clothes, rolled up skirts and nice, silk blouses, shoes, jewelry…

 

“Oh, God.”

 

Rob sat back, the contents of the bag spilled around him. Enough clothes and makeup to play dress-up for a week or more, but no identification. He stood up slowly, his knees cracking, and peered down into the coffin at the girl.

 

“I’m sorry, uh, Sarah. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just wanted to get drunk last night, and talk to somebody…”

 

Here in the daylight, Rob was struck by how beautiful she really was. And she looked so…peaceful, like she was sleeping. He, on the other hand, was hung-over as hell with a monster of a headache brewing, and his mind was reeling. Rob thought about the police again, what he could tell them that wouldn’t land him in prison.

 

“Maybe…maybe I can wake you up. Sure! Then you can tell me what happened.” He snapped his fingers. “Simple! We can call the police together, and we’ll tell ‘em about the sick-o freak. There’s no way they’d just believe me, but you saw him too.”

 

Rob sighed with relief.

 

“Well, I can’t leave you in this thing.” He bent over and slipped his arms under her waist and the crook of her legs, then straightened with a grunt.

 

“Oh, shit!’

 

Lifting somebody who was out cold wasn’t as easy as it looked in the movies. But then, usually in the movies the guy doing the lifting was some buff, studly hero-type, not the chubby, balding, out-of-shape attorney type.

 

Well, Rob thought, make that the ex-attorney type.

 

The girl was limp and her arms and legs were flopping all over; he couldn’t get a good grip and she slipped right out of his arms.

 

“C’mon, baby, c’mere…”

 

Rob pulled her closer, so his chin bumped into her chest. He took a long, deep breath and caught a faint whiff of her perfume, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol and food on her clothes, in her hair. He hoped she couldn’t smell him. He tried and failed to ignore how soft she was, how nice her curves felt against him. Then he counted to three and straightened with a grunt.

 

“Ooh, God!”

 

 A sharp spear of pain shot up his back.

 

“Urg. Wow. That hurts. Uh, sorry…Sarah…it’s not you. I’m just a little out of shape.”

 

For a second Rob wished that he’d bothered to visit the company gym once or twice, or even taken Jack up on his endless offers for racquetball lessons. His thoughts drifted back to his father again, forcing him to carry wood on their infrequent camping trips when he was an even shorter, pudgier kid.

 

Come on, you little pussy! Be a man! You’re stronger than that!

Rob locked his knees and staggered into his bedroom, the one, partially furnished room in his house, with Sarah’s limp body clutched tightly to his chest, her arms and legs dangling loosely. He lost his footing in a pile of laundry and tumbled with her onto his unmade bed. He scrambled off her like she was on fire and fell into a chair.

 

There pussy-boy! I told you you could do it!

“Shut up, dad!” Rob shook his head and flipped on his television. He scanned the channels with his remote, and didn’t find a single news bulletin about the girl. He shut off the TV in disgust. He stood and stepped to the side of his bed.

 

Sarah was sprawled out on the mattress with her torso twisted to one side and her arms and legs bent at odd angles; her long, curly hair billowed out underneath her head. The top of her blouse had become unbuttoned, just enough for him to catch a tantalizing glimpse of a black satin bra and the round flesh at the top of her breasts. The hem of her skirt had slipped up around her hips, giving him full view of her panties – the white, lacy panties he’d been fantasizing about just hours ago at the bar.

 

Cold sweat beaded along his upper lip, and began trickling down his back.

 

Rob couldn’t look. He told himself not to, that he had to be a gentleman. But he couldn’t not look. He reached down to straighten her skirt, and his hand brushed the soft skin of her thigh. He felt a sudden pang of desire, that burning in his gut that seemed to spread through his whole body, and jerked his hand away.

 

“Um, Sarah?” He whispered to her, softly, as if she was sleeping. He nudged her shoulder. “Sarah? Are you awake?”

 

No answer. No movement. Rob nudged her again, gently rocking her body.

 

“Sarah? Is that your name? Sarah?”

 

Rob sat down next to her. The mattress creaked under his weight, and she slid into him. He sighed with frustration, and absently touched her hair.

 

“Maybe I could call the bar, and ask them who you are, or…” He shook his head. “No. That won’t work. That’ll just get somebody suspicious, and…and maybe they could trace the call with caller id…”

 

For a long minute he just sat next to her, watching her.

 

“At least you’re breathing okay, I guess.”

 

He yawned, feeling the effects of all the stress from the day before; of being fired, all of the booze, the lack of sleep. He stood, grabbed a pillow off the bed and padded over to a chair, settled in.

 

“I’ll just wait for you to wake up, then we can work this out.”

 

Rob tucked the pillow behind his head and kicked off his shoes, used his toes to peel off his damp, sweaty socks. He watched the girl for a few more minutes, feeling drowsy, until his heavy eyelids fell closed.

 

A moment later, they both slept.

 

***

 

Thursday, 7:46 pm

            Yvonne Craig slipped onto a barstool at MacTarahan’s and ordered a glass of white wine from Sammy. He served her with a flourish – she liked that about Sammy; he always had a smile for her, he always knew what she was drinking, and he never tried to hit on her.

 

Of course, it helped that he was as gay as day was long.

 

She liked coming into the bar about this time for much the same reasons. It rarely got busy until later in the evening, and most of the customers were regulars who knew to leave her alone.

 

She took a sip and started to relax.

 

            “Thanks Sammy.”

 

            “Of course, girl. Tough day?”

 

            “Mm.”

 

            “You’ve been a busy girl this week. Fire anybody else?”

 

            How did he know about that? Yvonne wondered. She took another sip before she replied.

 

            “We’ve had to do some housecleaning.”

 

            Sammy grinned knowingly and started wiping down the already immaculate bar.

 

            “Why do you ask?”

 

            “Girl, you know. I’m all about the gossip. Keeps me young.”

 

            “Sammy…”

 

One of the waitresses shouldered in next to Yvonne and tossed a ticket on the bar.

 

            “Hey, Sammy. Two more Stout’s for table three?”

 

            “You got it girl.”

 

He picked to clean glasses off a full tray and stuck them under the tap. Yvonne pursed her lips and took a drink, waited until he poured the drinks. The waitress picked up the tray and gave Yvonne a cheery grin. Yvonne managed to give something like a smile back, then turned her attention back to Sammy.

 

“So?”

 

“A short, pudgy guy was in here looking for you, just a few minutes before you came in. I think it was the same guy who threw a fit in the lobby last night.”

 

            “Really?”

 

            “Mm. He threw another tizzy. We had to have security give him the heave-ho.”

 

            Rob, she thought. Must’ve been. “I didn’t see him when I got here.”

 

            “Guess he got the hint.” Sammy leaned forward. “So, what happened to your sugar daddy?”

 

            “Will you stop? That’s all finished.” Yvonne grinned demurely and crossed her legs. Sammy knew all about her little fling.

 

            “I see. Running the office by yourself now?”

 

            “First day.” She nodded. “Vanden flew out this morning.”

 

            “That so?”

 

            “Mm-hmm.”

 

            “Did he leave satisfied?”

 

            “Will you shut up?” Yvonne laughed. It was a good, sexy laugh; nice and throaty. “Of course he did.”

 

            “Do tell?”

 

            “Ha. Let’s just say that I got to keep the car, and he had a nice limo ride to the airport.”

 

            “He gave you the Beamer?”

 

            “Mm.”

 

            “Why can’t I find a man like that?

 

            “Sometimes it helps to have a pair of these.” Yvonne pointed at her tits. “No offence.”

 

            “If that’s what it takes, I’ll start saving up.”

 

            Yvonne laughed again.

 

            Sammy grinned and glanced over her shoulder. He leaned over the counter and whispered conspiratorially, “Girl, I bet I know something you don’t know.”

 

            “Oh? What’s that?”

 

            “Give it a second…”

 

            Yvonne took another drink and half-turned in her seat. A warm hand caressed the nape of her neck, sending a chill down her spine. Yvonne shivered. Soft lips touched the tip of her ear, and her cheek. The chill turned into a warm blush.

 

            Yvonne looked up into Vanden Smith’s glittering eyes.

 

She couldn’t get enough of those eyes. They were spellbinding. It was like he could see down into her soul with each glimpse, each sideways glance.

 

            “Vanden? I thought you left…I mean…you’re supposed to be in New York tomorrow…?”

 

            “Ah, well. I do believe I’d rather be here, than twiddling my thumbs in an empty apartment in that noisy, dirty city.” He paused and grinned. “Or, rather, I’d rather be at your apartment, twiddling something else.”

 

***

 

            Asleep in his chair, Rob’s body jerked and twisted suddenly.

 

            In his dream, Rob was back at the bar, getting drunk off his ass. Sarah was at the side of the table, constantly refilling his drink, pouring more beer into his mug as fast as he could tip it back. He’d quaff a full, foaming mug, dribbling the dark amber fluid down his face and neck, into his lap, soaking himself, and then she’d clean him up, wiping his face and crotch with a filthy, wet towel that she’d stick back into the waistband of her apron.

 

The dark man was still there too; sitting just across the table, laughing a deep, maniacal laugh and pinching Sarah’s ass every time she bent over to wipe the beer from Rob’s lap. But his face was lost; shrouded in darkness, blank like voided space. The only features Rob could make out were his blazing, coal red eyes, and a long, sharp pair of ash-white horns that protruded from the top of his skull.

 

Don’t you like her ass, Rob? Don’t you want to squeeze it? Go ahead, give it a spank! Watch it jiggle!

 

Rob spilled more beer down his front, and Sarah bent to with the towel, leaning over until her breasts popped out of her blouse, jiggling in her black bra. She looked up and smiled, licked her ruby lips with the tip of a dainty pink tongue as she rubbed at the damp cloth. With his cock straining to break free, Rob drained his mug as she began tugging at his zipper.

 

Smoke drifted up from the dark man’s eyes. He ripped Sarah’s panties down around her knees and began slapping her ass until it turned a raw, glowing pink.

 

Let her clean that mess up for you, Big Fella! Wrap a hand in that beautiful red hair and let her earn her keep! Hell, there’s enough here for everybody to take a turn!

Rob ran his fingers through Sarah’s soft curls, and she went down on him, taking him down to the hilt in a single mouthful. He felt the muscles in her slim neck contract and relax as she bobbed her head, working him.

 

He slumped in his chair, enjoying the warmth of her mouth, and looked around the bar, which suddenly seemed an open, endless space. The other customers were barely visible; wavering, wraith-like shapes that stood from their tables, naked and aroused, and shambled towards Sarah, stroking their huge, erect genitals as they surrounded her.

 

That’s right, my friend, enjoy her…that’s what she’s here for…

 

Rob tried to bring them into focus, but the moist pressure enveloping his cock distracted him. He closed his eyes, and Sarah screamed as the first of the things entered her, shoving its erect, engorged member deep into her asshole.

 

The pressure in Rob’s groin began to swell, and he laid both his hands on her head, forced her mouth back down on him. She grabbed at his ass, and he grunted and his hips jerked spastically as her body was shoved forward by the thing fucking her from behind...

 

And all the while, the dark man cackled with glee…

 

***

 

Thursday, 8:46 pm

 

            For the second time that day, Rob woke with a start, drenched in sweat. The electric clock on his dresser told him it was a quarter after nine.

 

            “Oh, man…what a dream.”

 

Other than the glow from the clock, it was pitch black in the room. He had a raging headache, a throbbing boner, and he needed to piss like a racehorse. Rob groped along the wall, feeling his way to the bathroom. He unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to the floor, then braced himself with his hands on the wall, leaning over his toilet, urine just barely trickling out of his swollen penis.

 

“C’mon,” He urged. “Go, go, goddamn…fucking sleep-boner…”

 

Rob managed not to fall asleep again, standing up like that, or piss on his foot (which he thought was a major accomplishment). Several minutes later, he shook himself dry. He washed his hands and stared at himself in the mirror over the sink.

 

God, he looked terrible.

 

He scrubbed his face with cold water, filled up a cup and scrounged through his medicine cabinet until he found a couple aspirin. At least, he thought they were aspirin. He wasn’t sure. It didn’t really matter, the way his head felt like it was going to split down the middle.

 

“Fuck it. If they kill me, at least the headache’ll go away.”

 

He took the chance, gulped the pills down and drained the water, then turned out the light. He padded back into his bedroom in his baggy boxers and t-shirt and crawled onto his bed. When he felt the warm body on the mattress next to him, he almost jumped out of his skin.

 

“Holy shit!”

 

Rob flipped on the lamp. A soft glow filled the room, illuminating Sarah’s soft, curvy body. He squeezed his eyes shut; counted to ten and blinked them open. This was no dream. No fantasy. The girl was still there, on his bed. She was still out cold, lying in the same, sprawled out position she was in when he passed out that afternoon.

 

Why wasn’t she awake yet? What the hell was she on? That date rape drug? What was it…Ecstasy? Hell, he’d imbibed half the beer and whiskey in the state during his little binge, and he’d been awake twice already…

 

Hungover, yeah, sure, but awake.

 

Rob reached over and shook her by the shoulder, hard.

 

“Sarah! Hey! Wake up!”

 

He shouted her name again and shook her, over and over.

 

Nothing.

 

Not even the flicker of an eyelid. Just the slow, peaceful rise and fall of her chest. Her skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat; her flesh was warm and moist under his fingertips. He pulled her shoulder, turned her over onto her back.

 

“Come on, please wake up.”

 

She was so pretty. Lying there, so close to her, his body began to tingle. The burning sensation started in his crotch and spread outwards. His cock perked back up, sticking straight out of his underpants. Snatches of a conversation floated back into his mind, unbidden.

 

You mean, would I fuck her, or are you asking me if I’d rape her?

Let’s say rape. What if you could get away with it, without any sort of punishment? Would you attempt it? Would you enjoy it?

“Oh, God. What am I thinking?”

 

Admit it Rob. It’s not a sin to desire someone…

Rob licked his lips and scooted closer, thinking that he just wanted to look at her. The hem of her skirt was still pulled up around her waist, and the tip of his cock brushed her hip, grazing lightly along the soft skin of her thigh. A shiver ran through him.

 

That’s right, my friend, enjoy her…that’s what she’s here for…

 

His hand was shaking as he reached out to pull down her skirt.

 

Don’t you like her ass, Rob? Don’t you want to squeeze it? Go ahead, give it a spank! Watch it jiggle!

 

Rob was panting; sweat beading on his forehead and his cock throbbed painfully, his whole body shaking. The ugly voice continued in his thoughts, goading him on.

 

She’ll never know…

Rob swallowed hard, the spit sticking in his throat. He touched her belly, watched his hand slide slowly up her stomach to her breasts. He cupped the breast closest to him, squeezed it gently, and watched the girls face for the faintest sign that she might notice, that she might wake up and start screaming, RAPE, RAPE!

 

But she was quiet.

 

Her back seemed to arch a bit, mashing her tit into his hand. Rob reached across her chest, letting his cock press flat against her thigh, and squeezed her other breast. This time he was positive; a low moan started, from deep in her throat, and her nipple poked through the material of her blouse, rubbed against the sweaty palm of his hand.

 

“Oh, God…” he murmured, and ran his fingertips lightly over her nipples, until they were hard as little rocks. He licked his lips and rubbed his crotch against her leg. He was so horny, he felt dizzy. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I’m sorry…”

 

He unbuttoned her blouse carefully, peeling the light, damp material back and uncovering her belly. Rob licked his dry lips and drank her in. She was slim, but curvy; with pale skin splashed with a spattering of freckles. Her breasts were larger that he’d expected, pooled into round, melon-shaped mounds on her chest, tucked into her pretty black bra. Her belly button was pierced with a silver clamp and circled with an elaborate tattoo of a butterfly. More tattoos covered her upper arms.

 

He pulled the cups of her bra down, exposing her pink, pierced nipples. They reminded him of tiny, ripe strawberries. His erection throbbed again, and he felt the first bit of cum ooze out and smear along her thigh.

 

Rob leaned over and kissed the top of her chest, her breasts, tasting her, licking her nipples. The muscles in her stomach twitched when he ran his hand back down her belly, down to her crotch. He felt the soft mound of pubic hair hidden underneath the material of her lacy panties, and he cupped her gently between her legs.

 

Her panties were soaking wet, and this time, she moaned. Her neck and back arched and her hips jerked up, pushing her tit right into his mouth. His fingers twisted around the elastic band of her panties, pulling them roughly out of the way, and his fingers almost slipped right into her warm, wet pussy.  

 

“Oh, God, Oh God…”

 

Rob could hardly breathe, and his heart was racing.

 

The only thing in his mind now was that he wanted – no, had to be inside her.

 

He raised himself up so he was kneeling over her and yanked off his t-shirt. He gently pulled her panties off, slipping them down her smooth, tan legs, and threw them onto the floor. He spread her legs slowly, until they were wide enough that he could shuffle across the covers and ease himself between them.

 

“I want you so bad…” he whispered.

 

Her pussy was covered with a nice, trim bush of fine, orange-red pubic hair. He ran his hand over her pink lips, felt another, tiny ring piercing the little nub of her clit. He eased himself on top of her and let the tip of his cock find its way.

 

Another small, quiet cry came from her lips, and Rob barely registered that her arms and legs wrapped tight around his body. He sighed as he slipped fully inside her, and pillowed his head at the side of her throat.

 

He was already moving, almost unconsciously grinding his hips against her, driving himself deeper into her.

 

“Oh, my God…”

 

Her pussy clamped around his cock, massaging him. He bit her shoulder to stifle a cry of pleasure and hooked his arms under her armpits, trying to will himself even further inside her. Deliriously, he felt her hips moving in a slow circle underneath him; her belly button ring dug into the soft folds of his gut, making him grunt and swear.

 

Rob wanted to kiss her. He levered himself up onto his elbows, nipping at her neck, kissing the point of her chin. She hissed and arched her back, driving her head into the pillows. Some dim part of Rob’s mind registered pain as she raked sharp fingernails across his back, digging bloody furrows in his flesh.

 

He groaned and pressed his lips on hers. They parted with a sigh, and he felt her little tongue flick into his hot mouth, probing. He sucked at it like a sweet piece of candy, tasted a metallic tang, felt the small nub of another piercing, a barbell thrust through her tongue.

 

Deep in his groin, his orgasm began to build, and he started to pump her, fucking her hard and fast. Their kisses became rushed and frenzied, and her legs clamped around his waist, pulling him closer, until his body couldn’t hold out any longer.

 

Rob stiffened as he came, and he heard a voice through his delirium, a feminine voice, as if from far away…

 

“Fuck yeah, cum in me baby…”

 

He jerked once, twice, and shivered with pleasure; then collapsed onto her soft flesh. He lay right on top of her, drowsy and content, letting the girl hold him. She kissed and stroked his hair, whispering sweet, quiet things into his ear. Rob felt his cock grow limp inside her.

 

He vaguely wondered when it was she woke up. And why she didn’t run out of the house, screaming for the police?

 

But he was so tired, it all barely mattered.

 

As his eyes fluttered closed, Rob realized he hadn’t even bothered to take off his underpants. That little faux pas embarrassed him for a second, but then he was fading again.

 

***

Thursday, 9:10 pm

 

Half a city away, Yvonne Craig was on her hands and knees in her rumpled bed getting fucked hard from behind, doggy-style. Her clothes were torn away and Vanden Smith’s cock was buried deep in her pussy.

 

She had her hand shoved down between her legs, her fingers furiously rubbing her clit.

 

“Oh, God, I’m coming…” she moaned, and her body began to quiver.

 

His big, hairy balls slapped against her knuckles while he fucked her, and she cried out, spraying his thighs with her cum while he groped her tits. The bed was already soaked underneath her. She gasped as her orgasm ripped through her body, curling her toes. The wet spot got even larger.

 

He felt so big tonight. Huge. He completely filled her, almost to the point that it was painful when he’d started. Yvonne didn’t remember him to be quite this…vigorous before, either, but right now she was loving every sweaty minute of it.

 

“Ooooh, yeah! Fuck me, baby…c’mon…!”

 

But Vanden stopped screwing her. He pulled out of her and crawled off the bed, then rooted around on the floor for a second. When he found what he was looking for he stood back up, then flipped her over onto her back.

 

He had her stockings in one hand, and he was grinning happily.

 

“Okay,” She nodded.

 

He used her knees to lever her legs open and crawled back onto the bed, then squirmed closer to her pussy. Yvonne scooted backwards so her head was propped up on the pillows. She gripped his pulsing cock in her sweaty hand and guided him back inside her.

 

He shoved in with a grunt of satisfaction. She grabbed him by the ass and gave him a good, hard squeeze, digging her fingernails into his butt-cheeks.

 

She looked up into his eyes. He was grinning at her, sweat dripping down his face…

 

He is bigger, she thought as he leaned over her, the stockings clutched in his fist. How could that happen? One of those pump things, maybe?

She let him pin her arms over her head, and he roughly tied her wrists to the headboard. Vanden kissed her hard on the lips. Yvonne felt him give her tits another tweak, and then his hands were moving up her body, closing around her neck.

 

She moaned, arching her back with excitement.