Story Details
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Fantasy, Inc.
Prologue:
Early morning light snakes through a clear sky above a run-down apartment complex. A man kicks a child’s bicycle out of the sidewalk as he manhandles a pair of large cardboard boxes up a cracked cement walk to one of the apartment doors, huffing with the effort. The owner of the bike, a scrawny, ten-year old black boy sitting across the road on a trash-strewn stoop and eating cold cereal out of a crumpled yellow box, yells at him.
"Hey, motherfucker! That’s my bike. Leave it alone!"
The man mutters an oath. The boy jumps up, causing his baggy jeans to slide even further down around his skinny shanks.
"What? What’d you say, you spic motherfucker? Speak American, dammit!"
I should break your scrawny neck, boy.
"Ye-ah. That’s what I thought. Keep on walkin’. Pussy."
The man grunts, ignoring the child’s prattle. There was a time when he acted much the same way, and if the boy wasn’t so annoying, his bravado might almost be amusing.
"Hey!" The boy peers at the boxes, curious. "What’choo got there, man? Huh?"
Exasperating child. Go home.
A puff of steam escapes the man’s lips into the chill air. He compresses his lips into a tight, pale line, getting control of himself. He awkwardly balances the boxes on a raised knee and gropes for the heavy key ring that jangles from his belt. The man lists from side to side and bounces on the ball of his foot, struggling to keep his balance.
The boxes stay put, and he unlocks the door and kicks it open.
"Hey! You spic fuck! I asked you a question! Hey! Hey!"
The man tumbles inside and sets the boxes on the floor, then quickly shuts the flimsy wood door and locks the deadbolt, blocking out the boys’ vulgarity. He wipes his hands and stretches, then walks through the tiny, one-bedroom apartment and pulls down the window blinds before he switches on the kitchen light.
A spark shoots from the bare light bulb that dangles from the ceiling. The man squints as the light flickers and slowly illuminates the meager room. He rubs his stubby fingers over a thick, black mustache and the bristly stubble covering his chin and neck.
When his eyes adjust to the dim light, he unclips a folding knife from his belt and cuts through the packing tape. He puts away the knife, opens the flaps of the larger box, and digs around until he finds a small instruction manual.
The man pulls out the contents of each box and organizes the equipment on a cheap Formica dining table, setting up a desktop computer as he reads the manual. He disconnects a cheap phone and an answering machine and plugs a cord into the modem slot on the back of the computer. The man grins and shrugs out of his faded green fatigue jacket, and carefully places it on the back of a rickety old dinette chair. He takes a black plastic shopping bag from the counter, sets it next to him on the table, and sits down on the edge of the chair, pulling a ream of white printer paper from the bag. He inserts a bit into the top of a new printer, and watches the monitor screen, tapping his foot expectantly on the peeling vinyl floor, and waits.
Dark. No power.
The little man frowns and checks the manual again. He matches the diagrams in the manual to the buttons on each machine and pokes the on/off buttons for the hard drive and the monitor.
Nothing.
Puzzled, the man flips through the manual again, then stands and peers around in the boxes. He smacks his forehead with the palm of his hand and swears.
He pulls out two bundled power cords that were hidden away in the packing material. He plugs them into an electrical outlet on the baseboard, next to the phone line.
He pushes the power button again and his lined face breaks into a smile as the hard drive whines and rattles. The computer blinks on, booting up. The smile grows and he turns on the printer, then reaches behind him and takes several folded pieces of yellow legal paper from his jacket pocket. He smoothes them out on the table and moves the mouse around on its pad, getting a feel for it. He pulls a diskette from the bag, locates the drive it fits into, and clicks on one of the little pictures on the screen. He jumps a bit, then smiles happily as the modem blasts to life.
The man follows the directions written on the paper, pecking carefully away at the keyboard, and sets up an anonymous email account. When he finishes, he rubs his moist palms off on his pant legs and pulls a rumpled porno magazine from the bag, a locally published magazine that he’d purchased at a strip club the night before. He chews on his lip and flips to the back, searching the advertisements and ignoring the lewd pictures of the naked women and the naked men, until he finds the particular add he’s looking for.
The man grins again, reads more of his notes, and pecks away until a website appears in the monitor. He leans over the table and scans the magazine ad intently, comparing the print from the page to the picture the screen.
He mouths the words that are lushly scripted in black and gold against a field of satin pink.
Fantasies, Inc
A small framed photo sits on the counter next to him. The photo is a picture of a family of three, a father, a wife and a baby daughter, all smiling for the camera. Happy.
The man smiles sadly at the photo.
Soon, my brother. All will be made right.
He uses the mouse to click on the words, and the screen changes. He leans closer to the screen, reading.
Your fantasies, all fantasies, no matter how big or how small, brought to life
He clicks the mouse, scrolling down further.
We specialize in fulfilling the kinky and cute, the timid or the daring, the loving or the deranged; reward or revenge - whatever you desire, no matter how sweet or how perverted, can and will be yours with Fantasies, Inc.
The man sits back in his chair, rubbing his hands nervously. He runs his fingers through his hair and lets out his breath in a whoosh. He leans forward again.
This site is for adults only.
Fantasies, Inc. is not a porn site, an escort service, theater or any type of performance art.
We are a multi-billion dollar global organization, specializing in the ultimate in sex and revenge fantasy fulfillment. We exist to help realize all types of real-life sex fantasies for our clientele. We accept projects that range from the ordinary and mundane to the most criminal and unusual. Therefore, please be aware that certain types of our projects may be illegal in many parts of the world, and that real, ordinary people - adults and children, friends, family, business associates, etc. -
Fantasies, Inc. accepts no responsibility for any legal action resulting from any or all accepted projects. All scenarios submitted for development are considered strictly confidential and will be shared internally only, on a need-to-know basis.
Payment must be submitted as a cash transfer, half in advance with the balance due upon completion of each project. No other forms of payment will be accepted.
Once the submission has been accepted, the customer will be notified with a general time-line as to when the fantasy will begin. Once started, each customer will receive regular instructions and updates until the conclusion of the scenario. You may submit an original fantasy or choose from our large database of completely customizable options. For the perfect fantasy experience, please be as specific and detailed as possible when submitting your scenario for consideration.
The wait time for new fantasies to be evaluated is currently an approximate six months to a year from the current date. Projects begin immediately after acceptance.
Satisfaction is guaranteed, or your money back.
Would you like us to make your fantasy come true? Yes/no.
can and will be unknowingly incorporated into each, special project, as dictated by the project description.The man decides and clicks on Yes. The screen changes again, showing more conditions and terms. Boilerplate. He reads it all, slowly and carefully, types a bit, then clicks on I Agree. The computer processes the information, and another page loads. This page is broken into sections.
Choose your fantasy.
Generate your own from our fully customizable database, provide a complete description of your own, intimate offering, or choose to experience someone else’s hidden desire from one of our many, most popular experiences
The man licks his lips, and clicks on Custom, then, Personal.
Now to decide: Sugar
or Spice, Naughty or Nice?A cute-as-a-button girl in pig-tails and dressed in a tight Catholic school girl uniform sucks on an oversized lollipop, hovering above the sugar and the nice words, flirting shamelessly. The same girl, now dressed as a black-leather clad bondage queen and brandishing a bullwhip, spits and snarls above the spice and naughty words. There’s a little check box next to each word. The man considers his options and checks both the Spice and the Naughty boxes. The screen changes again.
Okay. Let’s begin
***
Sharon Chapman jumped in her leather chair when her cell phone rang, startled.
Oh, Jesus
Ten forty-five.
I completely lost track of time
She peered out her office window. A light frosting of snow had built up in the corners of the glass.
When did it start to snow
As she reached for her phone, she realized that she hadn’t heard the office phones ring at all that evening.
Strange.
She thought Michelle had told her that they’d been fixed. But then again, she might not have noticed the phone ring anyway. Sharon knew that she had a tendency to let herself get wrapped up in her work, to the point that she’d tune out everyone and everything around her. And she’d been pretty focused on this new client’s case since she’d come into the office that afternoon.
But hadn’t she signed for the bill before everybody left? She was vaguely aware that Debbie asked her to sign some sort of paperwork.
God. Now the memory starts to go, too
Sharon was still trying to remember if she’d signed a work order or what, when she picked up her phone, pushed the on button, and cleared her throat.
"Hello? This is Sharon."
"Mom?" said a tinny voice. "Is that you? It’s Amy."
"Sweetie?"
"Hi. Sorry to call this late."
Sharon thought her daughter sounded tired, but she didn’t say it. Instead, she slipped off her tiny, wire-rimmed bifocals, folded them neatly and set them on the papers she’d been reading. God, she hated those glasses. She knew they were necessary now; without them, she was pretty much blind as a bat. She hated turning fifty. Getting older completely pissed her off; it was a waste of her time.
Sharon leaned back in her chair, stretching. The soft leather creaked as she settled in. She pressed the phone back to her ear. "S’okay. How are you?"
"Good, Mom. Great." Pause. "You’re burning the midnight oil tonight."
A statement, not a question. Sharon nodded. "New client." Amy never failed to let her know when she thought Sharon was working too much. "This is a difficult one."
"Oh?"
"Domestic violence. There are kids involved. Anne and I are trying to work out a settlement. We’ve got a court date scheduled right after the holidays."
"Oh." Pause. "How is Ms. Laird?" Cold.
"Annie’s fine, too."
Amy was quiet a moment. Even after all these years, she still had a tough time talking about Sharon’s work, and their past. When Amy was three, Sharon’s ex-husband, Mike, had left them, running away to the sunny beaches of Rio with another woman who was barely out of diapers. He withdrew all the money from their bank account, leaving Sharon completely broke and in massive debt. She’d taken Mike to court, trying to get some help; alimony or child support.
Something - anything to help.
But he never paid a dime. Sharon quickly ran out of her meager savings, and she had no other family to turn to for help. For the next few years, she scrimped and saved, working two jobs, scratching and clawing to make a better life for her daughter.
There were hard times, and worse times.
But Sharon managed to put herself through law school, swearing that if she could make it, she would do whatever it took to help other women who were stuck in the same sort of ugly situations. It was in law school that Sharon met Anne Laird, who would later become her partner and closest friend.
In a particularly bad moment, Amy had made it clear that she didn’t care for Anne, or her relationship with Sharon.
Sharon tried to change the subject. "So, anyway. Enough of that. What are you up to? How’s Jenny?"
"Jenny’s great. She asks about you all the time." Pause. "Sorry I’m calling so late. I tried to call you earlier, but the phones were out of service forever."
Sharon looked at the framed pictures on her desk, of her daughter and her beautiful granddaughter, Jennifer. Without her glasses, they were all blurry. She thought she’d been able to see them okay yesterday.
God, this is frustrating..
"It’s all right, babe. No need to apologize. We’ve been having a little trouble with our phone lines."
What the hell
was wrong with them? Sharon had no idea. Must’ve been pretty bad for those guys to be here all day. Michelle probably had a coronary over the cost. The thought of Michelle made Sharon smile. How did we manage this office without her?"Mom, look, I know this is kind of out of the blue, but I…uh, well, we were all wondering if you’d like to fly down for Christmas. Jenny hasn’t seen you in a while, and Jeff’s folks are going to be staying with us over the weekend. I thought maybe you’d want to come too…"
Amy sounded uncomfortable, like she was asking because she was supposed to. Sharon didn’t think they would really want her over for the holiday, much less have her stay for an entire three-day weekend. Well, except for Jenny. Certainly not Jeff.
They’d started off on a bad note when Amy introduced them on the night of their engagement party. Jeff had been drunkenly telling a horribly sexist joke, something about how many horny women it took to screw in a light bulb, when Sharon mentioned that she thought that men should be snipped and tied at puberty.
"I’d love to Sweetie, but this might not be the best time."
"Oh."
"I’ve got so much work right now…"
"But Jenny and I would really like for you to be here." Another short pause. "And Jeff wants you to come too."
Sharon tried not to snort at that last comment.
"Sweetie, your house is going to be packed full with Jeff’s parents staying there. I think…" Sharon rubbed at her eyes. "Listen. How about this: Jenny’s birthday’s in just a month. How about I come down then?"
"Really?" Amy sounded relieved.
"Sure. We can go do the theme parks."
Sharon smiled.
Jenny loved roller-coasters, and so did she. They reminded her of how life really worked: up one minute, down the next, then right back up again. Life was a series of highs and lows.
Sharon’s favorite picture of Jenny, one of the pictures she kept on her desk, was of Jenny and her mom that had been snapped during a roller coaster ride. The picture was taken as they went through a double loop-de-loop. Jenny was grinning like only a twelve year old can grin: a huge, ear-to-ear, this-is-the best thing ever kind of grin. Amy looked terrified.
"Uh, okay. Sounds…fun."
Maybe she wasn’t so relieved. Sharon chuckled.
They made small talk for a few more moments, and then Amy told Sharon that she should go home and get some sleep. Sharon wished her daughter a good night and told her to give Jenny a kiss and a hug for her, and they both hung up. The cell phone buzzed in Sharon’s hand, letting her know she had messages.
Wow. I must’ve been really out of it tonight. No idea I had other calls
She pressed the auto-dial and listened to the messages. A couple of the calls were about business, but could wait until next week, after the holidays. Jenny had called once and left a short, terse message. So had Annie, asking her to drop by for dinner if she felt like it. She said she was dying for a pizza, and she thought she’d be getting home about seven.
Slightly annoyed, Sharon half-listened while Annie droned on and on, like a tired mother tolerating a child. Inwardly, she winced at the pleading tone in Annie’s voice, and stared blankly at the work on her desk, distracted. Annie mumbled something Sharon didn’t catch, and asked Sharon to give her a call later.
Sharon looked at the clock again and turned off her phone.
Too late to call now
Afterwards, Sharon sat quietly and stared at the phone until she heard the soft chime that announced that someone was walking through the front door. A second later she heard a series of beeps, letting her know that the alarm system was being deactivated.
"Annie?" No answer. Sharon knew it probably wasn’t Annie; she never came to the office after work, unless it was an emergency. And she would never stop by without calling first, anyway. But, maybe… Sharon broke into a little smile. "Michelle? Is that you?
"Hallo?" answered a heavily accented voice from the foyer a moment later. "Who is it here?"
Sharon frowned for a second, slightly disappointed, but then shrugged. She slipped back on the high heels that she’d kicked off under her desk, and then stood and planted her fists in the small of her back, stretching until a series of loud pops ran along her spine. She stepped to her office door and pushed it open to find the custodian, Hector, at the alarm pad with his ever present bin of cleaning equipment.
"Hello, Hector," she said, and gave him a little friendly wave and a smile.
Hector jumped about a foot in the air, grabbed a mop handle and waved it in her direction. When he saw who it was, he grinned sheepishly.
"Ahh. Miz Chapman." He cleared his throat and put down the mop. "You scared me, a little." He waved at the alarm pad. "The lights were on, but the…the alarm, it was turned on, too. I din’ know if an’one was still here."
Sharon smiled at him and pulled her long, tan cashmere overcoat from the coat rack.
"I’m sorry Hector. I didn’t mean to startle you. Debbie armed the door when she left, so no one could sneak in."
"Oh. Ho-kay."
Sharon buttoned her coat and wrapped a light silk scarf around her neck. Annie had given her the scarf as a Christmas present a few years ago. Not much for the snow, but the weather forecast that morning had been for sunny skies with a warming trend, highs in the low 50’s. Sharon had dressed for her daily tennis match and brought a light business suit and a skirt to change into, after. She wondered how the hell she was going to manage to get to her car wearing her heels if there was snow or ice on the ground.
"I was just finishing up Hector. Everybody else has gone home for the night."
"Staying late again, heh?"
"You know me."
"Ehh, you say you always there for…for your people." Hector smiled at her. His English was getting much better.
"Yes. Exactly."
Sharon nodded at his grin and went back to her desk to shut off her laptop. She packed the computer away in her briefcase and tidied up; then locked her desk drawers and stepped out of the office with her briefcase in hand. She said good night to Hector, who was busy emptying the trash cans and filling them with new plastic bags. Sharon pulled on a pair of soft, brown leather gloves, and then searched her purse for her car keys.
"Hector, I’ll get out of your way. You’ll reset the alarm?" He nodded. "See you next week."
"’Night, Miz Chapman."
Sharon gave him another smile, and walked outside into the cold.
***
The snow was just starting to stick, the wet pavement was still relatively free of ice, and the air felt brisk and clean. Even so, Sharon stepped carefully around a few ice-crusted puddles so she wouldn’t slip and beeped the remote key pad to her new Beamer. The door locks ka-chunked and the car alarm de-activated from yards away. She stepped around a big, white utility van.
Hector must be doing pretty well for himself,
The van’s engine was still ticking, and steam evaporated from the hood. Sharon passed through a curtain of steam, then opened her car door and tossed her briefcase onto the passenger seat, pausing with her door open for a moment to enjoy the crisp winter air after being cooped up in her office for so long. She closed her eyes and let the snowflakes fall on her face. She looked up at the sky. The thick clouds were bright in the night sky, lit from behind by the moon, puffy like wispy balls of cotton.
Sharon stuck out her tongue, feeling like a child again. She giggled happily, like when she was a child making angels in the snow with her father. The snowflakes drifted into her open mouth, melted on her tongue.
She opened wide, and said, "Aaaahh."
Sharon looked back at her office. So much work, trying to help others.
She sighed, thinking of Amy and Jenny, and wondered where she’d gone wrong raising Amy. After all the crap the two of them had gone through together, how had Amy become exactly the kind of meek, abused woman Sharon had made her life’s work to try to help?
In Sharon’s mind, at some point Amy had become a victim. She was timid and withdrawn, co-dependent and clinging desperately to a cheating, drunken sham of a man who blatantly detested her. At least Jenny had spunk, thank God; she had a zest for life that Amy had never been able to muster. Sharon fervently hoped that Jenny could keep that spark safe so it could bloom and grow, and that life or her family wouldn’t pound it from her.
And me?
Sharon reminded herself again that this is what she’d wanted, all the effort spent, the sacrifice, the sweat and tears. This was her life, not just her work. She and Anne had found the offices years ago, right after they’d passed the bar exams. They had both been working for a large downtown law firm, and were both miserable. Anne found the office when she’d taken a business lunch with a client, a dentist who was retiring. The building was way out in the ‘burbs, in a low-income side of town, as far from the ritzy downtown firms as they could get.
It was perfect.
That afternoon, Anne had returned from lunch, breathless and talking a mile-a-minute. Sharon remembered grinning like a fool; charmed by Anne’s exuberance. They made an appointment and went back to see the building that night, right after they got off work. They’d bought the property the next week. The dentist gave them a great price and let them rent to own the property, otherwise they never could’ve afforded to buy it. As soon as the ink dried on the contract, the dentist high-tailed off to Florida with his wife and Sharon and Anne moved in and began the tedious business of cleaning up, taking care of most of the renovations and repairs themselves to save money.
They’d been there ever since.
Over the years they’d added a few employees here and there: Debbie Jones, their receptionist, who had been one of their first clients, Hector Aria, who had been with them now for the last several years and who took care of all the general building maintenance. And finally, Michelle, their sharp new junior partner, who had joined the firm only a year or so ago, right out of law school.
Sharon smiled again thinking of Michelle, and actually blushed as a warm, smoky wetness spread between her legs.
Then her stomach growled. She looked down, patted it, and said, "Guess the snow might not be quite enough, huh?" Another series of growls. Insistent.
Must be remembering Anne’s request for a pizza dinner
Growl
Laughing to herself, Sharon snuck a last look up, then got in her car and pulled out of the parking lot. She never noticed the van as it started up, turned on its lights, and followed, slipping into traffic behind her.
***
Sharon turned on her radio. Soft jazz filled the car, and she hummed along with the tunes. She eased to a stop at a red light, then turned north and drove for about a mile. The snow patted her windshield, creating little patterns, and then the wipers would flick the flakes away. She bobbed her head in time to the music, humming away, careful of the slick streets when she merged with the few other cars that were out, braving the weather.
A few minutes later, Sharon pulled into the slushy parking lot of a big, twenty-four hour grocery store. The lot was almost deserted, due to the hour or the snow, Sharon wasn’t sure. She pulled past some construction equipment that was blocking the first few rows of parking spots, sighed, and parked as close to the doors as she could, just next to an old, rusting Toyota. She shut off the lights and the wipers, turned off the ignition, and took her keys and her purse and stepped out into the cold. She beeped the alarm, locking her car, and walked inside, past a couple having a heated argument in another language.
The couple marched straight to the Toyota as the store’s automatic sliding doors smacked closed behind Sharon. They continued their argument, shouting at each other over the hood of the car, until the woman took an apple out of a shopping bag and threw it at the man’s face. The apple caromed off his forehead and bounced under the car. The man glowered at her with cold eyes, but unlocked the car doors. They got in the car and roared out of the lot, fishtailing out into the road with a spray of slush, leaving a puff of exhaust in their wake.
The lot was quiet again, except for a muffled buzz from a flickering streetlamp, until the white van pulled in a few moments later and parked in the newly vacant spot.
The driver killed the engine and shut off the headlights, and waited.
***
Inside the store, Sharon grabbed a red plastic shopping basket and looped the handles over her arm. She started her shopping in the produce aisle and grabbed a crisp head of green lettuce, a red onion, a couple ripe tomatoes and a small cucumber. She found some delicious honey-mustard dressing that was bottled by a local restaurant, and took two jars. Then she went to the back of the store to the meat section, winding her way around a few tired-looking employees and boxes and boxes of merchandise waiting to be restocked. She didn’t notice any other customers, and the employees ignored her.
At the freezers, Sharon picked up a package of fresh chicken breasts, then hummed a little tune on her way back to the coolers and found some coffee ice cream. She completed her circuit at a small rack of wines. Sharon read the labels and selected a nice Red, changed her mind for something a bit less expensive, then changed her mind again and headed to the checkout stands.
Out of about twenty stands there was only one with its light on. A small cow-bell sat on the edge of the conveyor belt. A note attached to the bell read: For cashier, please ring the bell once. Be nice - thanks, Management. Sharon emptied her basket onto the conveyor belt, stored the empty basket under the counter, and rang the bell, just once.
A skinny Asian woman with lank, greasy hair and a bad complexion peered over a rack of cereal boxes and gave Sharon a sour look.
She picked at her scalp and shouted, "You ready?"
Sharon nodded. "Yes, thank you."
The woman took her time, moseying over and wiping her grubby hands on a stained green apron tied over blue jeans and a black polo shirt. She scratched her head with the tip of a dirty finger, flicking at the top of her scalp. Dandruff drifted out of her hair onto her shirt, blending in with a light dusting already clinging to her shoulders. A white nametag pinned to her apron read, Hi. My name is Vang. Vang had a button pinned just below the nametag: This WGL store is proudly employee owned. A big smiley face wrapped completely around the slogan, letting everyone know that Vang was indeed, happy to own her own little part of WGL.
Sharon smiled and opened her purse. "Can I have paper instead of plastic?"
"You bag yourself."
Sharon blinked. She cocked her head and said, "Um. Excuse me?"
Vang glared at Sharon like she was and idiot and pointed down to a bunch of shopping bags at the end of the belts.
"You bag yourself," she repeated.
Vang stepped behind the cash register and typed an access code into the ten-key pad, then flipped the small, swinging flap that separated two conveyor belts. She started to swipe the items under the scanner, one-by-one, beep-beep-beep, and shoved them all onto the conveyor belt on her other side. The belt engaged and scooted everything down to the end of the aisle.
"Oh. Okay." I get it now. I get to bag everything myself. Swift on the uptake there, lawyer-girl. Sharon took out her wallet, slipped out her credit card and waited for the woman to finish.
Beep-beep-beep.
Vang hit the total button on the register, put her hands on her hips. "Thirty-one dollars and ninety-seven cents."
"Okay." Sharon tried to swipe her card in the little machine hooked to the lip of the counter, but Vang shook her head.
"No, no, no. We don’t take no credit cards."
Sharon shook her head, confused. "What?" She pointed to the machine. "But this…"
Vang shook her head again. "That for the food stamp card. They don’ make the paper stamp anymore; they put the money on a card that look like that." She gestured at Sharon’s credit card and pointed to a large sign hung on the wall by the exit. "Credit company charge us lots of money to use, so the grocery too expensive. Cash or check only. No card."
Sharon couldn’t help rolling her eyes, but she put away her card and opened her wallet. Vang picked at her head and glared at Sharon suspiciously; as if a woman dressed nicely in a skirt and high heels (who’d already waited in line and rang a damn cowbell for help!) might suddenly freak out, grab the bottle of wine and make a run for it out into the ice and snow. Sharon pulled out a twenty dollar bill and a five, then dug around deep in her purse and a found a few crumpled singles and exactly ninety-seven cents in change buried at the bottom. She forked the money over.
Once the cash was in her hands, Vang dropped most of the coins and had to scrounge around on the floor. When she finally stood up again she counted the money twice before she grunted, opened her till drawer and handed Sharon her receipt.
"You five cents short, but I find later."
"Thanks," Sharon said, but Vang had already disappeared, no doubt anxious to sprinkle more of her dandruff all over the cereal boxes.
Sharon shook her head and quickly bagged her groceries, using paper instead of plastic. She slung her purse over her shoulder and hoisted the bag, then walked to the wide glass doors. They swooped open for her. A freezing gust of wind swirled her coat-tails around her calves. Sharon’s eyes watered and she blinked as the bitter cold settled over her like a frozen blanket.
Great
The wind peppered Sharon with icy chunks of snow. She slipped on a slick spot on the pavement, turned her ankle, and fell on her ass.
"Whouff!" Sharon sat in the middle of the parking strip for a second, with her legs stuck out straight in front of her. She started laughing. "Shit."
Somehow, she’d managed to not drop her bag. Sharon set it down and carefully picked herself and brushed the snow off her butt. She bent over and retrieved her bag of food and trudged around the construction equipment to her car. Sharon hurried around a big white van that blocked the path to her car, her teeth chattering a mile-a-minute. She balanced her groceries on her knee while she searched her bottomless purse for her car keys. They weren’t there. Sharon swore under her breath, patted her coat, and found the keys in a pocket. She grumbled at herself and beeped the alarm.
"Thank God for automatic locks," she mumbled.
Sharon opened the trunk and put away her groceries. She shut the trunk and her foot slid out from under her, banging her shin painfully on the bumper. She swore.
"Owww…Dang it!"
That’s when someone grabbed her by the shoulder and said, "Hey lady? S’cuze me?"
Sharon jumped, dropping her purse. She turned and slipped again, catching herself on the hood of her car. Stupid heels. She wondered if she’d forgotten something inside the store. "Wh-what?"
A man stood in front of her, bundled up in a heavy parka, a furry hood pulled up over his head. Sharon couldn’t see his face. He didn’t look like an employee.
"Sorry, lady. Didn’t mean ta scare ya like that."
The guy just stood there with his hands up, empty, except for what looked like a three-by-five index card. Sharon tried to collect herself, thought of the mace in her purse. She wondered if she could reach it. She caught the purse strap with the heel of her shoe and inched the bag closer. The man didn’t move.
"What do you want?"
Sharon reached down slowly, watching him, and felt for the purse. She found the strap, picked up the purse, and started backing towards her car door, when he looked at the card in his hand, and asked:
"You Sharon Chapman?"
That stopped her. She looked at him quizzically.
"Yes? How…how do you know my name?"
He stepped closer. "And you live at five-oh-one-two Cherry Lane?"
"Yes, I… How…how do you know where I live? Who are you?"
"Oh, we know a lot about you. We know you have a daughter named Amy Cole who lives in California with her daughter, Jenny, who’s just about to turn thirteen. You don’t want to see them hurt, do you?"
Oh, God
"Stop. Please. I’ve got mace."
The man stopped. "Oh, yeah?"
"Who the hell are you?"
Sharon pulled out the canister and pointed it.
The man laughed.
Lipstick
"Shit!"
Sharon dropped the lipstick and fumbled with her purse. The man took another step closer. He laughed again, a low rumble. Sharon shivered, not just from the cold.
"What do you want? How do you know about my family?"
"You’ve got a secret admirer."
"What?"
"Welcome to his fantasy, bitch."
The man laughed again and reached for her as Sharon’s groping fingers finally wrapped around the mace. She yanked it out of the bag and dropped her purse, and had the nozzle halfway up when another man, huge and shaped like a mountain, stepped out of the passenger side of the van and wrapped a heavy, muscled arm around her shoulders.
"Gotcha, bitch."
Sharon let out a pitiful squeak as a dirty rag smashed over her face. A cloying, sweet smell filled her nose and her lungs as she took a breath, trying to scream for help, and then the world spun around her. Her vision blurred.
Sharon blinked back tears and thought, the snow’s in my eyes. I can’t see. I’m being kidnapped, and I can’t see. Please, someone help me.
The mace fell from her nerveless fingers and bounced under the van. Sharon was vaguely aware of the sound of a heavy door sliding open. She heard someone say, "Get her purse and the mace. Take the car back to her house and dump it there. Wipe it down before you leave."
"Right."
"Do it right. You screw this shit up and you’re a dead motherfucker."
"Okey-dokie."
Silence. Sharon’s head began to swim. She was focused on the hand clamped around her mouth, the rag covering her nose. She remembered an old movie she’d seen once, where someone was kidnapped.
Chloroform
She kicked and tried to bite the hand covering her face, but just got another lungful of fumes for her trouble. More dark shapes - people? - gathered around her. Little bright spots started popping in front of her eyes. She heard the jangle of keys.
"Fuck, man. Don’t need to look at me like that. I got it."
"I’m serious. Do the shit right."
"I said, I got it, dude. No problem-o."
"Then move it before somebody sees us."
"Nobody gonna see us with all this snow." Another voice, grumbling.
"I said, move it, motherfucker! You fuck this up and I’ll kill you myself."
A car door slammed. Sharon heard an engine start, and felt the hot exhaust on her legs as her car was driven away.
Sharon panicked. She couldn’t breathe. She squirmed and twisted, frantically clawing and biting at the hand clamped around her mouth. The man holding her just squeezed her tighter, keeping her locked in place like she was a child. Vaguely, as she drifted on the edge of consciousness, Sharon realized someone was laughing; a deep, awful laugh.
"Fucking asswipe." The arms around her shifted again, and Sharon was turned around. "Help me get this coat off her."
Sharon’s arms were yanked out in front of her, and someone pulled at her sleeves.
"What about the gloves?"
She was shifted again, and the coat was ripped from her back. Sharon felt the cold bite into her body, enveloping her like a living thing.
They took my coat
. I want my coat back. It was expensive."Leave ‘em on ‘till we can tie her up. I don’t want her scratching me."
"Heh. Not yet, anyway, huh?" Grunt. "There. Got it. You want us to just drop it?"
"Toss it in the front seat. She won’t need it no more."
"Cool."
Through the haze of the chloroform, Sharon felt strong hands groping her. She tried to struggle, kicking feebly, but she was too weak to break free. Someone pulled at her skirt until it ripped up the back. A hand slid between her thighs and a finger poked at her crotch through the material of her nylons and panties, tearing a hole through, pulling and tearing at the material until her crotch was bare. Someone tore open her blouse and squeezed her breasts, painfully tweaking her nipples through her bra.
"You better be filming this shit. This is what he’s payin’ for."
"We’re on."
Oh God…
Sharon tried to scream, but only heard a weak, muffled groan escape her lips. She felt the man holding her getting excited, his cock digging into her ass. His breath was warm on her neck.
A low whistle. "Damn. She’s not bad for an old bitch, ain’t she?"
Sharon mumbled through the rag, "Mmmgrmph."
"Nice legs."
"Nice big titties, too." Pinch, pinch. "Holy crap!"
"Huh? S’matter?"
"These titties are real! Thought they’d be fakes, they so firm an’ perky."
"Hell, she got nice everything, man. ‘Specially for an old bitch." More hands roamed over her body. "Shit, I think I just came in my shorts."
The men around Sharon laughed, and the Mountain rubbed his crotch up against Sharon’s ass. It felt like he had a thick steel pole in his pants.
"The profile said she runs and plays tennis almost every morning. Athletic."
Profile? That struck a chord. They’ve been watching me.
Someone continued to play with her breasts, squeezing her tits like they were kneading bread.
Help me, please…
"Stop it man. Shit. You’ll have plenty o’ those big old white bitch titties soon enough. Ya’ll ready for this?"
"Hell yes."
"Let’s get the show on the road."
Sharon was lifted up. She felt like she was floating.
Please, someone, help me
Sharon was pulled into the van. She felt the van list to the side as another person got in, then another, and another. Someone rolled the door shut, pounded the wall of the van and yelled "Drive!" A muffled voice shouted a reply. The engine rumbled when it turned over, and Sharon started to cry as they pulled out of the parking lot. Her eyes burned and the hot tears begin to roll down her cheeks.
"Aww, look. She’s cryin’."
A dark face swum in front of her blurry eyes, wearing a black ski mask. The man in the parka. Maybe. Sharon couldn’t tell.
"Crying?" The Mountain whispered in her ear. He taunted her. "We gonna give you a lot more to cry ‘bout tonight, bitch. Bet on that."
The big hand clamped on her mouth finally let go. Sharon heard a zipper open, and The Mountain sat down, pulling her roughly onto his lap. He was so big, her head rolled on his chest. She blinked back tears and squirmed in his lap until she felt a huge, warm cock wedged under her ass, throbbing.
"P-please, don’t do this. Please let me go."
"Time to give her the pills."
"Got ‘em right here."
The van was freezing. Sharon took a huge breath, trying to calm herself, and let it out slowly; a fine, foggy mist. She took a mental inventory. Her head was pounding and the world around her was blurry and spinning. She felt slightly nauseous. Sharon tried to focus, thought that she might throw up. She glanced around, trying to figure out who had taken her, what their plan was.
"Please…what do you want from me?"
A chorus of laughter.
Sharon looked around, squinting to see in the gloom. The van was easily large enough for the men to stand up straight. Including the man holding her, she counted five…maybe six or seven more? She couldn’t tell. Two of them held compact video cameras pointed right at her, on and recording.
The interior of the van was grimy and smelled like vomit and stale cigar smoke. The small light mounted on the roof of the cab barely provided enough light to see. Thick rubber padding had been placed on all the walls and over the doors and ceiling. The floor was carpeted and covered with old cigarette burns. A long seat with torn vinyl covering stretched along the back wall. Strong metal bars spaced at even levels along the walls from the floor to the roof spanned the circumference of the van.
"Hold her arms and spread her legs," said the Mountain.
Two of the men grabbed Sharon by wrists and slapped handcuffs on her, locking them tight enough that she cried out. They locked the free ends of the cuffs to the piping, and then they grabbed her ankles and pulled until she was sitting spread-eagled in the Mountain’s lap.
"I…I can give you money. I don’t have a lot, but…"
"No cash?" Snort. "Saw the nice, new Beamer you was drivin’, bitch. And the new Jag your partner just bought? Damn if that didn’t set her back a fair chunk. Didn’t you hear me tell you we know all ‘bout you? We’ve seen your bank accounts. We know what kinda investments you got; everythin’. Don’t tell me you got no money."
"Please!" Sharon heard the whine in her voice, and felt ashamed. "I don’t…"
Someone slapped her, rocking her head back and to the side. She tasted blood. The men laughed, and another blurry, masked face joined the crowd in front of her. The man pried apart Sharon’s mouth, and her eyes popped open with fear as they stepped closer.
"Gggrhagggrrrmmmnn!"
Sharon kicked and struggled as the parka man stuffed two light blue pills down her throat. He smashed her mouth shut, keeping her jaw locked tight and pinched her nose closed. He massaged her throat until Sharon choked and swallowed.
"Damn, bitch. Cut it out. Shit ain’t gonna hurt you."
The Mountain held her firmly as she futily kicked and twisted and thrashed. Fresh tears spilled down her face and snot ran down her nose as the men finally stepped back.
"Wh-what were those?" Sharon croaked. She tried to look over her shoulder at the Mountain. He smiled wickedly down at her through a panty-hose mask.
"Somethin’ to help make your night more…fun."
"Unnngh." A moan came from the front of the van.
"Sounds like your friends are finally waking up."
"My friends…" Sharon stared at the vague shapes covered with an old blanket, lying on the floor of the van. One of the men yanked the blanket away, and stepped back so she could see.
"Oh, my God." She gasped.
"Hand me that lube, yo’."
The mountain wrapped his hands around Sharon’s waist and lifted her up, shifting his hips underneath her. She felt his cock slip down along the crack of her ass.
"Hold her a sec."
Strong hands held Sharon suspended above the seat, her arms and legs spread wide. She heard the wet sound of liquid being squirted from a tube, and then slurping, like lotion being rubbed on someone’s hands.
"All right. I got her."
The Mountain wrapped slick hands around her waist again, staining her white, silk blouse.
"Let’s party."
The thick tip of his cock wedged between her butt cheeks. Sharon screamed and tried to fight, kicking and jerking. She bled as the handcuffs bit into her wrists, scraping the soft flesh from her arms. The men held her ankles tight as she screamed and thrashed around. The Mountain squeezed her waist, holding her hips securely in place, digging his powerful fingers into her belly until she could barely breathe.
"Get her feet up off the floor."
Sharon’s legs were pulled straight out and spread wide, exposing her pink cunt through the gaping hole in her torn nylons and panties. The men who weren’t holding her were quickly stripping off their clothes. They kept their masks on. The man who had been wearing the parka climbed up onto the seat next to Sharon, grabbed her by the hair and bent her head back. He shoved a small metal ring into her mouth and wedged it behind her teeth, propping her mouth wide open. He held her head bent towards him while he began to masturbate, rubbing his cock on her face, over her lips. Another man pushed between her trembling legs, his heavy, purple cock dangling almost halfway down his thighs. He ripped away the remains of her skirt, grabbed the bottle of lubricant and oiled up. Underneath her, the Mountain shifted his hips, pushing the tip of his penis further up into her asshole.
"The other bitches are waking up."
The Mountain laughed. "Good. Fuck them, too, and tape it all."
Sharon screamed again as he dropped her, when his huge dick punched into her clenched sphincter. Her screams were cut short as the other men took their cues, forcing their cocks into her open mouth and her unprotected pussy. Then the drugs kicked in, and it was all she could do to breathe as the men pummeled her body. Sharon barely noticed a new set of screams as the other men fell on the women lying on the floor of the truck.
***
Anne Laird’s day started badly, with a phone call from Michelle at the office at seven a.m. "I’m sleeping, goddamnit." she grumbled.
"Sorry to wake you, Anne, but we’ve got a problem with the phones and the computers again. I can’t reach Sharon, at home or on her cell. She’s probably at the fucking tennis courts. Can you come down here?"
"Shit." She curled deeper into her covers. "Just call someone and have it fixed."
"I already have somebody here, but I don’t know anything about this ancient, crappy phone system you two had installed. The repair guy needs to talk to one of you; and neither Debbie or I are authorized to sign off for the bill, anyway."
"Oh crap." Anne rolled over and rubbed her eyes. "Some partner."
Michelle laughed. "Your rules, not mine." She paused. "Anne, right now we can’t take any calls, and the computers won’t even boot up. It’s important, or I wouldn’t have called."
"I know. I know." Yawn. "Well, I’m up now. Let me grab a quick shower, and I’ll be there in half-an-hour. Can you get them started, at least? Show them where everything is?"
"Sure."
Anne rubbed her forehead, thinking. "You know what?"
"What’s that?"
"Remember, a while back, Sharon and I had some problems with our laptops, and you fixed them for us? Sharon told me that her phones at home were acting up, making weird sounds when she’d get calls. Mine have been weird now and then, too."
Anne paused, working up to her question, wondering if she was going to sound like the dumb, middle-aged, techno-ignorant bimbo she really was. Michelle was a whiz with all this electronic stuff. It was one of the reasons Sharon had hired her; on top of her outstanding school transcripts, a great interview and a few well-placed job references.
Anne and Sharon had brought Michelle into their little family for some new blood; to help kick-start the office, and drag the firm along into the new millennium. Anne didn’t know squat about computers; she could barely turn hers on. But she really didn’t want Michelle to know that.
Anne hated to admit it, but the woman intimidated her. She seemed to be able to do just about anything she put her mind to. At just shy of thirty, Michelle was already a better attorney than Anne could ever hope to be. Anne knew it, and she knew Michelle knew it too. Sometimes she wondered if Sharon noticed too. She hoped not, but lately Sharon had been so impatient and short-tempered around her, when she wasn’t just ignoring her…
"Do you think we’ve got a virus in the computer system, or something like that?"
"Um." Michelle paused. Anne heard a muffled male voice, and a rattling on the other end. "Anne, excuse me."
More muffled conversation, like Michelle had put her hand over the phone. In her mind, Anne pictured Michelle laughing at her, along with the receptionist, Debbie, and the repair guys. But when she came back on the line, her voice was calm.
"Sorry, the guy had a question." Michelle cleared her throat and said, "I don’t see how. I mean, maybe, maybe there’s a virus in the computers, but that shouldn’t affect the phones. Not at your houses, at least. Besides, that was months ago."
"Oh. Okay. Just a thought. But they’re hooked up together at the office, right?"
Silence. Anne could almost hear Michelle frowning over the phone. "Huh. Yeah. You’re right. I’ll ask the guy about it."
"Good. Be there in a bit." Wow. Maybe she wasn’t so dumb after all. Score one for the old broad. Anne almost broke the connection, but then, "Hey, Michelle?"
"Huh?"
"How are you talking to me if the phones are down?"
"Um, I’m on my cell, Anne." This time there was no mistaking the laughter. "Go get some coffee on your way in. You sound a little groggy."
"Oh. Right. Called on your cell phone. Sure."
Shit
How the hell did you ever get out of law school?
She shivered and looked at her warm, rumpled covers with a kind of wistful longing that she didn’t even feel for sex or chocolate. She sighed.
"Later." She patted the mattress. "I’ll be back, and we can snuggle later. Okay?"
No one answered. The norm, as of late.
Why aren’t you here with me, Sharon? What did I do?
Anne stood and stretched, her old joints popping, and peeled off her silk nightie. She dropped the black nightgown onto the bed, sighed again, and padded naked into the bathroom to take a shower.
***
Exactly forty minutes and a hot mocha later, Anne pulled into the parking lot of their office building. She parked next to a large utility van that she figured belonged to the phone guys, grabbed her purse and locked her car. Anne looked at the sky, frowning. The guy on the radio said it was supposed to be sunny out and warming up. But it was getting colder, and overcast.
"Should have worn a suit." Anne mumbled. She sipped her mocha as she breezed into the office lobby, her light skirt twirling around her thighs.
"Hey everybody." Anne gave everyone her best, aren’t-you-impressed-by-me smile. The one that dazzled in court. "Everything fixed yet?"
Debbie was half-sitting, half-leaning on the edge of her desk, with her legs crossed and her hands folded demurely over her knee, twirling her shoe in a slow circle with the tips of her toes. Her tight pleated skirt was hiked up high enough to give a good view of the inside of her thighs, and her filmy white blouse was unbuttoned to the top of her bra, showing off her ample cleavage.
She was busy flirting with a cute young black guy in jeans and a sweatshirt, with a heavy tool belt slung around his hips. The guy was scribbling notes on a clipboard and sneaking glances down Debbie’s blouse.
Shameless hussy
Debbie winked, and Anne grinned at her boss as she stepped behind the desk. Another guy was hidden under Debbie’s desk, with his ass up in the air and his pants creeping down past his hairy butt-crack, mumbling something about the Goddamn phone cords. Michelle stepped out of Sharon’s office, beautiful and regal and perfect as always.
How does she do it?
Anne groaned inwardly. Not even a quarter to eight in the morning, and she looks like she just walked off the set of some photo shoot for hot, sexy young lawyers.Michelle was followed by another, huge black man carrying another clipboard tucked under his armpit. A patch sewn on his work shirt read Malcolm. He tapped a pen on the side of the clipboard, and had to duck his head to get under the door frame. It sounded like they were discussing the computers.
Ever the good receptionist, Debbie cleared her throat and stated the obvious.
"Hey Michelle? Annie’s here."
"Oh. Finally." Michelle gestured for her. "Anne, this is going to take a while." She waved at the man with the clipboard, who walked over. "Guys, this is Anne Laird, one of the senior partners."
The big, big man smiled down at Anne.
"Mrs. Laird." He checked his clipboard then tucked it under his arm, taking the other clipboard from the man who’d been flirting with Debbie. "We’re gonna have to shut down all the equipment for a bit and run some diagnostics on your phone systems. We’ll get to the computers afterwards. Miss Roberts and Miss Jensen informed me that you can take care of most of your business today using your cell phones. Is that right?"
"Oh, um, Miss Laird, please." Anne’s smile faded. "Is it really going to take that long?"
"We’ll be as fast as we can." He shrugged. "But it takes as long as it takes. You know?"
"I suppose so."
"Cool." He handed her the pair of clipboards. "Sign here and here for me, and we’ll get started. We’ll need your signature again when we finish, too."
"Oh. Okay." Anne took his pen and signed where he pointed. "I’ve got a meeting at three this afternoon and I won’t be back in the office until Tuesday. What if you don’t finish by then?"
"I guess we can get your partner to sign for the bill."
"All right." Anna turned to Michelle. "Did you get in touch with Sharon, then? Will she be in?"
"Mm-hmm," Michelle nodded. "She was at the club, like always. She had her phone in her locker; she called back a little while ago. She’s meeting a new client this morning, but she’ll be in by one or so."
"Okay." Anne flashed the smile again and handed back the clipboard. "Well. I guess I’ll go get ready for my meeting. Let us know if you need anything."
"You got it. Can you show me where your phone lines enter the building?"
Anne and Michelle exchanged glances. Anne shrugged. She had no idea. "Right this way." Michelle said, and took the repairmen back into the storage room.
***
At noon, Michelle knocked on Anne’s office door. She was carrying a huge bouquet of flowers and a tiny pink envelope.
"Anne? These came for you."
She gave Anne a shit-eating grin and put the flowers on her desk. Anne stared at them.
"Omigosh! Who…" She looked at Michelle. "Who are they from?"
"I don’t know. Debbie just went to lunch, so I signed for them." Michelle passed her the card. "You tell me."
Flowers? For me? Anne took the envelope with shaking hands. She slit the seal open with her fingernail and pulled out a small, plain card. Anne dropped the envelope in her trashcan and opened the card. She broke into a wide, silly grin.
"What?" Michelle looked like she wanted to pop. "What does it say?"
Anne handed her the card. It was blank on the outside, but there were words printed under the fold: You have a secret admirer. Welcome to the fantasy.Michelle read the card and grinned at Anne.
"A secret admirer? You little devil, you." Then she turned it over and read it again. Michelle scowled. "What does welcome to the fantasy mean?"
"No idea." Anne shrugged and sniffed the flowers. They were beautiful.
Michelle handed her back the card and put her hands on her hips. "So?"
Anne grinned at her. "So what?"
Michelle nodded at the flowers. "Who is it?"
Sharon. A warm burst of joy flowered in Anne’s chest. My Sharon sent me flowers. But she replied, "No idea."
"Oh, c’mon Anne. Real guys don’t just send flowers out of the blue. That only happens in cheesy movies. Give it up. Who are you seeing, that you haven’t told any of us about?"
Anne blushed. "Nobody. Really. This is a huge surprise."
"Yeah. Sure it is. Come on, Annie. You can tell me."
"Seriously. Nobody."
Michelle studied her. "Ahh. I know. You wouldn’t be going to see this secret admirer at a ‘meeting’ this afternoon, would you?" Michelle made quotation marks in the air with her fingers when she said meeting.
Anne laughed. "Well, now that you’ve figured it out…yeah. I’ll fess up. You’re right. Little old Mr. Rodriguez is really my secret love."
"Yuck it up, babe."
Michelle grinned and stepped out into the hall, then turned on her heel and peeked back through the door.
"But I’ll be watching you like a hawk."
Michelle waggled her finger at Anne, and left. Anne took a long stemmed rose from the vase and sat down in her chair, grinning like a fool. She tickled her nose with the soft, red petals, enjoying the sweet fragrance of the flower.
My secret admirer. Sharon, you silly thing. Anne hummed a silly little tune under her breath. My secret admirer. Welcome to the fan-ta-see.Anne brushed the flower back and forth under her chin, crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair. On her desk, all the phone lines blinked on once, then went out completely. Lost in her own little fantasy, Anne never noticed.
***
A bit after two, Anne realized she’d been daydreaming for way to long, put the flowers on top of her file cabinet and decided to get back to work. Her meeting with the Rodriguez family was in about an hour, and she hadn’t prepped at all.
Dammit, Annie. Get a grip. You’re acting like you’re a kid.
She pried herself back to reality, packed up her notes and locked her briefcase. She looked at her computer, then remembered that the repair guys had everything turned off. They’d left for lunch an hour ago, and were still gone.
Figures.
Anne picked up her flowers and the briefcase, and turned off the office lights. Sharon still hadn’t come in yet. Debbie was sitting at her desk, busy reading a woman’s magazine. On the cover, an attractive, fifty-ish woman, happy and barefoot and dressed in a turtleneck and rolled up khaki pants, cavorted alone on the beach. Good thing it’s been a slow day. Debbie smiled at the flowers and put down the magazine.
"Nice to see you’re earning your keep."
Debbie snorted. "Look at you, Lover Girl." She gave Anne the once-over. "You, swishin’ into the office in your little skirt, workin’ your bad self. I saw you smile at that little boy I was flirting with this morning." She sighed theatrically. "You hot, rich older women catch all the guys."
"Rii-ght. That’s me. Next, I’ll be posing for a girlie magazine."
"Jeez. Don’t let Sharon catch you saying that."
"Sharon the Man Hater, I know," giggled Anne. "It’s all an act."
"Annie, If she was any tighter, she’d pop."
"Seriously, Deb. You know Sharon would be the first one of us to rip off her clothes if some hunk asked her out."
"You think she wears baggy boxes under her business suits?" Debbie asked. They both laughed. Debbie wiped her eyes. "I’m not very nice, am I?"
"Evil as all get-out. Makes me wonder what the two of you say about me when I’m not around." Anne leaned further over the desk and lowered her voice. "And by the way, I did notice you flirting with that boy this morning."
Debbie made a ‘fsst’ sound. "I was not."
"Hon, you were showing so much cleavage, you were ready to pop out of that blouse." Anne grinned. "He was sweating so much, I’m surprised you didn’t need an umbrella."
Debbie blushed. "He was awfully cute."
"Mm-hmm," Anne agreed. "If he comes back, are you gonna sneak into the back room with him?"
"Annie! I wouldn’t!" Debbie faked a shocked look, then giggled. "Not during business hours, anyway."
They both laughed again, then Anne asked, "Hey, is Michelle gone for the afternoon?"
"I don’t think so, but she said she was going to run some errands."
"Are the repair guys coming back?"
"They said so."
"Will you make sure Sharon knows about all that’s going on, and that they need her to sign the invoice?"
"Sure."
"Okay." Anne smiled again and glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Well, I’ve got to go. Have a good holiday, Deb."
"You too, Annie. Thanks again for the card and the bonus."
"Anytime. See you in a week."
Annie picked up her stuff again. The young phone guy opened the door just as she was starting to leave. Debbie turned a bright shade of red, and grinned.
"Careful in the back room." She smiled at the man, then to Debbie, whispered, "Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do."
***
Debbie watched Annie walk out to her car. Annie gave the young hottie that big, toothy, thousand-megawatt smile of hers as she breezed past, and then Debbie watched him stare at Annie’s ass swooshing while he held the door for her. She gritted her teeth.
Damn tan, skinny, fake-boob, face-lifted bitch. Debbie undid another button on her blouse. Beat this, Annie, she thought, and tried her own smile.
"Hey," he said, buckling his tool belt back on.
"Hey yourself." Debbie leaned to her side, trying to look past him. "Where is everybody."
"Huh? Oh. They had, uh, another call. An emergency. I guess they thought I could handle everything here okay myself."
"I bet you can."
Debbie wiggled in her chair, bunching her boobs together. The guy smiled at her and walked right by her into the backroom. Debbie watched him go, open-mouthed. He’d just ignored her best shot. Annie’s voice came back to her. Are you going to sneak into the back room with him?
"Oh, hell."
Debbie stood and stepped quietly to the door. She peered through the front window and checked the parking lot. All clear except for the service van.
Annie, I wouldn’t! Not during business hours, anyway.
"Oh, hell. Something for the memoirs." Debbie took a deep breath, crossed herself, and stepped into the back.
***
The kid was holding what looked like a big, orange toy phone to his ear. He was at the phone box, poking at wires. The room was cold. Debbie grabbed a heavy porcelain coffee mug from the dish rack and poured herself a stiff cup of black coffee. She turned and lounged against the counter, watching him and sipping her drink. He finished with the toy phone and hung it back on his belt.
"Would you like a cup?" She offered.
"Coffee?"
Debbie nodded, and he shook his head.
"Oh, no. Thanks." He gave her a toothy grin. "I’ve got enough mocha on my outside without putting any more inside. If you know what I’m sayin’."
Debbie smiled. He went back to his box. She shuffled her feet, wondering what to say now.
"I, uh, I noticed you looking at my boss when she left."
The guy blinked at her. "She’s fine." He shrugged. "For an older bitch. Just couldn’t help m’self. You know?"
Debbie gasped. "You just called my boss a bitch!"
The kid shrugged and grinned sheepishly. "Well, y’know. Sorry."
He turned away, embarrassed, and the room grew quiet again. Debbie cleared her throat.
"You were staring at her butt." Oh, gawd. Did she just really say that?
The guy blinked again, but smiled.
"Yeah, well. She got a nice one. Not too big or round, you know, but juicy. Looked damn fine in that little skirt she was wearin’." He gave Debbie a weird look. "She got some perky titties and some nice legs on her, too."
"Really?" Debbie was dumbfounded. She was talking to this stranger about her boss’s ass. "You think so?"
"Yeah. Well, you know. Really, she’s kinda skinny for my taste." He waggled his eyebrows at Debbie and moved his gaze slowly over her body. "I like an ass that if you slap it, it’ll slap you right back. You know what I’m sayin’? Like yours."
Debbie gaped at him, her mouth in a wide ‘O’. "Like…mine?"
He smiled and stepped close enough that Debbie had to crane her neck back to see his face.
"Yeah." He took the mug out of her hands and set it on the counter, then put his hands on her hips. "Like yours."
"Oh." She said. Her whole body started to tingle when he touched her. "Oh. Okay."
They stood like that for a second, and then he cupped her ass and pulled her close to him. Debbie pressed her hands on his chest. She was having trouble breathing, and she felt a little dizzy.
"Um," she said, and he kissed her, gently pushing his tongue into her mouth. He tasted like mint. Debbie’s eyes shot open and she almost pushed him away.
Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do
Debbie heard a low growl come from deep within her throat. She threw her arms around his neck and began sucking desperately on his tongue. He pulled her closer, and she felt his cock dig into her belly. His hands squeezed her ass, then came up and pulled open her blouse, popping buttons all the way down to her waist. He grabbed her breasts and squeezed them hard. Debbie backed up a bit, breathless, her chest heaving.
"Hey, we shouldn’t…"
"Shouldn’t what?"
"You…you know."
"No. What?"
Debbie didn’t know what to do. He had her pinned her up against the counter. Her skirt had rucked up around her thighs, and he’d pushed his hips between her slightly spread legs.
She was already wet.
"Baby, you been eyin’ me all day, bunchin’ your titties together, showin’ off your nice undies an’ shit. You know what I want right now?"
Debbie bit her lip and shook her head.
"Somethin’ creamy an’ wet, baby."
"I…I don’t even know your name. I…"
"I’m Willy." Willy pointed down at his crotch. "And this here is little Willy."
Debbie looked down, and stared at the huge bulge poking out of his pants.
"Oh." She said.
Willy followed her gaze, and smiled. "You like that? Here." He took her hand and guided it down, made her cup him. "Take it out, if you want to meet it. Go on."
She grinned weakly. "It’s, uh, not so little, is it?"
He put his hands on Debbie’s shoulders and pushed her down, until she was kneeling with her head level with his crotch. "Go on girl, it won’t bite ya."
She took a deep, long breath, and let it out with a whoosh. Oh God, she whispered to herself, and unzipped his pants. She licked her lips, then reached in and pulled him out.
"Oh. My."
Debbie held his penis in her hands and stared. It was enormous. She’d seen a horse’s cock once, when she was little. That was the only comparison she could make with the chunk of meat throbbing in her hand. ‘Little Willy’ was thick as her wrist, and easily as long as her forearm. It was a dark brown, with a pink underside were it had been circumcised.
"Oh, yeah, baby. Little Willy likes you old white ladies just fine." He cupped the back of her head. "Go on, girl. Give him a kiss." Willy laughed. "You do, he’ll love you forever."
Debbie swallowed hard. She looked up. Willy smiled down at her, stroking her hair.
Oh God. What am I doing?
Debbie squeezed her eyes shut, and opened her mouth wide.
"Oh, fuck yeah."
Willy pushed with his hips. The head of his cock slipped into her mouth, filling it completely. It was hot and pulsing, and she licked it. Willy used her ears as handles and pulled her face closer. Debbie gagged as he slid further in, pushing himself down her throat. Her jaw cracked loudly, and then Willy was talking to her.
"That’s a good white bitch. Suck the big, black, donkey dick. That’s right, baby." He worked himself slowly into her mouth, in-and-out, in-and-out. Ropes of spit oozed out of her mouth and dripped down her chin as he fucked her face. "Oh, yeah. You like it like that, baby? You like suckin’ that big, black cock?"
Debbie felt herself getting hot. Willy pushed himself all the way into her mouth and held her face against his pubes. She couldn’t breathe. He used her ears and wiggled her face against him. Debbie’s hands shoved at his hips, but he held her tightly in place.
"Oh, fuck. That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Hell, yes."
"Mmm-mmm-mmm!" Debbie started to jerk, trying to get air, and he eased up for a second, then started pumping her face, hard and fast. His balls smacked into her chin as he fucked her. "MMM-MMM-MMM!"
"C’mon bitch. I wanna see you play with yourself while I fuck your face." Slap-slap-slap. "Do it. Rub that pink fucking pussy. C’mon."
Debbie groped for the hem of her skirt, and pulled it up around her waist. She slipped her hand under the waistband of her pantyhose and into her panties, past her thatch of pubic hair, and found her pussy.
Slap-slap-slap. "Shove those fingers in your snatch, bitch."
Debbie did what she was told, first one finger, then two, then three. She shoved them inside herself in time with his thrusts.
"AwwHooo." Willy stopped suddenly, and pulled out of her mouth with a jerk. "Awright. Time to cum in the white bitch’s pussy."
Debbie was gasping for air. Willy picked Debbie up easily and bent her over the counter, pushing her head into the sink. He shoved her skirt back up over her ass, then unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to the floor. He grabbed a handful of Debbie’s nylons and panties, and ripped. She was getting scared.
"Oh shit, please...Willy, be careful…"
"Shut the hell up." He spanked her ass, leaving a red, hand-shaped mark on her butt-cheek. He smacked his dick on her butt, stuck the tip between her legs, and wiggled his hips in a circle until the head of his dick lodged in her pussy.
"Willy, please…"
"Here we go, bitch, ready or not!"
Willy rammed his cock into her as hard as he could, all the way in, smacking her ass with his belly as he pierced her; like a hot, thick needle punching into her cunt.
Debbie screamed.
And then she came.
Just like that.
Willy bent over her and wrapped his arms around her. His hands cupped her breasts and squeezed her nipples through her bra. He pulled her blouse open all the way down to her waist and yanked on her hair while he fucked her. Her legs turned weak and wobbly. Debbie thought the only thing keeping her up was his dick shoved a foot deep in her cunt. He never stopped talking while he fucked her.
"That’s a good, tight snatch, white bitch."
"I’m gonna spooge right into your old pussy."
"After this, I’m fittin’ ta bust a nut in your fat ass, too, ya old bitch."
Debbie came again. Willy pulled out and forced himself into her ass, whispering awful, nasty things to her the whole time. He fingered her pussy and her clit.
Debbie screamed again as he punched into her rectum.
"Move, Goddammit!"
He smacked her butt, pushing and pulling her by ass, making her work. Debbie moaned and ground her rear end against him in a slow circle. Her ass muscles began to relax, letting him slip further inside.
"That’s right baby."
Smack.
"Uh. Right there."
Smack
"Harder. C’mon, bitch. Faster."
Smack
And she came. Again.
And again.
It took Willy almost another half hour to ‘bust his nut.’
By then, he had Debbie on the floor with her face buried into the carpet, begging for him to cum inside her. He was grinding his dick painfully around in her ass, and when he finally came, he squeezed her breasts until they hurt. He let out a loud groan, jerked a few times, and then shoved her roughly off his cock and fell back against the counter.
They stayed like that, breathing hard, until they heard the office door open, and Sharon’s voice.
"Hello? Anyone here?"
Panic
Sharon was already heading down the hall to her office. She barely glanced over at Debbie. "That sounds fantastic. Will you bring me a cup?"
"Uh, sure. Okay, I...Eee-oowp!"
Debbie jumped. Willy was grinning up at her. He’d inched over to her and slid his hand back up her skirt. She smacked his hand away and whispered, "Knock it off!"
Sharon looked back from her door. "What?"
Debbie smiled. "Hmn? Oh, nothing."
Sharon nodded and stepped into her office. Debbie started to shake. Willy played with his cock, still slick with her juice.
"Oh, God. That was close." She poured a cup of coffee into Sharon’s favorite mug. "Will you put that thing away? My God. My boss is here."
"Why?" Willy stood up and let his cock hang. "Heh-heh. Maybe she’ll want a bite outta little Willy, too. I got more’n enough dark meat to split between two horny old white ‘ho’s."
Debbie stared at him for a second, and then shook her head. She smoothed out her rumpled skirt and looked at herself in the mirror.
"Oh. Oh, no."
She was a mess. Debbie groaned and tried to fix her hair again, then gave up and let it hang down to her shoulders. Her skirt was skewed, pulled halfway around her hips, She’d buttoned her blouse wrong, and a large patch of the material was damp from her saliva.
"Oh, shit."
Debbie ran some cold water on a towel and frantically patted her red, sweaty face, then re-buttoned her blouse and gave herself another once-over.
Better
She looked at Willy, who had moved to a chair, lounging at the break table.
"Don’t forget to get her to okay the work." He flopped his dick at her. "Then why don’t you come back here for some sloppy seconds?"
"Don’t you know when to quit?" Exasperated.
"Don’t need no attitude from you, bitch. You don’t get her signature, I’ll just leave now."
Debbie rolled her eyes. "Oh, Jesus. Fine."
Debbie took the coffee and spun out of the room, grabbing the clipboard with all the paperwork as she stormed by her desk. She muttered to herself on the way down the hall, and found Sharon seated at her desk, scanning through a ream of legal documents.
Sharon had taken off her coat and hung it on the coat rack, and her purse was on the leather couch next to her desk. She’d turned on the heat in her office; hot air gushed into the room from the floor vents.
"Cold outside?"
Sharon didn’t answer. Debbie put on a smile, set the coffee on Sharon’s desk, and tried to ignore the warm air blowing up her skirt. The breeze tickled her crotch, making her uncomfortably wet. She wondered if Sharon could smell the sex on her.
"Sharon?"
"Mm?" Sharon didn’t look up.
"Uh, The service paperwork needs your signature."
Sharon nodded and uncapped a pen. Debbie handed her the clipboard. Sharon signed, handed it back, and never looked away from her work.
"Thanks."
"Mm."
"Okay, then. Enjoy the coffee. I’ll let you get back to work."
"Mm."
Debbie backed out of the room. She knew this Sharon mood. She must be working on a new hardship case. Debbie had a feeling that Sharon would sit at her desk until the sun came up, unless there was an earthquake or she needed to pee. She doubted that the coffee would even get touched.
She carried the clipboard back to the break room. Willy was still in the chair, talking on his big orange phone, and his dick was still hanging out of his pants.
"Hey, hold on a sec, man. The bitch is back."
Debbie stared at him.
"Thought you were gonna bring me some dessert."
She shook her head and marched over, tossing the clipboard onto the table. Willy looked at it, shuffled through the papers. He put the phone back to his ear, wiggled his eyebrows at Debbie, and gestured to his cock. She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. He grinned.
"Hey, ‘yo. Signed and delivered, man." He listened. "Yep." Debbie turned to go, but he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her towards him. "Hey! We ain’t done yet."
"Oww."
Debbie tried to pull away, but Willy yanked her down to her knees and pulled her between his legs. His dick was already snaking up towards his belly.
"She’s right here. Yeah." He chuckled into the phone. "Yep. She sucks a mean dick, man." He put the phone on his shoulder and grabbed her by the hair again. "C’mon, bitch. I’m getting’ horny again. Open that sexy goddamn mouth and suck me off."
Debbie’s face turned a deep shade of red. He wants me to blow him while he’s talking about me to someone on the fucking phone.
"But, Sharon, my boss…" The tip of his dick hovered around at her lips, twitching. "She’s just in the other room. What…what if she comes in?"
"Shit. I said, if she wants some, there be plenty for her too." Willy cupped the back of her head with his free hand. "Now c’mon, bitch. I’m on the fuckin’ phone, and this shit’s important."
His penis twitched erect, and the tip of his cock brushed her face. Debbie wrapped her hands around the base of his cock and smiled. "My name’s Debbie."
"Yeah. Right. Debbie." He yanked her hair impatiently. "C’mon, Debbie."
Debbie swallowed him with a sigh, her pussy wet and waiting for him. When did I turn into such a slut? She wondered.
"About fuckin’ time. Shee-it."
Sharon never left her office, and didn’t bother them at all.
***
At half-past five, Debbie peeked back into Sharon’s office and cleared her throat.
"Hey. It’s closing time."
"Oh." Sharon looked at the clock, surprised, and leaned her chair back. "Okay. You go ahead. I’m going to stay late tonight. Lock up?"
"Sure. Anything else"
"Did everything get fixed okay?"
"Uh-huh. I guess so." Debbie grinned. "I’ve gotta go catch my bus. Drive careful on your way home. It’s supposed to get nasty tonight. It’s already really cold out."
"Okay. You have a good night."
"See you next week. Happy holidays."
Debbie left Sharon at her desk. She rubbed at her jaw as she walked back to the lobby. Her legs felt unsteady, and her crotch ached, but she was smiling like a fool. She couldn’t help it. Debbie put on her coat and grabbed her bag, then punched in her alarm code for the front doors, unlocked them and stepped outside. It was already dark out, and cold. Willy was there, smoking a tiny cigar and leaning against his work van. He grinned when he saw her.
"What are you still doing here?" She locked the doors behind her.
"Waitin’ for you."
"Jeez." Debbie dropped her keys in her bag. "Uh, look. Today was really…fun. But right now, I need to catch my bus." She shivered. "God. It’s freezing out here."
"Why don’t I give you a lift? I got the van right here, already warmed up and everything."
"Huh." Debbie crossed her arms and stared at him, tapping her toe on the pavement. A snowflake drifted past her nose, and she made her decision. "Oh. Fine."
"Don’t say thanks or nuthin’."
He held out his arm for her, and Debbie broke into a grin.
"Here, c’mon ‘round this side. We gotta get in through the sliding door."
"Okay.’
Debbie smiled at Willy as they walked around the van.
"So, did you mean all that stuff you talked while we, uh, y’know…"
"You mean, the ‘bitch’ this, and ‘bitch’ that, ‘suck my fucking dick you old cunt’, all that sorta stuff?"
"Yeah. Is that just…I don’t know…kinky for you?" She looked at the ground, and another snowflake plopped on the tip of her nose. "I mean, it sorta turned me on. Well, it really turned me on. But…"
Willy stopped and unlatched the van door. He slid the door open. "Yeah, bitch." His eyes had gone cold and hard. "I did." He blew a puff of smoke into her face. Debbie coughed, and waved the smoke away.
She froze. "What…?"
Three big men wearing masks were in the van, waiting. One of the men had a video camera. Willy grinned down at her. "I meant every goddamn fucking word."
Someone grabbed her from behind, and a huge, powerful hand clamped around her face and pressed a smelly rag hard over her mouth and nose. Debbie got a big whiff of chemicals, and her eyes watered and her head swam. She was picked up and shoved into the waiting arms of the masked men, who threw her onto the vans dirty floor.
"Have fun, bitch."
Willy slammed the door, muffling Debbie’s screams as the men began ripping off her clothes.
***
Anne’s meeting ran later than she expected, and when she was finally able to sneak out of the courthouse, snow had started to fall. Her stomach rumbled. For dinner, Anne had only been able to scarf a handful of potato chips that she’d bought from a vending machine, and now she was absolutely starving.
Food
Anne crossed the street at the light, then she jaywalked and cut diagonally through two lanes of backed-up traffic on the next street over to get to the parking structure where she’d left her car.
I’m breakin’ the law
Always the rebel. She dodged around a few more cars stuck in the rush hour sprawl, causing a more than a few angry drivers to honk their horns. One fat guy with a grubby baseball cap was moved enough to roll his window down and scream something really nasty about the female gender.
Sharon would’ve gone over to the truck and read the a-hole his rights.
Not Anne.
She sweetly flipped him off and took the elevator up to her car without a word. She shared the elevator with a bum who had passed out, snoring in a puddle of urine. A flood of vomit stained the front his t-shirt. Anne wasn’t all that sure that either the pee or the barf was his. Probably, but you never know. She wrinkled her nose at the smell, stared up at the floor numbers and ignored him, feeling guilty.
The smell followed her out of the elevator. When she got in her car, Anne opened all the windows as far as they’d go, turned the heater to fan and cranked it up high. She sat for a minute, then drove halfway home in the freezing cold before rolling the windows up. She could still smell the bum. Anne lifted her arm and sniffed the sleeve of her coat.
"Oh! Pee-heeuw! She made a face. "Gotta do my dry-cleaning." She rubbed her nose. The smell had absorbed into her clothes. "First thing Monday morning."
At home, Anne turned into the driveway she shared with her neighbors, the Laddingtons. The driveway split at the back of their houses and led to separate detached garages. A white van was parked in their side of the driveway, quiet.
Huh. That’s new.
She eased her car past the back corner of the van. It was a tight squeeze, and she tried to be extra careful not to scrape her side mirror. The security flood light mounted on the side of her house flared on, bathing her car in a bright yellow light. Anne used the light to find her remote and opened her garage door. She stuck the remote back in her console and drove into the garage, letting the door close automatically behind her.
Anne turned off the ignition, grabbed her keys, her briefcase and her bouquet, and let herself out of the garage through the side door. Across the driveway, the Laddingtons house was dark and empty, except for one light on in their living room.
Where did they go for Christmas this year?
Anne tried to remember as she unlocked her back door and let herself in. The Laddington’s had asked her to watch the house and feed their cats while they were gone, like always.
Was it
Anne flicked on the lights and stepped into her kitchen.
She carefully set the flowers down and dropped her briefcase on the counter. , she reminded herself to remind herself, and then immediately shrugged out of her coat, letting it drop in a pool on the floor. She sniffed her suit jacket and her blouse and squinched her nose at the sour smell that clung to her. She kicked off her shoes, and the rest of her outfit followed. Anne stood in her kitchen naked, shivering and wondering what to do next.
Gotta get these in some water
Dinner or shower? Hmm. Shower or Dinner?
Anne’s stomach growled, but the shower won out. No way could she eat if she still smelled like pee and puke. She turned the water in the shower on to hot and let it run, then she sat on the toilet and farted.
Anne giggled. Maybe that’s why you can’t get stay in a relationship, honey. You fart too much.
She wiped and flushed, then waited a second for the blast of cold water to pass through the pipes before she stepped into the shower. She turned the water as hot as it would go and let it blast down on her neck and shoulders, easing her cramped muscles.
Anne slowly relaxed and bathed, soaping and washing her hair twice. She even washed behind her ears.
For you mom
Anne rinsed and turned the water off, pulled a fresh, soft towel from the rack and patted herself dry, then wrapped her hair up in the towel. Her stomach growled again as she was brushing her teeth. She patted her belly and spit, talking to herself in the mirror.
"Right. Hold your horses."
She found her nightgown right on the bed where she’d left it. The bed was still empty. And now the sheets were cold, too.
She found that depressing.
Anne realized that she was upset. The flowers had been such a nice surprise that she hadn’t realized that she’d neither seen or spoken with Sharon all day long.
Dammit, she never called me back
At least she’d heard Sharon’s voice when she called to leave the message inviting her to dinner. She figured the flowers had been a sort of peace offering, Sharon’s way of apologizing after their last blowup. Annie was hoping she could return the sentiment.
Oh, Sharon. I’m so sorry. Please call.
Deep in her heart, Anne was sure that Sharon had turned to Michelle for comfort. She knew it instinctively; she felt the energy between them every day at the office.
It was killing her.
***
Hector unlocked the door to his dark apartment and pushed it open. He had spent the entire night washing the wall-to-wall carpeting in Sharon Chapman and Anne Laird’s office, and he was weary and ready for sleep. He kicked a small pile of mail that had been dropped through the mail slot, scattering bills and other junk across the threadbare carpet.
One package caught his eye, and his heart began hammering around in his chest. Hectors breath quickened, and he picked the package up. He ignored the rest of the mail. If this package was what he hoped, soon the bills and the squalor he lived in would no longer matter. Hector tossed his coat onto a chair and sat down at his table.
He was ready to finish this ugly business so he could finally return home. Hector missed his family, his real life; he hated this place, everything about it, and having to work like a slave.
Arturo.
His brother’s name echoed in his head like a litany. Hector had made a promise before he died, and he would not forsake his word.
Arturo
Hector picked up the little photo from the counter. The pain of his brother’s death was still fresh; like an old wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. It had been almost three years since his brother’s murder.
Three years since he had come to America to punish Sharon Chapman and Ann Laird.
***
Michelle asserted herself immediately after Sharon and Anne had hired her on as a partner. Months ago, Michelle had urged Sharon to accept a new abuse case. Anne was sure Michelle only wanted to take on the client only because they were wealthy. It would be great for the firm, and it looked extremely profitable, she said.
For the firm
Anne poured herself a glass of wine. To help herself relax. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.
Yeah. Sure. And if you believe that, I’ve got this bridge…
Anne had disagreed with the choice from the start. It was one of the very few times in their professional relationship that she and Sharon had been at odds with each other. Privately, they argued about it constantly, until finally, Sharon had stormed out of the house for good. Anne thought she’d moved back into her old place. Turned out that wasn’t the case. Michelle drove her to work the next day.
Things hadn’t been right between them since.
Sharon avoided Anne for months, playing tennis in the morning and scheduling her appointments early when Anne was in the office, then coming in to work during the afternoons when she knew Anne was in court. In the end, Anne had given in, but Sharon had already taken the client on.
Anne ground her teeth. Michelle. I think I hate her.
"Oh well." Anne brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. "There’s nothing that a nice glass of wine and a big bowl of ice cream won’t fix."
Anne unwound the towel from her damp hair and laid it over the back of the chair at her dressing table, and began to brush out her hair. She was just slipping on the nightgown when her doorbell rang.
"Who the hell could that be?"
She glanced at her alarm clock. Eight-thirty. Not too late. Maybe Sharon had left the office and snuck over with some pizza. Anne thought that sounded divine. They could split the rest of the wine and share the ice cream.
The doorbell rang again.
"Coming!" She shouted, excited now. "I’ll be right there!"
Visions of warm, cheesy pizza and gooey, melted chocolate dripping over vanilla bean ice cream filled her head. Anne was so thrilled, so sure it was Sharon that she didn’t bother to check the peephole in her door; she just threw the door open, leaned out, and then blinked in surprise at the man standing on her porch.
"Oh! What…what are you doing here?
A sharp gust of wind blew the hem of her light silk nightgown, making it billow up around her thighs. Her nipples puckered and poked out from under the thin material.
The man leered at her.
"Y’know, you should really lock your back door when you come in. It ain’t safe not to. Smile for the camera, bitch."
He was holding a video camera and pointing it right at her. Anne realized that he was filming her, standing in her doorway dressed only in her nightgown, and she blushed.
She shook her head a little, trying to shake off the cobwebs from the wine.
"What…?"
He laughed at her, and then an arm circled her waist and a hand clamped over her mouth with an iron grip. Anne tried to scream, and a sickly-sweet chemical smell filled her nostrils.
I didn’t lock the back door
Anne started to struggle, flailing her arms and legs wildly, but the man holding her simply tightened his grip and pulled her back into the dark living room. The man on the porch grinned and followed them inside, quietly shutting the door.
"Shit. That was easy."
"Yeah."
Anne was dizzy, disoriented from the chemicals soaked into the rag. The man behind her dropped her, retching, onto the floor, and Anne wondered if they were going to rape her.
"Please…l-leave me a-alone…"
They both laughed.
The men her gagged her, stuffing the pair of dirty panties that she’d taken off earlier in the kitchen roughly into her mouth, and wound the leg of her nylons around her head, tying the feet together tightly behind the nape of her neck. They used some heavy plastic zip-ties to bind her hands behind her back. Then they lifted her as easily as if she were a child, and carried her through the house and out the back door to the van.
"C’mon. Hurry up."
The security light didn’t go on this time; the men’s shoes crunched through broken glass as they carried Anne outside, still kicking.
"Damn. She’s a feisty bitch."
"Fuck it. Hit her ‘till she stops."
They slapped her, knocking her face back and forth, until sparks of light went off behind her eyes. Anne groaned into the gag, and stopped kicking. Blood seeped from her nose and dripped down the front of her nightgown.
"Shit." The man with the camera shook his hand. "That hurt."
"Pussy."
"Fuck you."
Anne was picked up again, and they carried her quickly down the driveway. The van’s side door rolled open and the engine started as soon as Anne was dropped inside.
"Here go, kids. Enjoy."
Several more men were waiting in the van. They wore ski masks, and masks made out of nylon stockings. The man with the video camera jumped into the van and slammed the door shut. The men surrounded Anne. One of them held a syringe up and gave the plunger an ominous squeeze, sending a squirt of pale liquid out of the needle.
Anne’s bloodshot eyes went wide with panic.
The men smiled behind their masks and pinned her to the floor of the vehicle. The needle was plunged deep in her arm.
The gag muffled Anne’s screams.
The large man plopped into the front with the driver, making the van lurch with his weight. Together, they turned to watch the struggle through a peephole cut into the cab.
In the back, the men held Anne down until she stopped screaming and jerking, then they unwound the pantyhose and removed the gag from her mouth.
"Here it comes."
The driver nodded at the observation.
Anne vomited, retched again, then passed out. She was dragged to the front of the van where an old blanket was draped over her limp body.
"Gotta love the first time somebody tries smack."
"Mmn."
The large man wrinkled his nose with distaste, then turned to the driver and lit a cigar. "Almost finished now. Just one more, and then we can have some fun before we get paid."
In answer, the driver just smiled and started the van.
***
Hope.
The real American Dream.
It’s what this country was founded on. A simple word, yet it means so much.
Liberty.
Justice.
For all. Not just the few.
Generations of immigrants have braved countless hardships to travel to these shores. Searching for something so simple.
A new life.
A new beginning.
***
Seated at his table and lost in bitter memories, Hector wept quietly for his brother.
Arturo
Hector had always been content with his life. He wanted for nothing: drugs, women, money; his needs were simple, and the political and military corruption in his country provided everything he ever wanted. When he came of age, Hector immersed himself in the violent life and took those things he wanted by force.
But not Arturo.
He hated the drugs and the rape, the killing and the corruption; what he called the murder of his soul. Arturo spent his nights dreaming of America and his days speaking of little else. The stories that were told of the Promised Land lured him like a sirens call.
When he turned seventeen, Arturo decided to chase his dreams. Hector could have sent him to America in comfort, like a prince. But Arturo wanted more, he needed to understand. He had to experience the hardship, the struggle of his people.
So he left his home and his family and began the long, dangerous trek across the border. Many strong men die attempting that voyage, even now in this day and age, or are caught and sent home, disgraced.
Somehow, after long weeks, Arturo made it.
He sent a constant stream of letters home, telling Hector and their family of America, the land of the free. He wrote that he had found a job working as a dishwasher in a small restaurant and a place to live. And he confided in Hector that he’d met a woman. Arturo’s English was very poor and at first, he struggled. But a waitress at the restaurant helped him. They fell in love, and a few months later, they had a baby girl.
They named the baby Emma.
Arturo said they were happy. For a while.
Months passed, and one day Arturo came home from work early. He’d been promoted to a line cook at the restaurant and the owners had given him a pay raise. He wanted to celebrate, and on his walk home he’d stopped and bought Isabella flowers. Arturo was whistling when he opened his door.
His life ended when he stepped inside.
Emma was lying naked on the floor of their little apartment, screaming, covered in her piss and feces, an empty bottle beside her on the floor. Isabelle was on her knees, kneeling against the couch; with a greasy, tattooed man fucking her from behind, like a she was a dog in heat.
They ignored Emma and her cries.
Isabelle’s eyes were vacant and unseeing. A used syringe was broken on the floor. A clear plastic pipe had fallen from Isabelle’s nerveless fingers, and lay on the floor next to Emma, still hot and smoking. Emma had tried to reach her bottle, but found the pipe instead, and red, puss-filled blisters had burst out on her poor, tiny fingers.
Arturo had seen crack before, both at home, when he and Hector were homeless children living in the street, and in the flop houses where he had slept when he first came to America. He knew the evils of the drug. He knew Isabelle was an addict. She told him after they met, when they began dating.
Arturo didn’t care. He loved her anyway. But when they learned that Isabelle was pregnant, Arturo asked her to stop. He begged her.
And she promised.
So when Arturo opened his door and found his wife and child, he flew into a mindless rage. He beat the man until he ran from the house, naked and bleeding. And then he turned his rage on Isabelle. He hit and kicked her until she cowered in a corner, then he took Emma, and he left, swearing to Isabelle that she would never see them again.
That was his mistake. He never should have left.
Neighbors called the police about a domestic disturbance. The police came and interviewed Isabelle a day later. She concocted her story, and the police decided Arturo had kidnapped his daughter, and was in danger of fleeing the country. On their advice, Isabelle hired the law firm of Sharon Chapman and Anne Laird to represent her in a custody suit. Chapman and Laird, the police told her, had established a reputation of taking on these types of domestic cases; incidents where a wife or a child had been abused or raped.
And Isabelle told more lies.
The police picked up Arturo and Emma at the restaurant, when he went in to pick up his paycheck. Arturo was arrested without a fight, processed and sent to jail to await trial.
Emma was taken into protective custody.
In court, Sharon Chapman convinced the judge and jury that Arturo had forced Isabelle to take drugs and prostitute herself, and who often raped his own child. She wove stories, describing to the court in grisly detail the atrocities that he had perpetrated on his family.
Again and again during the trial, Chapman directed the jury’s attention to Arturo, enforcing their suspicion that he was the monster she described. When she was called as a witness, under oath, Isabelle claimed that when he kidnapped Emma, Arturo intended on selling the baby for money, or God only knew what else.
They called him evil.
Arturo had no money. He barely spoke English. No real lawyer would represent him, and the women lawyers that represented Isabelle were very persuasive with their lies.
He had no chance.
A judge convicted him of all the heinous crimes he had been accused of, and sentenced him to more than twenty years in prison. And they made sure that he would never see his daughter again. Isabelle smiled as Arturo was led from the courtroom, and she celebrated, hugging her lawyers. Sharon Chapman herself handed Emma back into Isabelle’s needle-pricked arms.
Her wicked smile was the last thing Arturo saw before he was taken away.
In prison, Arturo wrote to Hector. He claimed that Isabella had been his one, true love, and his love had blinded him while she cut out his heart.
Isabelle had stolen everything; his daughter, his self-respect and pride. His honor.
Less than a month later, Arturo learned that both Isabelle and Emma had died in a fire. The fire had started in a drug house. The house was owned by the man Arturo had caught fucking his Isabelle, and beaten. The inhabitants had been too stoned to escape.
That day, Arturo lost what little was left of his soul.
The other inmates understood none of this. In prison, child molesters are reviled by the rest of the populace. Arturo was hurt badly, day after day, by men who had raped and killed. The irony was not lost on him, that Isabelle was still torturing him, even from beyond the grave. He tried to tell the truth of what had happened to anyone who he hoped would listen. He tried to fight back. It only made his life worse.
Arturo began to despair. He again wrote to Hector, begging him to come to America. Hector swore to his brother that he would help, that he would come and make the people who did this pay.
The next day, another inmate killed Arturo in his cell, stabbing him in the chest, over and over, with a homemade knife. The guards found Arturo much later, lying on the floor of his cell in a pool of blood. They called for a medic and watched him bleed.
No one would say who actually killed him.
***
It took Hector some time to arrange travel to the United States. When he finally arrived, he went directly to the prison to claim Arturo’s body. When he saw his brother’s corpse, Hector closed off his heart to the pain, until it was like a live thing trapped inside him, eating at him. He bottled up the rage. It would have to wait.
He wasn’t sure what he should do next. In his country, to resolve this matter would be simple. Hector would simply have had the people responsible for his brother’s death brought to him, then tortured and killed. But he couldn’t do that here. As powerful as he was at home, he had few friends here. He had to wait for an opportunity, to develop a plan.
So he claimed his brothers few possessions from the authorities, and he moved into the same small apartment where Arturo had lived with Isabelle and Emma. He had Arturo’s body returned home, away from this awful place. Just a few days later, Arturo’s attorney, a court-appointed lawyer, contacted Hector.
Hector went to meet him, and he was given a sealed manila envelope. When Hector asked what it was, the attorney just shrugged.
"Dunno. Open it and see."
Hector returned to the tiny apartment and opened the envelope. By the time he finished reading, he was smiling.
Before he died, Arturo had found a way to get his revenge.
***
Arturo didn’t want Susan Chapman or Anne Laird dead. That would have been a simple thing; Hector had killed before, men and women; it was the same to him. Easy.
No, Arturo wanted the lawyers, and anyone who had worked for them punished. He wanted them to be humiliated and ruined, raped and beaten, their lives destroyed, just as his had been. Somehow while he was in prison, Arturo had learned of the Fantasies, Inc. people, and their capabilities. It seemed that they would and could do almost anything. For a price.
Arturo laid his plans carefully. It would be expensive, he knew, and he did not have access to the funds he would need. But he found a way it might work.
First, somehow Hector had to get close to the lawyers, get them to trust him. So he swallowed his pride and gone to work for them as a janitor.
A fucking, piece of shit janitor
He’d worked his ass off for them, biding his time and learning where they lived, their habits, their secrets. He learned where they each kept their money, and where the accounts for the firm where. He worked and watched, and slowly and surely they began to confide in him. When he though he’d learned enough, he sent Arturo’s plan to the Fantasy website, and waited.
Nothing happened. Hector began to think he’d been scammed. But he held onto a small hope that he would not let go. Not until that arrogant bitch had been properly punished.
Hector hated slaving for the lawyer cunt and her partner. Hated them for what they had done to his brother and his family. His own honor had been disgraced, working like a common pig for the bitch. So, every day for the past six months he had come home from work and checked his email account, and every day he had been disappointed.
But now…
Hector turned the padded envelope over in his hands. His name and his address were neatly printed in the middle of the package. There was nothing else to find. No label or return address; nothing. He took a small pocket knife from his trousers and slit open the sealed flap. He shook the contents out onto the table.
He peeked inside the envelope to make sure it was empty, and tossed it away. On the table in front of him was a stack of silver computer disks and a plain envelope with the Fantasies, Inc. logo printed in gold in the middle. Each disk was sealed in a plastic case, and labeled with a woman’s first name, two disks each.
He picked up the envelope and tore it open.
Hello.
At your earliest convenience please check your email for a complete set of instructions, as well as a link to your new, personal web site to monitor the progress of your fantasy. You have our absolute assurance that your website is totally private and completely secure.
You may be contacted with further updates. Please find included with this notification a bonus set of disks; our free gift to you.
We hope you enjoy your special gift.
Sincerely,
Fantasies, Inc.
Hector read the note, and a second later he was on the internet, checking his email. He brought up his account, half expecting not to find anything.
But there it was. Just one message, but that was enough to send a current of excitement through his body. He clicked with the mouse and read his message, a short version of the note from the envelope, with a link attached. He clicked on the link, and waited.
The page loaded quickly. On the main page, another link in a fancy script read: Welcome to your fantasy. Underneath that, in smaller type, was a flashing: Click here.
Hector clicked.
The next page was divided and boxed into quarters; each box contained a separate link, the first name of a woman; the same first names were printed on each of the disks that were included in the package.
Hector knew those names. He briefly wondered why there were four. There was a message at the top of the page.
All flashing links are live feeds, filmed in real time. You can choose to save your favorite video feeds in your free, additional website space for later viewing. You can also edit your saved files using the software provided online, then download and save the files on your hard drive or other media for your continued enjoyment. Make your own movies, screen savers, and more!
Three of the links were flashing, with a steady red pulse.
Debbie. Michelle. Anne.
Hector chose a name at random, pointed the mouse, clicked, and the page changed again. He stared at his screen. Dozens of new links, divided and grouped under headings.
At home, In the car, At the office, Saved files, etc.
The At home link was flashing. Hector clicked.
Bathroom
And suddenly, live and in color, with sound that was clear as a bell, Hector was watching Debbie Jones, taking her morning shower. He watched as she lathered shampoo through her bleached-blonde hair, and listened to her hum quietly, as soapy, steaming hot water ran over her huge breasts, down her back and her belly, past her mound and down her legs.
Hector gasped in pleasure. He felt an erection trying to burst from his trousers. In his excitement, he knocked over his chair when he stood and dropped his pants.
He straightened the chair and sat back down with his pants bunched in a puddle around his ankles and his cock throbbing in his hand.
He jacked off while Debbie finished her shower and dried off. He watched her pat her pale skin dry with a fluffy white towel, then wrapped it in her hair, like a turban. She brushed her teeth and left the bathroom.
On his screen, a message popped up.
Camera auto-follow between rooms? Yes/No?He clicked on yes.
The camera view switched to a bedroom. Debbie had taken the towel off and tossed it on her bed, and was pulling on a tiny pair of lacy black panties. She had her back turned towards the camera, giving Hector a nice view of her plump ass. His dick throbbed, and then another message popped up.
Did you know? You can use your mouse to scroll between camera angles. Give it a try. Click the edge of the window to view a new frame.
Hector clicked the top of the screen, and suddenly Debbie’s tits filled the entire monitor, large as life, like he could just reach out and grab them.
Click and hold the right mouse button, then move the mouse to adjust and focus between different camera angles
He clicked and rolled the mouse back towards the edge of the table, until he could see Debbie’s whole room again.
There.
He laughed when she lost her balance and fell on her ass. Debbie swore. She’d fallen with her legs up in the air and the panties dangling around one of her knees. Hector used the mouse to zoom in again, giving him a nice look at her snatch. Bushy.
Debbie grunted and struggled to her feet. He watched, spellbound, as she dressed for work, slipping on a bra and nylon stockings, then a nice skirt and blouse. The camera went black when she left the house, then switched to a shot of Debbie walking to her car. She unlocked the car, and another message popped up.
Continue filming? Yes/No
NO.
His cock was bored now. Time to try someone else. Hector backed out. The link he wanted was still dead, so instead he chose Michelle.
Bathroom
The screen refreshed. Hectors’ eyes popped open, and his cock perked right back up. Michelle, shot from above and behind, was leaning over her bathroom counter with her ass up in the air, putting on lipstick. Her jet-black hair was still wet from the shower, black and glistening with moisture. She was dressed in a lacy satin bra and a pair of matching panties.
Talking a mile a minute, another, older woman entered the bathroom and stepped into the shower. Hector used the mouse to zoom in on her face.
Sharon
Hector jacked off as she bathed, and slumped back in his chair when he blew his load onto the linoleum. Sharon finished with her shower. Michelle dressed for work in a blue suit and a white silk blouse. She clipped on a pair of pearl earrings, smiled, and pressed her body tightly against Sharon’s.
A look of euphoria stole over Sharon’s face. She shut her eyes and smiled as Michelle lightly cupped her breasts and kissed the nape of her neck. She ran her hand through Michelle’s hair, and they clung to each other, swaying gently. Then Sharon turned and the women embraced, two lovers, kissing passionately.
His penis twitched again, and rose back to attention. I did not realize. But this is…this is very fine.
Hector spent the rest of the morning at his computer, happily exploring the feeds that had been collected over the past couple weeks and the disks that had been included with his package.
***
Lost in her drug-induced euphoria, Sharon had no idea how long they raped her. She barely remembered any of it after the drugs took effect, except that at some point her body betrayed her and she began responding to the sex. She remembered hearing a grunt of surprise from one of the men while he fucked her. She’d suddenly wrapped her legs around his back and started bucking uncontrollably underneath him and she came with a loud cry, sending a torrent of warm fluid squirting over his thighs. He backhanded her face and called her a horny cunt, then went back to fucking her.
Everything else was bits and pieces.
Once, she recognized Annie’s face, tight with pain, shoved against a muscular belly. She was stripped naked and gagging, with ropes of spit and vomit dangling from her chin, her cheeks and slim neck bulging from the thick cock that was slamming in and out of her mouth. Sharon noticed other, fuzzy shapes and voices, the wet, slurping sound of sex, men grunting and women gasping with pain and crying from shame. The sounds all seemed muffled and distorted, as if they were far away.
The men liked to fuck her two or three at a time. One man would fuck her and pull out, and then another would immediately take his place. The Mountain was the worst. He liked to rip into her ass with his enormous cock, fuck her, and then make her swallow him until he came, shooting his load while he was buried deep in her throat.
Sharon thought the ordeal would be over relatively quickly, but it seemed like it went on for hours. She realized there was no natural way the rapists could be that potent. The men must have taken some kind of drug not long before.
The van drove slowly, rarely slowing, and the motion of the vehicle was almost comforting. Every once in a while, Sharon felt them ease to a stop, probably for lights, and she even thought that she heard a police siren once, right next to them. She tried to scream then, but the men around her just laughed and a cock was pushed into her mouth. At some point the drugs they gave her began to wear off, and she felt the pain of her torn, battered body: the sharp pain running up her jaw and down her neck, her bruised breasts, the torn flesh of her rectum and vagina, the bites on her nipples and neck and shoulders. The men had taken her jewelry, but they never bothered to remove her clothes; now the material just hung from her in torn scraps.
Eventually the van slowed and came to a stop. Sharon was thrown onto her belly on the floor, facing the van door, and her arms were locked behind her back. Annie was beside her, staring vacantly into space. Next to her, Debbie was kneeling on all fours, still being fucked by two men. They came quickly and shoved her to the floor, handcuffing her while cum still glistened on their cocks.
Sharon glanced around, her drugged mind beginning to work again. Debbie. Annie. Someone was missing.
Michelle,
she thought. She’s not here. They didn’t get Michelle.A tinge of hope ran through her as the men dressed. Then the Mountain pulled a cell phone from his coat.
"We’re ready."
The door to the van was unlocked and thrown open. The wind rushed inside, covering the three women with a light blanket of freezing snow and ice. Sharon shivered miserably.
"Here you go, buddy. They’re all yours."
The Mountain and the other men stepped over the women and jumped out of the van. Sharon looked up and gasped in surprise.
Hector stood in the doorway, his face twisted into a mask of hate and lust. His black eyes bored into Sharon’s, and she shivered again, but not from the cold.
The Mountain clapped him on the shoulder, and handed him two small video tapes. "These are on us, m’man, made last night and on the ride. They’ll be available on the net in an hour or two, soon as we get ‘em edited."
Hector nodded, his face changing into a demonic grin as he pocketed the tapes. Sharon looked past the men, trying to see a landmark, figure out were they were. All she could see were a few trees, barely visible behind a wall of white.
"The van’s all gassed up. You got a stash under the front seat, enough heroin to keep the two of ‘em nice and quiet ‘till you get past the border. There’s a map folded in the glove box. Follow the directions and take the marked route down through California. Be at the border at exactly eight o’clock in the morning two days from now. You need to be there on Christmas day. Our man will be there, waiting with a plane. He’ll get you to where you’re going without any problems. You’re on your own after that. Got it?"
Hector nodded. "I understand."
Sharon gasped again. Hector grinned at her. His accent had disappeared. He even seemed larger, taller; a commanding figure instead of the meek little custodian she knew. Out of the corner of her eye, Sharon saw Debbie staring at him too. Annie was still blank; the whites of her eyes showing and blood still oozing from her mashed nose. She seemed catatonic.
The Mountain nodded.
"Right. Now, ‘bout the cash."
Hector finally took his eyes off Sharon. "I thought you figured out how to get it?"
Another voice came from outside, away from Sharon’s point of view; soft, quiet and definitely female.
"We did."
Hector backed up a half-step, and almost bowed. The Mountain smiled, and said, "Hey, love."
Michelle peeked into the van and grinned merrily. She was snuggled into Sharon’s nice, warm cashmere coat. She smiled down at Sharon.
"Sharon! Look at you! You look so cute, tied up like that. Makes me want to eat you up, but..." She slowly licked her ruby lips, then nodded at Hector. "You don’t belong to me anymore."
Hector grinned. Michelle tossed him a set of keys.
"Oh, well. You know what they say. ‘Better to have loved and lost’ and all that garbage. Anyway, Hector, those are for you. Keys to their handcuffs and the van, too. I’ve been driving this big fucking thing around all night, and now it’s all yours."
Hector made the keys disappear into the same pocket as the video tapes.
Michelle wrapped her slim arms around the Mountain. "And pretty soon, I’ll be able to finish work and get back to my sweetie-pie." She looked up and drank in the dark eyes behind the mask. She eased the edge of the mask up past his lips, and they kissed passionately. "Baby, you’re so sweet. I love the coat."
"Thought you might."
The Mountain grinned and they kissed again. Sharon grunted angrily. Michelle finally turned back to the van.
"Well, well. Look at you, all wrapped up like presents under the tree. Merry Christmas, Hector. From all of us at Fantasies, Inc."
"Thank you."
"You like our work?"
"Yes. It was perfect. My brother’s spirit will be able to rest soon. And I…" The look he gave Sharon turned her blood to ice. "I will find my own pleasure." He turned back to the Mountain. "But I do not understand about the money?"
Michelle stepped closer to Sharon and stroked her hair. Sharon jerked her head away, and Michelle slapped her, smacking her face into the floorboard. She grabbed a knot of Sharon’s hair and twisted it in her fist.
"Now, now, now. Is that any way to behave? Hmmn?"
She jerked Sharon’s head back and stuck a finger into her mouth. Her long, painted fingernails dug into the soft roof of Sharon’s mouth as she worked the metal ring free.
"Well, Hector, you see, they couldn’t have done this the easy way. Oh, no. Even after everything I’ve done for the firm, all the money I’ve made for these lovely ladies, none of these cunts ever really trusted me with the passwords for the bank accounts. So…"
She pulled the ring out of Sharon’s mouth and tossed it in the air. The Mountain caught it with a grin. The ring disappeared into a pocket and, once again, the Mountain pulled out his cell phone. Sharon had thought having the ring out of her mouth would be a relief, but she sucked at the cold air, fighting the sudden urge to vomit and the sharp pain running down her jaw.
Hector looked confused. "What?"
"So tonight Sharon’s going to finally tell me what they are." Michelle opened the coat. She was naked underneath, her nipples hard from the cold. She pulled a gleaming blue pistol from an inside pocket and pointed it at Sharon’s head. "Aren’t you, baby?"
"You f-f-fucking b-b-bitch!"
Michelle feigned shocked. "Now, now. No need to get crude, sweet."
"I’m not telling you anything!" Sharon croaked.
"Oh, I think you will."
Michelle cocked back the slide and pressed the barrel of the gun to Sharon’s temple. Sharon lost control of her bladder; warm piss soaked the filthy carpet under her hips.
"Oh, God, please…"
Hector panicked and lunged at Michelle. "No! No! I’m not done with her! I…"
The Mountain caught him easily, and held him still. Michelle smiled gently.
"Sweet, sweet Sharon. He needs you. We can’t call this job finished if I kill you. That’s bad for my reputation. And my employers - my real employers, that is, well, they absolutely hate when a project doesn’t end on a positive note. Gotta keep the customers satisfied, you know what I’m saying? I think you do. And besides all that, we don’t get paid. So I guess I can’t shoot you, now can I?"
Sharon shivered uncontrollably. "Y-you’re in-in-insane."
Michelle dragged the gun hard across Sharon’s face, cutting a furrow along her cheeks. Sharon felt warm blood seep from the cuts as Michelle pointed the gun at Anne’s head. She looked over at Hector, who was staring at her, wide-eyed. Sharon thought he looked as panicked as she felt. Anne never blinked, her eyes still blank, unfocused.
"Hector?" Michelle inclined her head. "What about Anne? You need her too?"
Hector gulped, and nodded frantically. "Yes! Yes! Both of them! Both of those bitches killed my brother! You know I want them both alive!"
"Shit. That’s true. It was all there in your submission, wasn’t it? Very interesting story, by the way. So sad."
Michelle shook her head, feeling the pain. Then:
"Well, anyway. Okay. If you insist, I won’t shoot her. But I don’t think it would be much of a loss, personally."
Michelle made a snorting noise and looked down at Anne.
"Just a pretty face. Awful attorney. Hell, after we accepted this assignment, I barely studied for two weeks before I took the bar exams, and I’m a better lawyer than this twat is, even after what - twenty years?" She snorted again. "I think the old boys just tolerated her to get a piece of her pretty ass once in a while."
Michelle flipped her hair back over her shoulder, and grinned at Sharon.
"You know, she wasn’t even a good fuck. Nice for a quickie, I guess, but boring as all hell. She didn’t even like being tied up. No wonder you got tired of her."
Sharon squirmed, furious. "W-what?"
"Oh, didn’t you know?" Michelle pinched one of Anne’s nipples. "I seduced her just a few weeks ago. She came to my house one night, trying to win you back. I think you were out of town on work. I can’t really remember." Michelle looked off into the snow, remembering. She was jerking on Anne’s tit and letting it fall, then doing it over and over. "She was so drunk. I think she wanted to kill me, actually."
"Leave her alone!"
"If you insist."
Michelle stepped to the end of the door. She grinned at the terrified Debbie, and looked back at Hector.
"We’ve got one more option."
Hector stopped struggling. "Her?"
"Yep."
Hector thought about it for a moment.
"I don’t need her."
Michelle smiled. "Good."
Debbie tried to scream, but it was cut short. Michelle grabbed the pearl necklace still hanging between Debbie’s breasts, and gave it a vicious twist. Debbie’s eyes popped open. She choked and kicked as her air was cut off. Two of the masked men wrestled her out of the van, dumping her roughly onto the frozen ground. They pulled Debbie up into a kneeling position and held her in place as Michelle moved quickly behind her, grabbed a handful of her hair and pushed the gun against the back of her head.
The Mountain dialed a number on his cell phone. A second later he grunted and nodded at Michelle.
"Well, baby?"
Michelle smiled happily at Sharon.
"Would you like to tell me now? I want the passwords for both the corporate accounts, and for all of your personal accounts. I know you know them."
Her voice turned cold.
"Don’t fuck with me, baby, or you’ve got a dead, fat-ass cunt lying here for the police to find, and a coat that belongs to you covered in her blood. We’ll wipe the gun down and put it in your hand. Just for a second. When the police find the murder weapon hidden away, with your fingerprints on it, and then the coat…"
She shrugged.
"Well. I’m sure you’ve put people behind bars with less evidence. And don’t forget, this lovely state has the death penalty."
Michelle looked over at Hector, and smiled.
"A little improv on your scenario, I know. But it works, yes?"
He was completely composed again, and nodded curtly. "Yes."
Sharon finally understood why Michelle was naked under the coat. She could just wash the blood off. No other clothes to dispose of.
"Michelle, please…" She whispered. "Don’t..."
Michelle just smiled and licked her lips. Sharon remembered that face, from the first time she’d seen Michelle in criminal court, going after the jugular of a defending attorney. She only looked that way when she was having fun.
"Ba-bee. We’ve wasted enough time, and my tootsie’s are getting cold. So lets speed this up. I’m going to count to three, and then Fatty here’s dead. One, two…"
Debbie was turning blue. Her entire body was shaking. Sharon didn’t even think twice about telling them the passwords, just blurted out everything she could remember. The Mountain repeated everything into the cell phone, and they waited while Michelle slowly and happily choked Debbie to death.
"Good." The Mountain snapped the cell phone shut. "That’s it. ten-point-six million dollars, transferred to points unknown." He glared at Sharon. "No money, my black ass."
Michelle grinned and turned to Hector.
"Well. It’s been nice working with you, Hector. As a parting gift, you’ll find a bank book in the van with a small balance, thoughtfully contributed to your cause from the now defunct law firm of Chapman and Laird. Enjoy."
She nodded to the Mountain. He pulled two syringes from his pocket, uncapped one, squirted a bit of fluid into the air, found a vein in Anne’s arm and jabbed the needle in. He injected her quickly. Anne’s staring eyes rolled back into her head, exposing the whites. Her body convulsed once and relaxed. Then he turned to Sharon and uncapped the other syringe.
Sharon shook her head and screamed as he twisted her arm. "N-no…!"
She felt a strange warmth flood her arm, and she started to cry. The world around her quickly turned grey. The Mountain slammed the door shut with a clang, and Sharon’s last thought was that Michelle had never let Debbie go.
Then she heard two muffled pops from outside the van, like firecrackers going off, and Michelle’s low, throaty laughter.
Sharon vomited as the heroin hit her nervous system.
She heard a noise, coming closer. A helicopter?
The van’s engine rumbled as it started.
And Sharon’s world went black.
***
Epilogue
A fat, black fly buzzed incessantly around Sharon’s face, waking her from her stupor.
Sharon groaned and tried to swat at the fly, but her arm didn’t seem to want to move. Something clanked, like metal scraping metal, and she glanced around, blinking, groggy and unsure of her surroundings. Her eyes took a moment to focus. She licked dry, cracked lips, wanting to rub away the thick crust that had caked her eyes, and wondered again why her arm wouldn’t move.
She found herself in a large, green tent, handcuffed to the steel frame of a folding cot. Anne was lying naked and unconscious on an identical cot just next to her.
"A-Annie?" She croaked.
Two hard, stone-faced men in faded military fatigues guarded the entrance to the tent. One of them grunted and lifted the tent flap, letting in a brilliant ray of sunlight, and stepped outside. Sharon heard the sound of men and vehicles moving outside, and muted, as if farther away, the sound of animals. Dogs, barking. Other sounds, too, that she didn’t recognize.
"W-who are you? Where are we?"
The guard ignored her and the fly. He simply stared straight ahead, his dark eyes fixed on some point at the back of the tent.
Sharon gave up trying to speak and concentrated on taking stock of her situation. She too was stripped naked. She felt awful, like she’d suffered through a horrible illness. Her body was covered with just-healing bruises and welts, as was Annie’s. Both had their wrists handcuffed to the middle edges of the cots, and their feet were locked as well, in the same fashion.
A sharp jolt of pain shot down her spine when Sharon lifted her head, making the muscles in her belly clench and spasm. Her limbs trembled uncontrollably. Her body was slick with sweat and crusted with dried vomit; tiny, pin-prick scabs ran along the inside of her bruised forearms. The tent was sweltering hot. Sharon tried to speak again, to ask for a drink of water. It felt like she was swallowing razor blades. The guard didn’t bother to answer or move from his post; he just kept staring straight ahead, and Sharon didn’t have the strength to ask again.
Vague memories plagued her, floating in and out of her mind, just on the edge of her consciousness. Images of a van. Men she did not know. Annie and Debbie. Pain, and more pain. A plane. And over everything, a desperate craving that gnawed at the pit of her stomach.
Sharon let her head rest back on the cot. A tear bubbled over and ran down the side of her cheek, cutting a trail through the dirt and grime smeared on her face.
She remembered everything now. The abduction and the rapes. Michelle, dressed in nothing but Sharon’s coat, holding a gun to the back of Debbie’s head, smiling like she didn’t have a care in the world. And a moment later, after Sharon had given her what she wanted, everything she’d asked for, the two gunshots.
Sharon remembered being drugged and afterwards, a long drive, tied and gagged with Anne in the back of the kidnappers van. More drugs each time the van would stop. A final stop, and then a plane ride.
Withdrawal. Knots of nausea and intense pain, eating at her gut.
Sharon shook her head, trying to rid herself of the fear that was paralyzing her as surely as the binds holding her down.
She was still alive. That had to count for something. She and Anne could have been killed too, along with Debbie. But they were alive. And maybe she could somehow keep them that way.
Next to her, Anne began to stir, moaning. Outside the tent, Sharon heard precise, measured footsteps approaching.
Then voices.
One voice Sharon thought she recognized; hard and commanding. The tent flap was pulled back and two men entered, their dusty boots crunching on the soil floor. The flap fell back into place as they stepped inside.
Sharon sniffled and again raised her head, only to send another shock of pain through her skull. Her vision blurred and she choked back a cry, blinking away tears until she could see again.
"Awake. Finally."
Hector stood silently at the foot of her cot, appraising her with a cold glare. He turned to the guards and spoke a few, clipped words that Sharon couldn’t understand.
"Clean them up and let the men have their fun. Bring them to the pit at dusk."
The guards nodded, grinning wolfishly. Sharon remembered seeing that grin from other men, men who had hurt her, and not long ago.
"W-wait, p-please…you can let us go. We won’t tell anyone…"
Hector laughed. A short, loud bark. Then he stepped close and slapped Sharon across the face. He grabbed her, squeezing her bruised cheeks, and he spit in her eye. The spittle mixed with her tears and blurred her vision even more. Then, in English:
"I will not foul myself by taking my pleasure from you. I will leave you to the men, and then to the dogs."
Then he spun on his heel and marched out of the tent.
***
A sharp word was shouted outside the tent and the guards had men fetch several buckets of tepid water.
The water was brought quickly, and the tent began to fill with scarred, brutal-looking men, all of whom were armed and dressed in the same faded combat fatigues. The tent flap remained open, and more men peered in from outside. They laughed and joked, watching expectantly as the guards doused the women, still cuffed tightly to their cots, drenching them from head to foot with murky grey water. They scrubbed Sharon and Anne clean using thick cakes of rough soap and stiff brushes, until their skin was pink and raw. Then they were doused again, and again, until the dripping water made soapy pools of mud under the bedding.
Sharon heard Annie in the next cot, whispering "no no no no", over and over, as one of the men reached between her spread legs and began shoving his hand roughly into her vagina. Annie screamed, but the men just laughed with their comrade as he fingered her, jabbing his hand deep into her soft pussy.
Anne’s body jerked and heaved. The men unlocked Anne’s feet and flipped her over onto her stomach. Two of them spread her legs wide, holding her firmly in place by her ankles. The man who had been fist-fucking Anne unzipped his pants and pulled out a massive, uncircumcised cock. He slapped her ass and climbed up on the cot and wedged himself between Anne’s legs.
Sharon closed her eyes as the men gathered closely around them. A boy who could’ve been no more than fifteen leaned over Sharon and bit her nipple until she cried out. She began to weep silently as her ankles were unlocked, and she tried unsuccessfully to blot out her friend’s muffled screams.
A moment later, someone took care of the problem for her.
***
The rapes seemed to go on forever.
When the sun began to set, the guards pushed away the few remaining men and unlocked Anne and Sharon. They were then dragged out of the tent, naked, bloody and exhausted. Sharon tried to struggle and received a pair of vicious slaps. Anne let the men cuff her hands behind her back without a word. She whimpered when they touched her and kept her eyes fixed on the ground. All the fight seemed to have been drained out of her.
Sharon glanced around as she stumbled from the tent, past the men still milling about. They were being held in a small military camp, stationed in a deep jungle. Their tent was picketed a few yards away from the main camp.
Outside, another pair of armed guards stationed at the entrance to the tent fell into step as they were yanked away towards the outskirts of the camp. The women were led past a convoy of camouflaged jeeps and other vehicles to a small clearing, full of sweaty, drunken men, feasting next to a roaring bonfire. Sharon noticed women among the men, dressed in little more than rags, serving food and drink.
The men groped the women and laughed.
The gathering circled a shallow pit that had been scraped out of the forest floor. Six thick wooden stakes wrapped with supple leather thongs had been driven deep into the packed earth in the center of the pit.
Hector sat under a canopy in a camp chair at the far lip of the pit, flanked by a pair of armed guards. He appeared lost in thought.
Anne and Sharon were led down a slope cut like a tunnel that opened into the pit and forced to kneel by the stakes. Their captors saluted Hector, and the crowd of shouting men grew quiet, until the only sounds were the crackle of the fire, and the loud baying of dogs from somewhere beyond.
Hector acknowledged the salute with a grunt and a nod.
Anne and Sharon were held down, kneeling and spread-eagled, and strapped tightly to the stakes with their arms lashed to the ground straight out in front of them.
"Let them loose."
The men roared their approval. For the first time, Hector smiled. Sharon could hear Anne panting loudly.
She tried to comfort her friend. "Annie…?"
"N-nooo…!"
Anne shook her head frantically, staring at the crest of the slope, her eyes round and panicked. The barking grew louder, the sound suddenly noticeable over the cheers of the drunken men.
Sharon shouted to be heard. "Annie!"
Annie ignored her, and began screaming. Sharon turned to see the large, dark shapes as they appeared at the top of the pit, eyes red and gleaming in the firelight as they bounded swiftly down the incline towards them. Sharon’s mind froze, and for a moment, she truly wished she were dead. The realization of what was about to happen to them was sudden and crushing.
For the first time since her abduction, Sharon felt fear; and complete, total shame over what was to come.
"Oh God." Anne cried, thrashing in her bonds. "No…please…"
And then the dogs were in the pit, snarling and biting. Sharon screamed as the first hound touched her naked flank. And then some thing cold and wet was between her legs, sniffing. She looked up at the cheering men, at the smiling Hector, and shook her head frantically.
"N-no…"
Claws raked Sharon’s buttocks and her back as the first hound scrambled at her flesh with its paws, climbing onto her back. It mounted her quickly from behind, sniffing at her hair, her face, its heavy body smashing her to the ground and knocking the breath from her lungs. The animal drooled on her back and jerked its hips against her, painfully gouging its swollen red member deep into her tender pussy.
Hector, along with his men and their dogs, caroused well into the night.
***
The jungle was dark and quiet when Sharon woke. She heard the sound of running water, felt a warm spattering of moisture on her face. She groaned and opened her eyes. Anne was sprawled in the dirt, still tied, her breathing ragged. Sharon coughed dirt and foul tasting liquid out of her mouth. She hurt everywhere.
Hector finished his piss, shook his cock and stuffed it back in his cargo pants.
"Good morning, Senorita."
Sharon jerked back as a heavy knife was thrust into the ground next to her hands. She found herself staring at a pair of black boots, and looked up. Hector squatted next to her, his hands resting on his knees, his pair of guards at attention behind him.
"F-fuck you." Sharon spat the words.
He smiled benignly and indicated the knife.
"This is for you, as are these."
Hector waved a large, calloused hand and the guards tossed a pair of canteens and two backpacks onto the ground.
"It is time that we are leaving this place, Senorita. I have been away for much too long. My men have waited patiently, and it is time for me to make my presence in my country felt once again."
Hector smoothed his mustache, and continued.
"Do you understand why this happened?"
Sharon glanced at Anne and then glared at him, trembling.
"S-scum."
"Ah. No. You see, you have brought these last few weeks on yourself." He toyed with the hilt of the knife. "You killed my brother, you know?"
"I never hurt anyone."
"That is untrue."
Hector held up a finger, pointing at her. He unbuttoned his shirt pocket and removed the photo of Arturo and his family.
"Do you remember a man named Arturo Fernandez? No? Perhaps a woman called Isabelle, or a child named Emily?"
He brooded over the picture, his eyes smoldering, and then thrust the photo towards Sharon. He waited as recognition lit her eyes.
"You sent my brother to prison."
Sharon shook her head, defiant.
"He…he was scum…"
Hector hit Sharon hard enough that lights danced behind her eyes.
"Arturo was a boy."
He hit her again, knocking her head back and forth.
"A simple, loving boy, who forgave anyone their sins. A boy who wanted nothing more than to live in America, the land of hope and freedom. To live and love his family, yes? A dream he held dear, from when he was young; just a child, with me, living in the streets."
Hector rocked back on his heels, staring.
"He wrote me, you see. He knew Isabelle was hiding something. She had been a drug addict when they met. He tried to help. But that whore…she took Arturo’s dream and crushed it."
Hector jabbed at the picture with a blunt fingertip, his eyes narrowed.
"With your help."
"I didn’t…" Hector raised his hand again, but Sharon kept going. "He molested his child! The evidence… He abused his wife…"
The look Hector gave Sharon froze her blood.
"Lies. The child was molested, yes. But you had no forensic match, yes? None of the DNA? Where was your proof? You had no evidence, only the word of a crack whore. Who paid you and your friends to represent her? Hm? Can you answer that?"
Hector waited for her answer, grinding his teeth. When Sharon just shook her head, he continued.
"She was a simple waitress, yes? Who had no money, no family. Who? Who helped her? Do you know Isabelle and Emily died not a month after your lies sent my brother to prison? Did you bother to interview any of the employees at the restaurant, who all knew she was an addict? Did you?
Sharon continued shaking her head.
"Answer me, woman!"
"No! No…I…we believed her…"
Hector grabbed her face, forced her to look him in the eye.
"The man who paid for your fees is the same man who whored Isabelle and who raped her daughter. The same man who she and Emily were found dead with in flamed out drug house. The sick fuck who deluded you and your foolish partner into thinking that my brother…!"
Spittle foamed at the corners of Hectors mouth. One of the guards gently touched his shoulder. Hector rolled his neck and visibly brought himself back under control.
"I-I didn’t know…" Sharon stuttered. "I didn’t. Isabelle told me…"
"You believed her lies, and because of you, my brother was murdered in an American prison by a criminal who was trying to rape him."
He stared at her numbly, the corner of his lip twitching.
"You foolish woman. Now do you understand? Your casual ignorance is no excuse for what you have done."
Hector stood.
"You and that bitch took everything from him. His daughter. His life. That is the truth. The truth denied him because of your actions. Isabelle and the scum who caused this are beyond my grasp. But you are not. At the end, Arturo wanted you punished for your part in this. He wanted your lives and livelihoods destroyed, and your reputations ruined. That you suffer for your sins. But his last wish was that you understand."
He stepped around Sharon and kicked Anne in the side.
"I would have killed you, yes. But Arturo understood. You were fallible. You are a zealous woman, Sharon Chapman. You believed you were doing the correct thing. The Lord’s work, yes? Helping the poor, the down-trodden. He did not want for you to die."
He spit.
"So, I must see for myself. I work for you. Arturo’s assumption is correct. You are a fool, but a righteous fool."
He shook his head, grinned, and knelt again. When he touched Sharon’s face, he was almost gentle.
"Sharon Chapman. I leave you with a choice. To live, or to die. I leave you and your woman these packs and this knife. Inside the packs are clothes and enough supplies to see a strong, trained man through three, four days in the jungle. The knife is close enough for you to saw through your binds, after a time."
He pointed.
"There is an overgrown dirt road that heads directly north from this camp. If you follow the road, it winds through the hills and leads to a small village, many miles from here. By foot, a man might reach the town, perhaps after approximately eight days travel. Or…" The guards grinned. "You can take your friend and try your luck in the jungle. The knife has a compass. Cut your way through the bush, due north. You could save several days and your supplies would see you through, if you do not get lost. Fair warning: the jungle is dangerous. And even if you find your way through, either way, the people in the town are not fond Americans. They will not want to aid you. They may even kill you."
Hector spit again, for emphasis.
"But if you are resourceful and willing to pay with your, say, womanly treasures, you may find a man in the village with a small prop plane that may be coerced to fly you fairly close to the border. There you will find only more trials. The American authorities are currently searching for two women attorneys, lesbian lovers who embezzled several million dollars from their firm. It is very sensational and dramatic; the story is on all the news stations."
The guards actually chuckled at that; even Hector seemed pleased.
"The Americans believe that the firm’s junior partner was murdered to keep her quiet, and the body hidden. And they speculate that one of the employees, a receptionist named Debbie Jones, had somehow discovered what happening and confronted the pair herself, instead of notifying the police."
Hector bent his fingers into the shape of a pistol and pointed it at Sharon’s temple. Sharon flinched.
"They speculate that the women shot her in cold blood and then bolted from the country."
"Oh, God, Debbie…" Sharon whispered, horrified, remembering the two loud popping sounds outside the van when they were taken. "No…"
"The authorities are also searching for another person of some interest, who may have known what really happened; the company janitor, who seems to have disappeared. They assume that perhaps he was in the country illegally, discovered the body after it had been dumped in the lawyers’ office, and has fled the country. "
Hector stood and smoothed his mustache. He pulled his pistol from its holster and pointed it at Anne’s head.
No. Not again.
"No, no, no! God, please don’t shoot her…"
Hector pulled the trigger. The gun dry-fired. Empty. Anne whimpered, cringing.
"You bastard. You fucking bastard."
Hector laughed.
"It would be a mercy, you know, to kill her?"
He shrugged, appraising the battered women.
"You, Sharon, you are a strong woman. Strong both mentally and physically. You have proven this fact to me these last few weeks."
He kicked at Anne again.
"This one, however, she is not. But…" He shrugged. "She has survived this far. Perhaps she will surprise me. Yes?"
Hector smiled and ejected the magazine into his hand. He loaded two bullets and racked the slide, sending a casing into the chamber, clicked on the safety, bent and set the pistol on the ground, just inches away from Sharon’s numb fingers. He took a thin plastic card from his shirt pocket and tossed it to the ground as well.
"These are for you. The card is for a numbered bank account. The account contains the money that was given me by your original kidnappers. It is enough to hide both of you safely from the authorities for a considerable time. Enough, perhaps, to begin a new life. The man with the plane has been instructed to give you more information if you so choose."
He straightened, knees cracking.
"So, Sharon Chapman. Live or die. Those are your options."
He glanced at the tree tops, sunlight just peeking overhead.
"Be quick. It is cool now; but the sun will rise soon, and the pit is unbearable when the sun is directly overhead. In your condition, you and your woman could easily expire here if you do not escape from your bonds by noon. The jungle is not forgiving. The pistol can provide you a quick end, if that is what you decide. A cleaner way to die than you provided for my brother."
He turned to his men. "We are finished here. Come."
And with that, Hector and his guards turned and strode out of the pit, leaving the women to the rising sun.
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Sharon screamed... He grinned and got comfortable. Click.He smiled, enjoying himself. That’s better. .. Click. Shower. Click. Sharon’s name was there, too, a flat, lifeless blue in her section of the screen.. ., she thought. Sharon hates that I always forget to lock the back door. . . . . She giggled at herself, sputtering water. Rio? She couldn’t remember. Some good neighbor. . . Must eat food. She giggled. Zombie Annie. , she sighed. A bit. . Debbie picked herself up off the floor and stumbled to the doorway, trying to button up her blouse and smooth back her hair. She peeked around the corner. "Uh, Hi. I’m back here, Sharon. Just, uh, I’m, umm, making some fresh coffee.".. . . . Anne stuck the receiver back in its base and rolled out of bed, feeling like a fool. …? Sharon thought wildly. Oh, God. Please, no… ., thought Sharon. She opened her purse and stuffed her hand inside, trying desperately now to find the canister of mace. What is this? Who is this guy? Her fingers found and closed on a slim plastic cylinder. Yes! She thought. Thank you, God. Thank you..., Sharon thought. Now it’s windy too. ., Sharon decided. "Okay, okay. Let’s go get something to eat. Chicken salad sound all right?" She realized. Now I’ve no life for myself. The magical spell from a moment ago was suddenly broken. Sharon mused. He used to carry his supplies around in a beat up old pickup. .. . I don’t feel that old. ? Sharon wasn’t sure. . , she thought, and glanced at the clock on her desk. ... .
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