Storiesonline.net ------- A Painful Silence by aroslav Copyright© 2012 by aroslav ------- Description: Psychological Thriller. Unintended intra-operative awareness: the phenomenon of being awake and aware during surgery, but unable to say or do anything. Margot Pembroke survived it, but then finds herself unable to control her body or even her own thoughts. It's like someone else's mind has taken over. She's still fully aware, but can't say anything. How deep into her psyche will she need to delve to regain consciousness? Contains occasional explicit sex, though that is not the theme. Codes: cons non-con slow caution ------- ------- Preface Psychological Thriller. Unintended intra-operative awareness: the phenomenon of being awake and aware during surgery, but unable to say or do anything. Margot Pembroke survived it, but now she finds herself unable to control her body or even her own thoughts. It's like someone else's mind has taken over. She's still fully aware, but can't say anything. How deep into her psyche will she need to delve to regain consciousness? Contains occasional explicit sex, though that is not the theme. ------- NaNoWriMo On November 1, 2012, I'm starting my ninth NaNoWriMo, going for my eleventh win. This year it is a scary proposition and the book I am writing deserves some explanation. First, what is NaNoWriMo? Short for National Novel Writing Month. Last year, 256,000+ people around the world attempted to write a complete 50,000-word novel during the 30 days of November. Almost 37,000 succeeded! Four of my ten NaNoWriMo novels have been published under the name of my alter-ego. Or is this my alter-ego? I forget. I usually write detective mysteries, thrillers, and literary fiction. I started posting on SOL because I wanted to write stories that ended happily ever after. WARNING: This story isn't one of them. Please do not expect my typical romantic scenes, or even a happy ending. This is a psychological thriller with erotic overtones and the best we can hope for is survival. Please don't continue if you are looking for love and romance. Nothing is what it seems. I'm still working on the correct set of codes for this story and they might change some as I write. Here's what I expect, but the codes will be added as appropriate: Minimal sex. There will be some and it will be explicit, but not much other than verbal abuse in the first several chapters. MF. I don't see any likelihood that there will be multiples or same sex relations in this story, though they might be referred to. Non-con, coer, mc. From the main character's viewpoint, she is being ordered to do things that she has no control over. We'll find out if that is true. Story genre: Thriller. I'm trying not to let it become a horror story, though there are horrifying incidents. Suspense would be another good category. Rough. I'll add that code when needed. It probably will be. Slow. Needless to say, this is a story that will develop both characters and action throughout. If you are looking for the sex, wait till it's over and maybe I'll put up a note that says what chapter to look in. I don't want any other codes and as you see from the initial listing, I'll only add codes as they are appropriate. ------- The process I write very fast and very intensely when I generate a first draft. The material posted in this story is unedited, raw, straight from the perverse mind of the creator. I normally write pretty clean first drafts, but there will be some misspellings, wrong pronouns, and homonym errors. I might have to back up and change something in order to make a future chapter work, but there will be little of that. I invite comments and contributions. I read every email I receive and try to respond to each one if there is anything to respond to. I can't respond to anonymous messages, so please don't ask me a question if you would like to remain anonymous. The story is definitely influenced by the interaction. The first two or three chapters involve a medical procedure gone awry. I am not a physician, nor do I play one on TV. I've done research, but in all likelihood will have to correct some stuff after I'm finished. If you are a doctor—even if you aren't an evil one—I'd invite your comments and corrections on my operating room procedures. Finally, I'll post a chapter every day. The story will be exactly thirty chapters long. I'll submit them whenever I get the day's chapter is finished, so I can't tell you that it will be at 8:00 every morning, or whatnot. Mods will determine exactly when a chapter gets posted after I submit it each day. Since there are thirty chapters and I know approximately how many words I'm able to produce during NaNoWriMo, I can tell you that most chapters will be 2,000–3,000 words long. I usually shoot for 6,000 to 8,000 words per chapter in my other works, but only post once or twice a week. These will definitely be shorter, so if you want to save up and only read once or twice a week, you should get around 20,000 words a week. I encourage voting, and since the story will develop rapidly, I ask you to use TPA (Expanded) voting. Change your vote every day if you want to, based on that day's chapter. I do actually keep track of that. If you vote only via the basic voting, that will not be available for the first week or two. Basic voting will start after I've decided there is enough story there to actually be able to evaluate. I'll put a blog post up when basic voting starts. ------- After it's over: I'm writing this story with a view to publication. As a result, I may have to remove it from SOL in the future or limit it to premium members. I promise it will remain up in this form until at least the end of the year (2012) and the published version will likely be different enough that it will be like a new story (almost). ------- The cast (as I know it): Margot Pembroke, late-20s, attractive, but made more attractive by her wealth. Margot tells the story. Garth Oberman, Margot's husband, 30ish. Seems like a devoted husband, but enough is enough already. Albert and Sara Pembroke, Margot's parents. Mid-60s. Once members of the old money society who find themselves suddenly living on Social Security. Doctor Trent Adams, the surgeon who operates on Margot. Abby Jones, the assisting nurse. James Defoe, the anesthesiologist. Frank and Dottie Miller, 40ish, Margot's employer at Sunset Construction when she is forced to find employment. Harry Johnson, mid-40s, the rather raunchy construction foreman at Sunset Construction. Phil Oakes, 30ish, the sales manager at Sunset Construction. Peter Carpenter, late 20s, a construction worker for the company who would never cheat on his wife unless there was an opportunity. Lori Carpenter, late 20s, Peter's wife who does secretarial work for the company. Happens also to be Frank's little sister. MaryBeth Carpenter, Peter and Lori's 10-year-old daughter. Others as needed. ------- Chapter 1 NOTE: I highly recommend you read the Preface before beginning this story. Really. I woke up screaming. The pain was killing me. Pain in my head. Pain in my side. My stomach. My arm. God! My ribs! I couldn't force myself to breathe but air was being blown into my lungs then sucked out again—every lungful an agony. My head. My head. Weren't you supposed to pass out when there was this much pain? " ... cardiac..." " ... pictures..." " ... move!..." " ... skull rotation..." " ... spleen..." " ... pelvis..." So many people shouting things and so little making its way through the shroud of pain wrapped around my body. Please. Just let me die. ------- I could remember everything. Little details drew me away from the pain. They let me focus on something other than the searing burn in my side—the pressure on my head. We'd been at a New Year's Eve party. It was boring. I could hardly wait until midnight when I could kiss the host and then my husband. No, the other way around. Garth would insist that I kiss him first, even though he could hardly wait to pull Jenny into his arms and tangle his tongue with hers. He's such a pig. John is no better, but I'd give as good as I got. We'd drunk cocktails before dinner, wine with dinner, cognac after dinner. We hadn't waited for midnight to start on the champagne. Oh, I was going to pay for this tomorrow. Before we even left the party, I found my way to the bathroom and puked my guts out. That was better. I washed my face and reapplied my makeup—something I was skilled at doing after throwing up. Not all of my makeup, of course. I wiped off the mascara that had run as tears flooded my eyes. I touched it up and put on fresh lipstick. I'd be damned if I would go back out there looking like I'd just deposited dinner in the toilet. It took another half an hour to extract Garth from the kisses of every other woman at the party. How many were left. Jeremy tried to ram his tongue down my throat. Whatever. I'm sure he got a good taste of what was left of my dinner. I dragged Garth out, finally, and into a God-awful snowstorm. "Maybe we should stay," I said, rethinking my rush to leave. My best red leather pumps in six inches of wet snow. Oh, that's good. Garth just kept dragging me to the car, managed to get the door open and dumped me in. He shut my dress in the door, the shit. What a great way to start the new year. I opened the door and pulled my wet dress into the car. I was freezing. "Fuck, this is nasty," he drawled. "Why don't you hire a fuckin' chauffeur?" "That's why I married you. Get me home before I puke again." He started the car and the air vents started blowing cold air. "Turn it down. Turn it down." I started hitting the climate screen on the console. "It's cold enough already." He ignored me, as usual and got out of the car to scrape the window. A minute later he got back in. "What about my side?" "What do you need to see for?" he snapped. Oh, whatever. The car fishtailed as we pulled out of the Mosley's drive and I fought to keep what remained of my stomach from turning inside out. "Why do they have to live so fucking far from everything?" Garth groused as he rubbed his hand on the frosted windshield. "Why'd you turn the fan down? I'll never get this window clear." "What do you need to see for?" I snapped back at him. Hah! I fiddled with the radio, jabbing the screen to get the station I wanted, but of course the reception was garbage out here in the storm. They did live forever away from things. That meant a long slow drive, just when I wanted to be home and warm. I shivered in my light coat, having chosen elegance over warmth again. Didn't my mother teach me anything? Garth kept yammering on about something. Oh yes, Jenny this, Jenny that. Why the fuck didn't he marry Jenny? One time we swap partners and he figures it's a full-time gig. John would kill him if he tried her again. You'd think in weather like this with the car moving like a slippery snail, you'd see everything happening in slow motion. Especially as slow as my brain was working. I leaned my head against the doorframe and glanced out the window. "Snowpl..." I died. ------- "We're going to get you out of there," the voice said. Out of where? Where am I? I heard metal wrenching and felt sick again. Why am I here? I died. Why are they bothering? I found it strange that I was so ambivalent about my own death. Who cares? "We're clear. We need to move her." "Get the board under her. She's conscious." "Careful of the arm. Shit! Look at that." "Brace her neck. Now lift." Red lights flashing behind my eyelids. Snow still pelting my face. I'm lifted. I know it's going to hurt. Sirens in the distance. Doors closing. I want to heave again, but it hurts. Blackness. ------- "You'll be okay. Stay with me. We're almost to the hospital. I'm giving you oxygen to help you breathe. Don't try to turn your head. You're injured and we're doing everything we can to keep you comfortable until we get to the hospital. We're going to take care of you." The man's voice droned on and on. I tried to speak, but the mask on my face muffled the sound. "Don't try to talk. We'll take care of everything. Your husband is fine. He's on the other bed, but he can't talk right now. Your guardian angel was watching over you." Some fucking angel. He must have been asleep or drunk when he could have been preventing the accident. "The plow hit behind your seat instead of straight into you. We're going to get you through this. You'll be all right." Hah! Garth's precious Beemer was trashed. Do they teach them to talk like that—the EMTs? Be calm to the point of boring your patient to death. I wanted to stay with him—with his voice—but feeling was seeping into my body. Hurt. Pain. Agony! Oh God, let me die! ------- "CT scan cost us time. We need to go to surgery now. Prep!" I was moving. Lights flashed overhead. Why did they keep torturing me? Why couldn't they just let me pass out? I'd be happy dead. "We should get her to Memorial. They're equipped for this." "We don't have time. Nothing is flying and State Troopers have closed the Interstate. She'd be dead before they were a mile away. It's a miracle they got her here." Help me. Please help me. No words came from my mouth, but I could hear a far-away moan. "Jim, she's conscious. Knock her out. Let's move. Head first, then the sple..." Blessed darkness. ------- I screamed again. The sudden absence of pain in my head was painful in itself. I exploded. My skull had been ripped open and my brains shot through the hole into vapor. In the absence of that pain, other agony assaulted my senses, lancing through my side. They were cutting me. I could feel it! Stop! I shouted. Stop! I'm awake! I couldn't hear myself. Of all the things I wanted to feel, I couldn't feel my mouth moving. I couldn't feel my vocal cords vibrating. I was sending all the signals to scream, but nothing was coming out. OW! I lifted my hand to tell them, but it didn't move. Why doesn't anyone see I'm in pain? Stop! My pain was keeping me from hearing them. I had to listen. It was important. They would tell me what was wrong. A gentle voice like the EMT's would soothe me and put me to sleep. Listen! They'll tell me when I'm about to die. "Suction. We have massive internal bleeding. Spleen is ruptured—crushed. Shit! How'd she manage this? There's no hope for it. It's got to go. Start a flow. She needs blood." "Report says the impact crushed her against the center console. Must have driven it straight into her spleen." There was a background hum, beeps, static. Then silence. Maybe this time I was finally dead. "What the fuck was that?" "Power!" I could hear the difference. The pain of the silence ripped at me like the absence of pain in my head. "Emergency power! We need lights!" I faded away, but terror brought me back. They were pulling my skin apart. I could feel muscles stretch and tear. "Essential systems only. Monitors and lights. We have no video and no audio." "That's a relief. I hate those damn systems. I'll need pictures but I can do this part without. Somebody get a tech on the digital images." "I've called, Doctor." They're rebooting. You weren't supposed to be able to feel pain like this. I shouldn't feel the blood being sucked out of my abdomen. Then air hit the exposed nerves like a dentist's blast against an open tooth. I screamed again. "Move that fucking light. I can't see a thing. There. Out you come." Oh God! Let me die! He was pulling my guts out of my stomach. There would be nothing left. Why torture me like this? I don't want to feel this! Suddenly new agony ripping through my ribs and arm. Why couldn't I lift my arm and tell them to stop? How long would this go on? "Sutures." "We have a picture again. One, two, three, four ribs. That's going to hurt. Don't anybody make her laugh." The woman's voice was followed by laughter. Who was in this room? An incompetent bastard held a mask on my face, pretending to keep me unconscious. Someone stabbing me over and over in my stomach. A woman making bad jokes. Laugh? You bitch! "Any more bleeding? Let's do a visual." Doctor. "Ooo. Would you look at those babies." Man at my head. "Recorder!" Doctor. "Don't worry. None of them are working under emergency power." Nurse. "Then a little art appreciation won't hurt." He touched me! I felt him pinch my nipples. They'd always been super-sensitive. I could feel the jolt down my center core even through the pain. Don't touch me! Please, just let me die! "Ribs aren't in danger of puncturing anything as long as she's immobilized. This arm is bad but the artery wasn't severed. The blood is all surface. Definite muscle tear as well as multiple fracture of the humerus. This is going to be a new operation and probably a pin. I can't do it now. Where's Albion? He can set the femur at the same time." "Front desk says he's snowed in. Crews are trying to open a path, but he's hours away. He walked the EMTs through triage by phone." "Shit. If he gets here by noon, he can do this. If not, we'll start again." Noon? What time did I get here? How long had this been going on? My mind was fuzzy and I knew I'd faded in and out, but I couldn't stay unconscious. And when I was conscious, everything was a blur of pain, rending me limb from limb. Why could I hear everything but not see anything? Ow, ow. Don't press there! There should be tears in my eyes. Couldn't they see tears? I couldn't feel any, yet I felt every touch on my body and every stab of pain from my injuries. "Fuck! Look at that pussy. I knew she'd be a shaver." "Question is: did she get to use it last night? Still looks moist." "I was moist until she got here. Ten minutes more and I'd have flooded your cock." "Diastasis symphysis pubis. She's completely pinched off. We won't even be able to get a catheter in here if I don't set this." "You just want your fingers in her pussy." "Has to be some benefits in this job." "You mean besides me?" He had his hands on my cunt. Every probe of his fingers sent new rockets of pain into my spine. It was all a nightmare, but I couldn't wake up and I couldn't pass out. What did they do to me that made my body unable to respond to the pain I was feeling inside? "Were you two having a New Year party without me?" Which of these bastards was the worst? I couldn't decide. Every time one pain subsided, a different one took my attention. Every time one of my tormentors spoke it was more disgusting than the last. "Oh, poor Jim. You can join us once this is over. I do like having your little pencil dick in my ass while Trent fills me up front." My nurse was worse than her male partners. I reflexively clenched my ass, but nothing happened. Never in a million years will I ever let a man in there. If I lived. Ow! God! He pushed his fingers into my cunt. He was stretching me. It hurt so bad. "Is she nice and wet, Doc?" "Get real, Jim. I've got enough lube on my fingers to grease that old truck of yours. Damn, she's tight though. If I don't get this bone relocated she'll never have sex again. Or piss." "At least Abby wouldn't have any competition then. Two to one says Trent has her bouncing on his pole in a month." Laughter. Don't they know I can hear them? Don't they know I feel his fingers reaching inside me, stretching me beyond my limits, hurting me even more? It felt like his whole hand was in me. His other hand slid down my stomach to press against my mound. It hurt! It hurt! But now I knew them all. Jim the incompetent pencil dick at my head who couldn't tell I was in pain. Trent, the doctor with his fingers—his hand—in my cunt. Abby, the foul-mouthed slut of a nurse. I would get them. I wasn't going to die, but they'd wish I had. I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD, I WILL KILL YOU ALL! "Let's hope this works," Doctor Fingers-In-My-Cunt said. "I don't want to have to cut this beauty." I could hear the crack. The resounding echo reached my ears with the pain that shot up my spine to the back of my head. The torture—the cutting—the stabbing—wasn't enough. They would cripple me. I felt it in front. I felt the bones move and snap into place. But the pain that shot from the base of my spine overwhelmed the relief as his fingers withdrew from my cunt. This was it. This was the last. My body couldn't take any more. My heart couldn't keep beating. I convulsed on the table, every muscle spasming. This time I felt my feet and fingers move. This is the last thing I'll ever feel then it will finally be over. "She's awake! Knock her out. If she moves now she'll tear something else. Fuck! How much did she..." At last! At last darkness surrounded me and I lost the pain. ------- Chapter 2 Muted sounds reached my ears. The soft beeping was muffled, as though someone had thrown a blanket over its source. Mechanical breathing puffed in and out, too regular and even to have been human, yet I knew my chest was rising and falling in time. I dared open my eyes. Just a tiny slit. The room was softly lit, the light not too harsh for my unused eyes. The scent being pumped into my nose was cool oxygen, but filtered behind it was an antiseptic smell. No one seemed to be moving nearby. Perhaps I was the last person left on earth, attached to machines to be sure my body was preserved for millennia. Or perhaps it was just the middle of the night in a hospital. Hospital. My heart leapt. I heard an answering response in the frequency of muffled beeps and calmed myself. I can't let them know I'm awake, I thought, irrationally. They'll hurt me. Of course, the more I tried to calm myself, the worse the beeping became. A shadow fell across my bed and I looked up at a figure standing near me. "You are in a hospital, dear," a soft voice said. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I know how waking up alone can frighten a person when she's been unconscious as long as you. But it's okay, now. We expected you to wake soon." "Who are you?" My voice sounded raw and it hurt to speak. "I'm Nurse McCall, dear. I'll be taking care of you at night." "Abby?" "Abby? Oh. No, dear. Abby is the OR nurse. You're in intensive care now. If you'd like I'll have her pay a visit." I shook my head. "How long?" "Your accident was on New Year's Eve, or rather early New Year's Day. You were in surgery for most of the day. It's early morning on the fifth now. You've been out for the first four days of the year, I'm afraid." I moaned. "Are you comfortable? Your painkillers are being administered intravenously, but you must tell me if you are in pain. You were badly hurt and we don't want you uncomfortable. Are you sure you are okay?" I nodded. No, I am not okay. I will never be okay again. "Sleep?" I said. "That's a good idea," Nurse McCall said. "Just relax and know that we are here to help you. You're going to get better soon." I closed my eyes. I felt, more than heard, her footsteps as she left. I couldn't really assess my own condition. I was too tired to move. My limbs were too heavy. But the thought of sleep made me panic. I didn't dare let them catch me asleep. They could hurt me again. I opened my eyes when I was sure she was gone and lay looking at the dimly lit ceiling until exhaustion claimed me and I sank to oblivion again. ------- "Well, it's good to see you awake at last," the man in a white coat said to me. White coats mean something. You see them in movies all the time. They are worn by evil men experimenting in secluded laboratories. They plan to destroy the world. Or they are the men in asylums who drug the patients and make zombies of them. I know what white coats mean. "Who are you?" I croaked. "I'm Doctor Albion, Margot," he said. "Don't you remember me?" "Trent?" I whispered. He's come for me. He'll kill me this time. "Who? No dear. I can see you are still a little confused. I'm Doctor Robert Albion. I've known you and your family for years. Someone must have mentioned Trent Adams to you. He's the doctor who performed your emergency surgery on New Year's Day. He saved your life, Margot." The man—Doctor Albion ... snowed in ... triage—reached out a hand to touch my face. I turned away from the touch. He pretended not to notice, nodding his head and muttering "good, good." He didn't know what the monsters did to me. He pretended not to know. How could anyone not know what went on in that torture chamber. "You are going to heal up just fine," Doctor Albion said. Did I know him? "If they'd treated the head injury first without the CT scan, they might not have known about the ruptured spleen until you woke up. It saved your life. These stitches are tightly done and in a month—when your hair grows back out—you won't even have a visible scar." Hair? Scar? I raised my hand. Oh no! My hand wouldn't move! But I was awake. I was carrying on a conversation. I looked at my right arm. It was encased in plaster, straps supporting it and preventing me from moving it. "This arm took two hours in surgery in the afternoon to set and pin the breaks. Doctor Adams and his team did it right. They swept the area for bone fragments, pinned the humerus together, and stitched you up. That arm is going to scar, but we'll get a good plastic surgeon in for you after the bone has knit. The femur didn't break the skin. They were able to set that, but you probably won't be able to put much weight on it for about three weeks. There will be some physical therapy for you to work through, but you're young. There should be no permanent damage there." He moved around the bed to my left side and to my horror lifted the sheet and pulled my flimsy gown aside. I clapped my left arm across my breasts dragging tubes with me as I edged myself to the right a fraction of an inch. It was all the mobility I had and I felt a twinge in my lower back. "Is your incision painful?" Doctor Albion asked. He lifted the dressing and examined the stitches that I saw on my abdomen. I would never wear a bikini again. I felt a tear run down my cheek and track toward my ear. "It's a little puffy. I'm going to change your antibiotic. You should be able to fight off any infection and we'll know in twenty-four hours if we need to do anything else." He covered me back up, but I didn't relax. Who did he think I was? Just lifting my blanket and gown to look wherever he wanted? "Everything seems to be working. We're moving you out of Intensive Care this morning and into a room of your own. You'll lose some of these tubes and get a taste of real food," the doctor said as he stood to leave. "Margot, no one will ever be able to tell you how lucky you are. You've survived an automobile accident that should have killed you. You were resuscitated three times. A top-notch, skilled surgeon happened to be here late at night on a holiday in the midst of the worst storm this area has had in over fifty years. You are a miracle, Margot. We're all glad to have you alive." The doctor turned to leave then hesitated. "Your husband and your parents have been here almost the whole time. I'm sure they'll be in to visit you shortly." Then he was gone. I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath, but when I let it out, pain lanced through my right side and I remembered something about broken ribs. I had to get out of this place. I had to get home. ------- "There's my sweetheart," Mother said as she came into the room. Nurses and orderlies had moved me out of Intensive care through the simple expedient of rolling my bed out the door and into an elevator. The motion made me a little dizzy, but I couldn't imagine having to move on my own. Every time I'd tried, something new had hurt. I asked for more pain relievers twice and the result was a pleasant fog over my brain that blocked both the physical and emotional pain. It also made me dull. It took me a minute to realize who was speaking to me. "Mother." "We dropped everything to get here from London, but flights were delayed for two days because of the storm. You would not have believed the airports, dear. Even the club rooms were crowded. And children. The little brats were everywhere," Mother continued. I was thankful for the drugs again. ------- It was always like this. Whatever the occasion, it was all about Mother. She drifted in and out of focus as I kept seeing images of childhood rushing past me. "Margot had her tonsils out, so we had to cancel our trip to Cancun," she'd said when I was twelve. "You wouldn't believe the number of calls we had to make to get refunds on our deposits. Well, it was a medical emergency, I'd explain, and then someone would talk to me in Spanish. I had to get our housekeeper to come and translate for me. Those people simply have no respect for other people's time." Aside from the introduction of the topic, it was the only time my tonsils had been mentioned. My high school graduation focused around what caterers would be hired for the party and who would be on the guest list. I hadn't even contributed a list of friends to invite. Mother invited everyone she'd ever spoken to. The party was the event of the year. My graduation was only an excuse to hold it. I didn't bother to plan my wedding. I simply gave Mother the name of Garth's mother and they took it from there. I have no idea who attended. Every time Mother started talking, my mind went elsewhere. I knew I'd get nothing new from her on any subject that was of interest to me. I suppose that one benefit of making sure she was the subject of every conversation was that she never gossiped about anyone else. Even my best friend's unplanned pregnancy in high school focused around how people thought Mother had allowed the un-chaperoned party in her home that resulted in the pregnancy. I never bothered to tell her that I had been deflowered at the same party. I'm sure she would have figured a way to make that about her as well. ------- "Hello, baby," Daddy said when Mother had finally run out of steam and went to find a decent cup of coffee. She'd taken Garth with her as she needed someone to explain a caramel macchiato to the barista. "Hi, Daddy," I answered. "I look terrible. I'm sorry." He held my left hand gently. It was bruised, but nothing was broken. It had been caught somehow by the airbag and smashed against my chest. There was a fading bruise there as well, I'd discovered. "Not so bad," he smiled. "Not when you consider what Garth's face looks like," he chuckled. "What a train-wreck. A few scratches will heal on you in no time and your hair will grow back as beautiful as ever. I'm so thankful you'll recover. I'll get a referral for a plastic surgeon and he'll have you good as new in no time." "I don't want more surgery," I said softly. No matter how old I was, I was still Daddy's little girl. "They hurt me, Daddy," I whispered. "Oh, it wasn't the doctors who hurt, baby. You were so badly injured. Doctor Albion says you got great care." "Do we know Doctor Albion?" I asked. "Honey, you know Doctor Albion. We've known him for years." "I forget." "It's the drugs," he said with finality. "Once the pain has subsided, things will be clearer. You just rest. We'll take care of everything." Everyone wanted to take care of everything. The drugs were certainly clouding things. Simple memories that should be at the tip of my tongue were floating just beyond my reach, while every time I closed my eyes I was back in the operating room crying for them to stop hurting me. Humiliated. Assaulted. Abused. ------- "You look terrible," I said. "Thanks," Garth answered. "You're a treat, too." His entire face was black and blue, bandages across his broken nose and stitches in his lower lip. Otherwise he'd escaped with nothing more than a few bruises and complaints about his aching back. We really didn't have much to talk about. We never had much to talk about anymore. He went through the list of friends who had called, pointed out the flowers, and read the cards. "John and Jenny were appalled," he said. Great. Here we go about Jenny again. "They kept saying that if they'd known what the conditions were they would never have let us leave. Everyone else stayed the night. Now that would have been fun. We'd still be there partying." "We were drunk," I said flatly. I still couldn't remember all the details, but I remembered having been sick. "You were drunk and drove anyway." "Hey, none of this was my fault. You insisted it was time to leave. And the snowplow didn't stop at the intersection. We had the right of way." "Well, I'm glad to know I was almost killed but we had the right of way." "You sound like the cops," he growled. "Can you believe they took my driver's license? Talk about punishing the victims. I'll be fighting this one in court, I'll tell you. What's the name of that lawyer? You know, the one that got Brad Hendricks off." "That was for one of those camera speeding violations," I said. "And I don't remember who it was. I can't think." We were quiet for a while and I felt an increasing dread as nighttime approached. I couldn't help myself. I felt tears running down my cheeks. "Hey! Are you okay? Do you need some more pain medicine?" Garth asked. "No," I whispered. "Garth, you have to get me out of here." "You won't be leaving here for days at least," he said. "Even if you could leave, I don't have a way to get you home." "They hurt me, Garth. I can't stay here. They'll hurt me again." "What are you talking about?" "I was awake. They took me into the operating room and I could feel everything. I felt them cut me. I heard what they were saying. I felt it when they pulled my spleen out. I felt the pressure on my brain explode when they opened a hole. I heard them. I felt them ... touch me. Get me out of here. Please, Garth, don't let them touch me again." There. I'd done it. I'd told my secret. Even then, I couldn't tell him they talked about my breasts and my pussy. I couldn't tell him that they fondled me or that the doctor that everyone spoke so highly of had put his fingers in my cunt. I couldn't say that. But Garth would believe that I was awake. He would see and take me away. "That's insane," he explained. "You were unconscious. They operated on you for hours. There were only three people on the operating room staff who were here in the blizzard. I had to sign a waiver and permission so they could go ahead and operate. And you were awake? That's radical!" "Please, get me out of here," I whimpered. "I'm afraid." ------- Dinner, such as it was, had been served and taken away. I wasn't given anything really solid to eat and was thankful as my jaw was sore, too. Visiting hours had ended. Garth left and said he was staying at the nearby hotel where my parents were. They had left in the mid-afternoon because Mother was just too tired to endure the hospital any longer. I lay in my hospital bed with an increasing sense of dread as the sounds around me quieted. I had a private room. Of course. I wouldn't share a room. I hadn't even shared a room when I went to college and lived in a dormitory that first year. It was hard enough to share a house with Garth. Garth. He'd pooh-poohed the idea that I was awake during surgery at first, but then he'd taken it seriously. Something about how if it was true it was a major mal-practice suit waiting to happen. He couldn't take me home, but he'd look into it. Would he? He gave them permission. He was drunk and injured and he signed a waiver. Had he known? Was I safe, even with him? I was shivering. There was nothing I could do—no way to run. My husband had given doctors permission to torture and abuse me. He was as much an animal as they were. My god! What am I going to do? "Excuse me. Margot Pembroke?" a man standing in my doorway asked. He was tall and thin, dressed in green scrubs. A white mask dangled around his neck and he wore a matching green hat on his head. "Yes," I squeaked as my head denied what I was saying, shaking left to right. I didn't want him to know. I knew that voice! Just those few words matched my memory with the man at my head during surgery. He was the one. He confirmed it. "I'm James Defoe. I was the anesthesiologist during your emergency surgery." He held a clipboard and came up beside my bed. He towered over me, looking down and his eyes raked across my form from head to toe. Only a thin gown and the hospital sheet and blanket separated me from his stare. I was still shaking. Praying he would turn around and leave. He pulled a stool up next to me and sat on it casually. His eyes were unreadable, his expression neutral. At any moment I could be his victim again. "I understand you think you were awake during surgery." ------- Chapter 3 He leaned in toward me and I could feel his breath against my cheek. It was fresh, like he'd just used a sweet mouthwash. I think I was awake? I think? I know damn good and well I was awake! But how much did I dare let him know? Would he come back to finish the job? Would they wheel me back into surgery to "correct" a problem and make sure that I never came out? They tortured me! I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I nodded my head. "I take this very seriously, Ms. Pembroke," he said calmly. "May I call you Margot? I want you to know that. Very seriously. My job is to make absolutely certain that you feel no pain and have no memory of your procedure. A failure of this sort would be a travesty." He's admitting it? If he would admit it, then he couldn't let me live. They'd all lose their licenses. Assaulting a patient would be the end of them. But if he intended to go on practicing, torturing people, he'd have to get rid of the witness. How many people had died in agony at his hands? "We have a simple test to determine whether there was actual awareness during the procedure. It's just five questions, but it enables us to cross-check your awareness pattern with actual events to determine if it was awareness, or if at some point during the waking process, you had a dream. Now, what was the last thing you remember before going to sleep?" "What do you mean? The last thing before anesthesia?" "Yes. For example, do you remember the accident and nothing after that? Do you remember being admitted to the hospital? Just in general, where did your consciousness fade from you?" "I remember seeing the snowplow, but the next thing was a guy talking about getting me out of the car. I couldn't figure out why he was so concerned since I was dead. The same guy, I think, kept talking to me all the way to the hospital, but I was out of it most of the time. He was nice, but monotonous. There were snatches of conversation or just words, but I don't remember much until I was moving with lights overhead and someone said 'Knock her out.' That's when I went to sleep." It was so vivid in my mind. These little details I was storing up. They all came out in a rush that hurt my lungs. Why am I even answering his questions? He is the enemy. "What is the first thing you remember after waking up?" he asked. "My head exploding." He looked at me curiously. "I screamed because I felt a sudden hole in my head. Then I felt a pain in my side. I was being stabbed." "I see. Let's rephrase the question. This morning when you came out of your coma, what is the first thing you remember?" he said. "Oh. The nurse. No. I heard the beeping noise and remembered I was in a hospital." "That quickly? That's amazing cognizance coming from such a deep sleep. That will be useful. Now, do you remember anything between going to sleep and waking up?" "You mean like my head exploding?" I asked sarcastically. "This would be the time to bring that up, yes." "After I adjusted to the pain in my head, I became aware that I was being cut, like I was a slab of beef on the butcher block. I felt the pull of taking out my spleen and voices. And a toothache in my stomach when wind blew in on me." "Voices?" "Someone said I'd been crushed against the console and that ruptured my spleen." I carefully edited myself. That was a safe thing to say. "I kept trying to scream that I was awake and they were hurting me." "Anything else?" Was he fishing? I felt you grab my boobs and pinch my nipples. I felt the damned doctor jam his hand in my pussy and hurt me. I heard what you said! "No. Just that there was a huge crack and pain that shot up my back. I felt myself come off the table and then went back to sleep." "Okay. Next question. Did you dream during your procedure?" Dream? Do you think you can convince me I was dreaming? Do I look crazy to you? I saw what I saw. I heard what I heard. I felt what I felt. "No. I don't recall any dreams," I said calmly. "Everything was very real." "Dreams are often that way. Last question. What was the worst thing about your operation?" What am I supposed to say? The worst thing? The humiliation and violation of my body? The anger? The pain? "It was being helpless," I admitted at last. "The worst thing was not being able to stop it." He was silent for a moment. I was breathing shallowly but rapidly. I couldn't get a lungful of air because of the pain in my ribs. I didn't trust him. I knew what he'd done and he was still looking at my body ... hungrily. Even cut and bruised with an arm and a leg in a cast. He wanted to take me again. "I'm so sorry you went through all this," he said softly—convincingly. "You should never have felt or been aware of anything during surgery. We only wanted to save your life. There is still a question regarding whether what you remember was actually from the surgery. I'm going to consult with the staff on this, but the likely recommendation will be for you to see a clinical psychologist who can better diagnose what your mental condition is. I can tell from your answers that you experienced something. I can't verify that it was a case of anesthetic awareness. I trust that you are resting well now and that there will be no long-term effects of the induced coma that was used to help your recovery. Understand that the surgical team and the hospital only want to help you. We'll take care of everything." Everything? What do you think you'll take care of? He stood and walked to the door. I couldn't help myself. I didn't mean to say anything out loud, but it escaped. "Did you get your pencil-dick up Abby's ass when we were through?" He stopped and turned back toward me. I thought he would blush, confess, beg forgiveness. I was wrong. He walked back toward my bed and stood over me. "I am a medical professional, Ms. Pembroke. I am more than willing to take the hit on my insurance to make restitution if you were put in distress through any act or negligence of mine while you were in surgery. But my good name and those of the rest of the team are not for sale at any price. I will defend myself and my family against defamation to the fullest extent of the law. Do you understand?" I was shaking again. I nodded once. I'm still going to kill you. ------- There was no way to get out of the hospital without healing rapidly. I focused all my attention on getting better. I turned down extra painkillers, even when the pain increased. I would show them that I was well enough to go home. To run from this den of madmen and never return. I was visited by the hospital psychologist, but I understood the plan now. It was clear. They would band together and discount what I said. I would never be able to accuse them of the sexual harassment that was the worst part of what I experienced—the humiliating way they talked about me and touched me. I would never be able to make them pay for the pain and mental anguish they inflicted on me. I would wait until I found a woman I could trust who would be abhorred by what I went through. The psychologist was identical to the anesthesiologist. He didn't wear scrubs, but his bedside manner was the same. Their schools must be like Play Dough Factories—put the same shit in one end and identical bricks come out the other. He asked the same questions. I answered as much as possible with the same answers. I didn't say anything else. I wanted out of the hospital and I didn't want anyone to have an excuse for keeping me here. He hemmed and coughed when I told the story. He said there were some significant gaps in my story and that my details did not match the doctor's or nurse's description of the order of things. He would need a correlation between what I said and what the others said in order to suggest a treatment. "People have a wide variety of experiences under anesthesia. Dreams and hallucinations are common. Only one or two cases out of a thousand have any actual degree of unintended intra-operative awareness. Very few of those are as extensive as you describe. In the vast majority of cases, the mind makes jumps during the awakening process as the anesthesia wears off. You have an awareness of where you think you are combined with experiences you've had in the past, even what you have read in books or have seen in movies. Your dream state weaves these into your awakening consciousness and you actually believe you have experienced these things. I would suggest, however, that you seek therapy after you have been released. I can recommend several good counselors if you would like me to," he said. He was so sanctimonious. Could he be right? Am I only remembering a dream? "Thank you, Doctor Zimmerman," I said. "No, I'm not a doctor. I'm a therapist. Just call me Allen," he said. Such condescension! "I don't think you are crazy, Margot. But we all need help after an experience like yours. Your body has undergone severe trauma, but also you have been sedated, been in a coma, have died three—no—four times and been resuscitated. I wouldn't be surprised if you have to deal with your own form of PTSD in the near future. It is not only veterans of war zones that go through that." "Okay. Well then thank you, Allen. You've been a great help and I'm sure I'll be just fine." When I've killed you all! "Take care, Margot. And if you just need to talk, feel free to give me a call." ------- Five days after I awoke from my coma, I was released to go home. I was still in almost constant pain, but I didn't let on. I'd endured worse. I'd lived through hell and I could take this pain. In fact, I embraced it. Every headache, every backache, every stabbing agony and irritating itch in my arm, my leg, and my side reminded me of what they had done to me. It sharpened my resolve. I would find help I could trust and I would go after them for everything I could get. Their blood if I could manage it. Garth had taken care of getting me twenty-four hour nursing care so I could be home instead of in the hospital. As expensive as that was, it was cheaper than staying in the hospital and insurance covered everything anyway. And if it didn't, I'd just write a check. That's what money was for. I didn't trust my nurses. The hospital had recommended the service and I knew they had to be spies. They asked me questions about my pain level and my memories. They tested me every day, but I wouldn't fall into their traps. The worst pain was my lower back. My head sometimes itched where they had drilled a hole to release the pressure. The surgery site for my spleen healed quickly; though I was warned not to lift anything over five pounds when they took the stitches out. Lying in bed most of the time there was nothing within reach that weighed more than five pounds. But my back still radiated pain as if I'd gathered it from the rest of my body and flung it into my pelvis. I couldn't stand the thought of being touched there. My pubic hair grew back and itched for the first two or three weeks. Garth offered to scratch it for me and I nearly bit his hand off. I'd deal with that later. Maybe I can get Jenny to jack him off for me. He'd like that. As soon as I could, I hired a live-in caretaker and shifted my nurses to a three-times-a-day house call. Having broken the yoke of the spies, I began searching for a therapist. I knew I needed one, not because I needed counseling, but because I needed an ally. I needed to gradually capture her and lead her into my story until she could take the witness stand in a trial and convince a courtroom that I had been sexually assaulted while supposedly under anesthetic. I still couldn't leave the house except in a medi-van that took me to my doctor's office to have my stitches removed, my casts removed, and examine my head. Later, when the casts were off, the van would take me to physical therapy each day. But until I could arrange my own transportation, I couldn't go to see a therapist. Finding one—a female who would make house calls—was a task. ------- When Mavis, my caretaker, led Dr. Louise Ransom into my bedroom, I was already a wreck. And it was no act. I'd drifted off to sleep early in the afternoon after the nurse had stopped by to give me my medication and check my vital signs. I didn't intend to sleep—in fact, I hadn't been sleeping much. I was too prone to nightmares when I allowed myself to sleep. But this afternoon, I'd been particularly uncomfortable and slid down in the bed to lie flat. They'd told me the shooting pains down my right leg were the result of the bones healing, but I knew they were coming from higher. It was my lower back and all the sitting in bed that I did was a hard position for me. The pain is my friend, I told myself. The pain keeps me sharp. The pain reminds me. It was with that mantra that I allowed myself to sleep. The dreams were horrifying. In the ten days I was in the hospital and two weeks since I'd come home, James Defoe, the anesthesiologist, was the only one of the surgical team that I met. I thought it was strange that the doctor who operated on me didn't come by to look at his handiwork or follow up with his patient, but the only doctor I saw was Robert Albion. Once he released me, I checked in with my own personal physician. It felt right to be back in the care of a woman. But Doctor Trent Adams and Nurse Abby were constantly in my dreams. Having no physical reference for them, they assumed grotesque shapes in my imagination, feeding on my pain. James Defoe, while reaching out to pinch my nipples, retained his human form. I'd dreamt that I was in surgery and the monster doctor was tearing my body in half, using my vagina as a hand-hold. I woke to sweat pouring down my face and a scream stifled in my throat as I realized I'd been dreaming. Still, when Doctor Ransom entered my bedroom, I was breathing hard and painfully as my ribs expanded and contracted, and tears flowed down my cheeks. Mavis helped me to my sitting position, piled pillows behind me, and wiped my tears as she made little "tut-tut" noises. She'd seen it all before. She kindly pushed a chair over next to the bed for Doctor Ransom and then left. She closed the door and Doctor Ransom went to make sure it was latched. "Tell me," she said as she sat on the edge of the bed, ignoring the chair Mavis had provided. She handed me a tissue and I blew my nose noisily. "Tell me all about it." "They're monsters," I began. ------- Chapter 4 "Why won't you share it all with me?" Louise asked. You wouldn't believe me. No one would believe me. I'd been seeing her twice a week for a month now. As soon as I'd finally admitted to most of what I remembered, she'd contacted a lawyer she knew and a suit was put in motion. I was claiming a million dollars in costs and mental anguish. But through all this, I hadn't mentioned the vulgar way they referred to my body, handling my breasts, and invading my vagina. I was convinced no one would believe me and frightened of James Defoe's threat to counter for defamation if I accused them. And it was too humiliating. To admit that I lay passively on a table while they talked about me and handled me was beyond my ability. I was so ashamed. Janna Darnell, my lawyer, had sent me to an independent psychiatrist who confirmed that my experiences were definitely anesthetic awareness. Armed with that knowledge, she had contacted my insurance company and they joined me in the lawsuit. The case bordered on medical malpractice, and unless the hospital could prove that I was unconscious the surgical team would have to concede. Then the battle would be between the doctors and their insurers to see who paid. It looked like an easy win, especially since the doctor had admitted there was a moment when my body "responded to stimuli" and I was put under immediately. I knew exactly when that was and wouldn't say more than "I felt a pain in my back" as the last thing I remembered before being knocked out. It was true. I told her that I had continuing sharp pain radiating out of my pelvis and lower spine. But I did not say that I knew precisely what was being "treated." Louise continued to ask what the rest of the story was, but was careful not to put too much pressure on me. Just thinking of it made me shrink into myself and made the pain flare up. "We could try hypnosis," Louise suggested. I shook my head. That would simply make me more vulnerable and helpless. What little control I had left, I held to with all my might. ------- "Oh, come on, Margot. It's been four months," Garth whined. What a baby. "As long as I don't put too much pressure on your leg it should be fine. I'll be careful. But I've gotta have you, baby." "Forget it, Garth. I hurt. I don't feel like sex." You're not going to touch me. "Honey, even if we don't have intercourse, there's lots of ways I can please you ... and that you could please me." He moved in to kiss me and I turned my head. You give me the creeps. "I could get you revved up. I know what you like, baby. Let me put my tongue where it will do you the most good." Why don't you swallow it? "I'm not in the mood." "That's just because you're not giving it a chance. You know the French fry theory. You taught it to me. If I order them, you'll want just a little taste and then you'll probably want some, too." Stop it! I'm tired of this. His hands were creeping around to my tits and he started to maul them. It used to be so sexy. My nipples would come to life and send shocks of pleasure straight to my cunt. Now every caress, every pinch of my nipples sent bolts of pain up my spine. Don't you get it? Don't you know what they did to me? "Stop it, Garth. You're hurting me." "Baby..." GO AWAY! "I said stop it!" I cried. He rolled away from me at last. He was panting. I thought he'd just go to sleep now, but that wasn't good enough for him. He swung his legs out of bed and stood up, his hard cock pointing accusingly at me. "I've had it, Margot. You've had time, but we had a marriage. If you aren't coming back to it, then there's no reason for me to stay." "Is that a threat?" You son of a bitch! "No. It's too late for threats. It's a decision." JUST LEAVE ME ALONE! "I'll have my lawyer contact you." He started pulling his pants on, stuffing his overgrown cock into them. "Don't try to change the locks until I've removed what's mine. I'll break the doors down if you try." He spun on his heel and left. Good riddance! ------- "I'll try," I said meekly. Louise and I sat in the living room. I couldn't stand to be in the bedroom anymore. It looked empty without Garth's clothes, his shoes—even the alarm clock on his bedside table. The living room had holes in it. His chair. His big screen TV. His lamp. His stereo. His presence was gone. I hated the feeling that it gave me, but I hated him even more. It was his driving that left me in the clutches of those bastards. I should kill him, too. It's as much his fault as theirs. Mavis had driven me to the mall when the moving van pulled up to the house. I left the door unlocked and didn't care what he took. I didn't want it—any of it. In all honesty, I couldn't see that he'd taken anything he wasn't entitled to. Louise and I had talked and talked. Each time she came back with the suggestion that we try hypnotism. I'd started to tell her several times, but I simply couldn't do it. But today ... two pieces of paper lay on the table in front of us. One was the Petition for Dissolution of Marriage. He hadn't wasted time getting that filed and notice served. Looking at the paper made my stomach turn. I couldn't believe I'd ever married him—let him touch me. I was glad he was gone. The other paper upset me more. The insurance company had made an offer to settle without prejudice. No trial. No accusations. A simple check for $250,000 and a signed agreement not to disclose or discuss. I was shaking. I was mad and frightened. What did the offer make me? A very expensive whore. I didn't want their money. I wanted retribution. Janna thought she could negotiate another hundred thousand, but I didn't want to settle so easily. Louise wanted to find out why. The only way she would ever find out was if she plucked it out of my head. I needed her. I needed her as a witness and as a friend. But most of all, I needed her to believe me. "I'll try. I'm so frightened." I wept in her arms as she comforted me. I heard her voice soothing me, asking me to relax. Her tone changed and I recognized it as the same monotone that the EMT used in the ambulance. She was calm and reassuring. My sobs lessened, though the pain was still there. My ribs were healed and the gasping sobs no longer caused me to suffer, but the pain in my pelvis and my back persisted. The pain in my heart was inconsolable. As Louise spoke to me softly, I followed her instructions and willed each of my muscles to relax. My scalp, relaxing round the scar, now covered by two inches of new hair. My arms, with bones knit together, but muscles not yet strong enough to exert any force. My chest, ribs only occasionally giving me a twinge, but my once sensitive nipples—the primary source of my sexual pleasure—sending only signals of pain and humiliation to my brain. My abdomen, still feeling hollow, but only a fine scar showing where they had cut me. My leg, slower to heal than the arm, causing me to limp and move slowly as I could not use a cane on that side of my body. My arm was too weak to support my weight. My pelvis. Oh, god! No! The shooting pain from my crotch up the base of my spine, a constant reminder that I was still damaged. I sucked in my breath, but brought my eyes to focus on the small jewel Louise held before them—hearing her voice and never really knowing when I slipped away. ------- "Where does money come from?" I was watching Daddy pay for my new bicycle—my first two-wheeler with training wheels so I wouldn't fall over while I learned to ride. I loved my daddy. He always bought me nice things. But I didn't understand where the money came from and I was almost eight years old. I should know these things. He laughed. "Baby girl, where do you think it comes from?" I thought hard. I'd only ever seen money come from one source. "It comes from Daddy!" I exclaimed, suddenly feeling like I understood the world. "That's right, baby girl." I was satisfied for only a moment, though. "Daddy, where did you get the money?" "I got it from my daddy, silly-kins." "Oh!" Now it all made sense. Daddies were the source of all things and my daddy was the best. That's why I had money. ------- Louise told me to remember something that made me happy. That was the memory that I awoke with. I remembered telling Louise many things, but I was still happy because my Daddy was the best. He always had been. He didn't have to go to work to get his money like some daddies did. He didn't even have to pay attention to it because "his people" did that for him. All Daddy did was provide for my happiness. I loved him. It took me a few minutes to notice the concerned look on Louise's face. "What is it, Louise?" I asked. I felt better than I had in months. Even the pain in my back was less. "Margot, about the settlement..." "Yes?" "You need to call Janna and tell her to reject it. Tell her that I'll discuss the matter with her." "Okay." I wasn't going to accept their insult anyway. I didn't need money. I needed them to suffer. I called Janna and gave her the message, giving her permission to discuss it with Louise. "This was a very good session, Margot," Louise said. "You made a lot of progress and you can tell by how much better you feel now. We might need to have a couple more sessions like this, but I think you will be fine. When we get things through court and get those bastards locked up, you'll truly be able to heal. ------- Garth had signed a pre-nup before we were married. He'd done it willingly and my trust fund would always be mine and mine alone. All the property acquired after marriage, however—regardless of whose funds had been used—was community property. That included the house, the cars, the antiques, the artwork and even my jewelry. The lawyers worked out exclusions we both agreed. Garth kept his new BMW, purchased to replace the wreck, even though he wouldn't get his driver's license back for another three months. I kept my diamond necklace and tiara. The vultures kept a tally of who got what, putting a price on each item in their household and balancing the accounts, taking a percentage of everything. Anything we couldn't agree on or nobody wanted was to be put up for auction and the proceeds divided equally. The house. I was done with it. Garth declined it as part of settlement, so it went to auction. Just when the bottom fell out of the housing market. The auction price was forty percent below what market value had been just six months earlier. It barely covered the mortgage due. But it was the last thing we held in common and the divorce decree was final when the gavel fell. Thank God that's over. I'll never have to see the bastard again. ------- I had a new penthouse apartment with plenty of room for Mavis. I wanted to keep her on as a companion. She'd been there through the hard times and after a long talk, an increase in her pay, and a redefinition of her duties, she agreed to stay as live-in housekeeper and cook. I wasn't kidding myself. Mavis wasn't my best friend, no matter how easy she was to get along with. But I just couldn't face being alone. I felt safer when Mavis was there. Safety was always an issue. I hated always being afraid. I was afraid my right leg wasn't strong enough to drive, even though my physical therapist told me it was. My steps were still hesitant because I didn't trust my balance. I didn't want people to see my ragged hair as it grew out. It screamed that I had a hole in my head. As much as I hated being alone in my apartment, I was afraid to leave by myself. I'd chosen the top floor because it was the most isolated. It even had a private elevator so I could go directly to the car without seeing anyone else. Except Mavis. Mavis drove me wherever I needed to go—to physical therapy, to see Louise, to have my hair done. Otherwise I stayed home. Mavis was my lifesaver. I'll always have Mavis. ------- Then there was Louise. Louise was my friend, my counselor, my confidant. I'd been progressing in therapy, feeling more positive about myself. I'd had a hypnotism session about once every other week and they always made me feel much better. Louise was no longer coming to my home for the sessions; I was going to her office. That was a sign of progress, she said. When she came to my apartment, it was as a friend, not a therapist. "You know, I'm going to have to refer you to another therapist soon," she said one day. "Why? We're doing so well. Have I done something wrong?" I was devastated. What did I do that Louise no longer wants to see me? "Margot, we've become friends. I can't counsel you effectively if I can't see you objectively. It's a conflict of interest. I might not be able to be honest with you if I'm too concerned about what you think of me," she said. "I could either continue to be your therapist or continue to be your friend. I don't think I'm strong enough to choose my profession over our friendship." "But you'll wait until after the court date, won't you?" I begged. "I can't face them without you." I was near panic. Without Louise I would never be brave enough to accuse my tormentors. I'd entrusted my story to her. I'd opened my life. PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME! "Of course I'll wait until after the hearing. Please understand, though, that we'll have to be very careful not to have too personal a relationship until after the court has ruled. I have to be considered an impartial professional." What? How personal can a relationship get? You are my friend. "I understand," I said. "I won't refer to you as my friend, but only as my therapist. I won't invite you to my home until after. Okay?" "That's right," she said calmly. "Let's get through the hearings and then we can work on how to best transfer you to a new therapist. I'll always be your friend, though." Thank God for Louise. Louise is my friend. ------- We sat in the judge's chambers. He'd asked for a meeting between the parties and both Janna and Louise accompanied me. We sat on one side of the judge's desk and across from us sat four people. I recognized James Defoe. His eyes burned into me like lasers. It was a warning and I cringed. I don't see why we have to sit opposite each other. An attorney—Mr. White, I think he said—sat next to Defoe and next to him were a man and woman introduced as Doctor Trent Adams and Nurse Abby Jones. They didn't look anything like I imagined. I half expected them to be the alien monsters that haunted my nightmares. I'd never actually met either one of them. Trent Adams was short and bald. He was constantly pulling his glasses off to clean them. Abby Jones was a middle aged woman with slightly graying hair. It just wasn't the image I had of them based on their voices. Then Doctor Adams spoke to the judge. "Your honor, I assure you we just want what is right for our patient. We saved her life. We don't want it to be a life of suffering." The effect was the same as striking me with his hand. I was thrown back in my seat. My eyes stung. What if it was true? What if I dreamed it all? They only wanted to take care of everything. I pulled on Janna's arm and she turned toward me. Louise leaned in close and I whispered to them. Janna's attention focused on me to the exclusion of everyone else in the room. "Are you sure?" she whispered. I nodded. She looked around at the other people in the room. "Ms. Darnell, if we could have your attention, please?" the judge said flatly. She turned to him sharply. "Your honor, before we proceed, plaintiff would like to see identification for the defendants." She paused and looked squarely at the doctor. "That is unusual," the judge said. "Why?" "My client believes that is not Doctor Trent Adams." ------- Chapter 5 "That's ridiculous. Of course, he is," the nurse answered. "And you aren't Abby Jones," I shouted. "What's the meaning of this," the judge rounded on the defense attorney. "Your honor, there is a simple explanation." "There had better be. You are all on the edge of contempt," the judge snapped. "Ms. Pembroke has made serious claims regarding being awake during surgery. Part of her claim was that she could hear what was being said," the attorney calmly explained. "We made an offer to settle, in spite of the fact that there was no way to verify if an actual incident of anesthetic awareness occurred. The actors sitting with me were asked to make simple statements at the opening in order to verify whether or not Ms. Pembroke could identify their voices. She has, and as a result we are willing to renew our settlement offer. Doctor Adams and Nurse Jones are waiting outside and would like to express their sincere apologies for the discomfort Ms. Pembroke suffered." Discomfort! I was rooted to my chair. How could they call it discomfort? I turned to Louise and wept into her shoulder. "Your honor, we find this behavior reprehensible," Janna said. "My client has been in severe physical, mental, and emotional pain for months and they have chosen to 'test' her without cause in an aggressive and unapproved manner. If this is the kind of behavior we can expect, we want summary judgment for the original amount of the suit of one million dollars." "I have noted your request," the judge said. "First, I want the real culprits in this room." He looked at the attorney and both he and the fake Adams and Jones left the room. "What about you?" the judge asked, looking at Defoe. "He's real," I said. Defoe pulled out his wallet and handed his driver's license to the judge. The judge handed it back as the attorney returned with two new people. "Your honor, I'm Doctor Trent Adams," the doctor said, handing the judge his license. "And I'm Abigail Jones," the nurse said. I nodded and saw that the judge and attorneys were all looking at me. Doctor Adams was about six feet or a hair under. He had brown hair and eyes and looked about as average as you could get. He weighed less than 200 pounds if I could estimate correctly. A little soft, but not obese. Nurse Jones was more what I expected. Mid-thirties, dishwater blonde, huge tits and a hard look in her eyes. I couldn't help but see my nightmare monsters superimposed over the two and slid back so that Louise partially hid me from them. "Now," the judge said as they settled into chairs, "I am inclined to agree with the plaintiff after that. Perhaps you could enlighten me as to what you are up to, Mr. Showalter." "Your honor, we received a complaint from Ms. Pembroke regarding her anesthesia immediately after her surgery and launched an investigation. It is rare to have unintended intra-operative awareness. Only one or two in a thousand surgeries see this. What Ms. Pembroke described was frightening, not only to her, but to the medical professionals at Lakeside Hospital. She described a sequence of events that she should not have been aware of, and although some details are inaccurate, enough was there to cause concern. We found no evidence that such an incident occurred, aside from her descriptions. Nonetheless, being conscientious medical professionals, the thought of a patient being in pain without their knowledge prompted the hospital, in agreement with the insurance company, to offer a settlement that would wipe out her hospital expenses and compensate her to the tune of a quarter million dollars." "Yes, we are familiar with the basic facts in the case as you have documented them and so has Ms. Pembroke," said the judge. "What of the stunt you just pulled." "Well, Ms. Pembroke has quoted several statements that she 'heard' during her surgery, and many of them are inaccurate according to the record and the recollection of the staff," the attorney continued. "It is possible she simply misunderstood statements or that residual effects of both the anesthesia and her drunkenness may have scrambled her memories. We wanted to ascertain whether or not she could, indeed, recognize the voices of the physician and nurse, whom she has never met except during surgery." "What drunkenness?" the judge asked, zeroing in on the statement the attorney slyly inserted. "Lab reports showed that both Ms. Pembroke and her husband, Mr. Oberman, had blood alcohol levels far in excess of the legal limit, which were undoubtedly a factor in the accident." "How far in excess?" "The legal limit is 0.08 and Ms. Pembroke's blood alcohol level was 0.14 and her husband's was 0.16. In addition to causing the accident..." "I object, your honor," Janna broke in. "Who or what caused the accident is of no concern here." "I agree," the judge said. "Is there other significance?" "Well, yes, your honor," the attorney said. "High blood alcohol levels can change the effectiveness of anesthetics. The team you see here was focused on saving the woman's life and responded as quickly as possible. Information on her alcohol consumption did not get to the operating room fast enough to be taken into consideration in calculating the correct dosage of anesthesia. The team used as little as possible because of the severity of the brain trauma and internal injuries." "I see. The result of your 'experiment' then was what?" the judge asked. "We determined that Ms. Pembroke could, indeed, identify the voices of Doctor Adams and Nurse Jones—or at least could identify the fact that the two people introduced in their stead were not the voices she heard," the attorney said. "This actually supports the initial claim that we have offered to settle." "Plaintiff is not willing to settle. We cannot accept an 'Oops, accidents happen, ' defense. The repartee Ms. Pembroke heard as she was suffering beneath their hands suggests the entire team was not paying attention to the patient's vital signs," Janna said. "The fact that Ms. Pembroke continues to suffer, both from pain and post-traumatic stress disorder, and may suffer this for the rest of her life, merits much higher compensation." "Mmm-hmm," the judge said while looking through a sheaf of papers. "The defense statements mention extenuating circumstances. Let's hear the rest of this report." "Your honor, we would like to submit the recorded video of the surgery," Mr. Showalter said. "Let's see it." Mr. Showalter pulled out a huge laptop computer and set it facing the judge and me. Janna and Louise crowded behind me to see. It was horrific. The video showed me being wheeled into the operating room. Jim Defoe was bent over me with a mask on me and attached a hanging bag to tubes that had already been inserted in my left arm. Nurse Jones began shaving my head. She only shaved the right side. I'd had the remainder cut off after I woke up. It would never have grown out evenly. Even now it made tears spring to my eyes to see my silky locks sheared like sheep's wool. The video played for nearly half an hour as they set the surgery up and checked vital signs. The doctor examined my head and spoke long, involved sentences regarding what he was looking for and what he was finding. The nurse was handing him knives and other equipment as he asked. He pulled a drill, not unlike the kind of tool a dentist would use, forward. "Stop the video a moment," the judge said. I felt myself let my breath out. I had no idea how long I'd been holding it, but stars sparkled in front of my eyes. The image froze. "I count three people and the patient in surgery. Is this everyone?" "That's all we had that night," Adams said. "Is that usual?" "No your honor. We would normally have at least six in the operating room, but Ms. Pembroke reached the operating room at nearly three o'clock in the morning on New Year's Day in the midst of the worst blizzard we have had here in twenty years. The entire hospital was short-staffed and no relief staff made it until after four o'clock that afternoon," the doctor said. "Yet you chose to operate anyway?" the judge asked. "As the attending physician, I felt we had no choice. In other circumstances, we would have airlifted her to Memorial, but nothing was flying. In my opinion, delaying surgery would have resulted in a full cessation of life functions." "Meaning?" "Death." "Very well. Continue the video." I watched again as they drilled the hole in my skull. I was passive. Although I knew this had happened and I could see my face, I wasn't there. It was scary to look at, but it wasn't personal. When the doctor withdrew the drill, he probed into the hole with something. Suddenly, a spurt of blood, so dark it could have been ink, erupted from the side of my head. I gasped and fell back as I cried out. "That was when I woke up! I thought the side of my head had exploded from the inside. The emptiness was as painful as the pressure was. I was screaming for them to stop. Please stop!" I gasped. The attorney froze the picture at the judge's gesture and I turned to sob into Louise's arms. I never thought I would have to relive that experience, but seeing it made the pain spring from my memory to my body like a rocket. "I was awake and aware from that point on," I cried. "I felt everything." God! Why do I have to feel this again? "I'm terribly, terribly sorry, Ms. Pembroke," the doctor said. "I really am. But that is not possible." "Why not? I know what I felt!" I cried. "Because," the doctor said quietly, "that is when you died." I looked at him in terror. What were they trying to pull? How could he calmly sit there and tell me I died? He asked the judge if they could continue the video. The images started to move again. "We have cardiac arrest," Defoe said over the speakers. "We need resuscitation, now." "I can't leave the wound," Adams said. "Abby, chest compressions." The nurse moved into position and began pumping my chest as the doctor moved behind my head giving Defoe access to my face. I couldn't tell what was happening, but in a moment he stepped back and I saw yet another tube running from my mouth. "Intubation is complete," Defoe said. "Pumping 100% oxygen into the lungs." Abby kept pressing on my chest in the video. My ribs cried out from the sight, just knowing how they were giving with each press of her hands. "We have heartbeat," Defoe said. "Thirty, now forty beats per minute and steady. Nice work, Abby. We're going to get you through this, Margot," he said on the recording. "We'll take care of everything." The tape continued to run, showing that Doctor Adams had irrigated the hemorrhage in my head and it had reduced to a trickle into a pan next to my head. They proceeded after agreeing that it was safe to take care of the spleen. ------- I watched. I wept. I felt it all again and saw what they were doing. Three people were working over my body. I recognized the words that were spoken on the recording. "Report says the impact crushed her against the center console. Must have driven it straight into her spleen." Then the recording ended abruptly. "Is that the end?" the judge asked. "That is the end of the recording," the attorney said. "The hospital suffered a power outage. It was only a few seconds before emergency power spun up, but it was for vital systems only. While we have the EEG and EKG recordings, the audio and video recorders are not included in the vital systems. But as you can see from the material that exists, and from the records of the monitoring systems, this team was in no wise negligent in the care of Ms. Pembroke and, in fact, we believe that some of her 'memories' are the result of an active post-operative dream state." ------- We took a recess and Louise bought me a cup of coffee. My hands were trembling so much that I couldn't hold the cup at my lips. I hadn't stopped crying from the moment in the video that I'd said I woke up. Dead? Three times, according to the charts over nearly three hours of surgery. And once at the scene of the accident, revived by the EMTs. It was too much to take in. My world was reeling. Again, I wished I was dead. "We don't have to go on," Janna said. "Right now you still have the option of accepting their offer and putting this all behind you." My lawyer was advising me to settle. She didn't believe me. We sat there with the transcript of my memories under hypnosis. We hadn't presented it yet. They had interviews with my recollections of what I heard. From the video tape, it was obvious that I at least wasn't coherent. The order of things was sometimes different, and the surgical team's deposition on the progress of the surgery differed from my statement. But I'd never been able to say out loud what they had done and said about me as they pinched my nipples and fondled my cunt—not until I was hypnotized. I shook my head. I couldn't just exchange the image of the monsters for the one of the heroes on the recording. ------- "It seems that while there is a case for some amount of awareness, pain, and suffering," said the judge, "there was no negligence or malfeasance on the part of the operating team. We will hear the argument of the plaintiff if, indeed, you wish to pursue this." "Your honor, my client felt everything that we saw in that video. She further felt the incisions and removal of her spleen—crying out in her head, but unable to be heard," Janna said. "We have seen a heroic effort to save my client's life in watching this video. But her physical injuries are not the only ones that must be healed. In the time after the power went out, this surgical team, freed from the watching eye, engaged in rude and explicit discussions, including my client's features, and sexually molested her, assuming she was unconscious and unable to resist them." "I object!" the attorney jumped from his seat. "Sit down, Mr. Showalter," the judge instructed. "This is an arbitration, not a court of law, though this accusation may change that venue. Ms. Pembroke, are you aware that this is a very serious accusation?" Hell yes! I nodded my head. They invaded my body. "Where is this transcript?" "Your honor, with all due respect, a transcript of a session under hypnosis is not viable evidence. The simple fact that she has been placed under hypnosis for supposed memory recovery, calls into question all the testimony we've heard so far, including her awareness of anything having happened during surgery. We are removing our offer to settle and will file a countersuit for defamation and slander if this case comes to trial," Showalter argued. "Neither I nor my clients are required to sit and listen to their characters smeared by a rich girl who claims she suffered mental anguish when they saved her life, resuscitating her three times in the operating room, and giving her a chance to be a productive human being contributing to the betterment of the world. The accused are hereby withdrawing from this arbitration. This was a case bearing on a medical procedure, but the good names of the people on this team are not for sale at any price. We will defend them against defamation to the fullest extent of the law." The lawyer and all three of the surgical team stood and filed out of the room. Just before he left, James Defoe turned to look back at me. What was that expression? It was subtle enough to not be noticed by anyone else, but I saw in his eye the look of a predator. He glanced down at my breasts and his mouth twitched, suppressing a smile. I'LL KILL YOU! ------- Chapter 6 I stood looking at the stranger in the mirror. In the year since the accident, I'd changed. I wasn't as thin as in the days when all I worried about was how I looked. My hair had grown back different than I remembered it—mouse brown with a few streaks of gray. I couldn't remember if I used to color it, but I was sure it hadn't been this color. It was still short, falling just below my ears and shaped as best I could make it while looking in the bathroom mirror. I'd gone to a hair dresser a few months after the accident in a rare moment of confidence. Then the disaster of my lawsuit struck and for all intents and purposes, I hadn't left the apartment since. Once snow began to fall, I was firm in my resolve. I'd gained weight, though I honestly couldn't say I was fat. I must have been a skinny bitch. My breasts were round and full, my areola the size and almost the color of one of those new gold dollar coins. Instead of a president's face, I had my nipples poking out proud and erect. This was what he had looked at. He saw my nipples and thought he could just have them. He'd reached over my head and groped my breasts, pinching my nipples while the other two watched. Bastards! All of them! My eyes continued to scan down my body. My tummy wasn't as flat as it had been. I'd collected a softness that flowed down into my round hips. I shuffled my feet until they were shoulder-width apart and looked at my sex. Hah! They couldn't see it now. I hadn't shaved my girl since the accident. I thought the hairy pussy looked repulsive and I was glad. If I'd had hair, maybe he wouldn't have shoved his hand in me. Rationally, I knew he had adjusted my pubic bone that had been twisted in the accident until the pubic symphysis was pinched, the ligament stretched, and one bone wedged beneath the other. They'd had to release the CT scan and all my treatment files at last, but it was all I ended up with. No money. No punishment. No public trial and disgrace. Nowhere could I find that the recommended treatment was pushing a hand up my cunt and twisting the bone back into place. What I did find, though, was that the residual pain in my lower back where the big bones joined my spine might never go away. Every aching step I took was a reminder of what I went through that night. My legs were still thin, but not emaciated. I still walked with a small limp, but the right leg was now just as big around as the left after having spent three months in a cast. I turned so I could see the scars on my right arm. I could have had plastic surgery—skin grafts, but I wouldn't go back. My hair was long enough that I couldn't see the tiny indentation in my skull where they'd drilled to relieve the pressure. I could feel it when I washed my hair, but it was invisible to the world. My eyes traveled down the rest of my body to my rounded butt. No wonder none of my old jeans fit me. I'd always sworn I would be a size 0 forever, but squeezing that bubble-butt into size 6 jeans was all the task I was up to. I was twenty-eight years old and I looked forty. I stared at my reflection as tears ran down my cheeks. ------- "Why don't we have your friend Louise over for New Year's Eve," Mavis asked. "You need friends around you. What about your other friends?" "I don't know. Who would want to come here? Louise hasn't been around all month." "And you haven't been to that counselor in two months," Mavis said. "You need to get out." "I don't like her. And it's snowing. I'm not going anywhere in the snow." That was probably why Louise hadn't come around. She'd referred me to a different counselor so she and I could just be friends, but I didn't like the new therapist and continued to unload all my vitriol on Louise when she visited. She wasn't being paid to take that crap from me. Neither was Janna. Janna was distraught over the strategy for representing my case and withdrew as my attorney. She wanted me to settle. I wanted to embarrass them—destroy them. She determined that our case strategies were in conflict and excused herself. I didn't bother getting a new attorney and I hadn't seen her since. "Mavis, dear?" I said. "I'm going to have to move when the snow melts." "Well, we'll find you another nice place then, won't we." "It won't be that easy. I won't be able to take you with me." Tears were running down my cheeks. What will I do without Mavis? She was my stalwart companion, but... "I'm broke." "Well, I certainly don't want to be a burden, Margot. Maybe I'll go visit my daughter in Florida. The weather up here is too cold anyway," Mavis said. There was a slight edge to her voice. I really didn't want to lose her. "How could I be broke, Mavis? How could everyone be broke?" I wept. "It's the economy, stupid," she snapped. "Well, it looks like you'll just have to go out and get a job like the rest of us." ------- I'd spoken to Daddy on Christmas. There was almost nothing left in my trust fund. Yes there had been bills, the divorce, the exorbitant rent on my new apartment with no income from the house sale. And yes, I'd been paying a full-time salary and providing room and board for Mavis. I'd paid no attention to the economy as it plummeted. Unfortunately, neither had Daddy. "Baby, we're all in a bind. Mommy and I are selling the house as soon as we can. It's under water as far as the mortgage is concerned." "Where did your money go?" I wheedled. "I ... um ... had it all invested with Garth." Oh no! Daddy introduced me to Garth five years ago. Garth was an up-and-coming financial manager at the brokerage that handled all our accounts. In the first few months Garth had advised Daddy, the asset base increased dramatically. Daddy had picked him to be my husband and everything good comes from Daddy. "Daddy, you didn't leave your accounts with Garth after the divorce, did you?" "Oh I don't think that had anything to do with it," he said. "It's the economy. The bottom has fallen out of everything. There won't be anything left for anyone if this doesn't change soon." Not for anyone except Garth, I thought. He's not hurting for money. I wonder why. "How bad is it, Daddy?" I asked. I was afraid of what the answer would be. I couldn't handle it if my parents were as bad off as me. "Well, I'm going to start collecting Social Security after the first of the year. That will get us by." ------- Mavis gave me two weeks' notice and left. I turned off the lights in my penthouse apartment and neither ate nor slept for two weeks. Everyone had abandoned me. My ex-husband, it seemed, had stripped my family of its wealth without ever raising an eyebrow. Like my doctors, there was nothing to attack him with but my word against his. With my record, my word wasn't worth much. ------- I'd never been on a job interview. Poor little rich girl. All my life I hadn't even known what that meant. I had worked. I walked into campaign headquarters and volunteered. I was on the board of directors of a charitable foundation. I worked with the tennis club to raise funds for diabetes, or multiple sclerosis, or whatever the disease of the month was. The sad truth was that with my English Literature degree, I was not qualified to hold any job I could think of. I was good at organizing things. I was good at talking to people—or at least I had been before the accident. I had been sociable, involved, likable. I stood in front of my mirror talking to myself for days. The very thought of becoming a secretary was so demeaning! But I'd surely kill myself if I was a waitress. I certainly was not going to become a stripper. I pored over classified ads—even those that required training or degrees. I'd been a good student. Could I become a certified public accountant? What was an entry-level sawfiler? Or an independent agent? My phone range and I answered it fearfully. No one had called me in a month. Even the solicitors were avoiding me. "Margot? What are you doing?" Louise asked. "Looking for a job," I moaned. "Good! I'm on my way over. Shall I bring a bottle of wine?" In four sentences my life was looking up. My friend was coming to visit. I still have a friend! ------- We sat and laughed and drank wine. Louise told me as soon as she arrived that she wasn't going home that night. She'd brought an overnight bag and deposited it in the guest room as soon as she got there. "Since we aren't going out, we don't have to worry about drinking." She held up a five litre box of wine. I could only imagine what that would taste like. I hadn't had much to drink since the accident. First there were all the medications I was on. Then there was the simple fear of alcohol. Not only had it caused the accident—I noted with a small amount of satisfaction that Garth still had to blow in a tube in order to start his car—but if any of what I understood from the medical reports was accurate, the amount of alcohol in my bloodstream had affected my response to the anesthetics that were supposed to knock me out in surgery. But Louise was right. We weren't going out. I had been depressed for too long. I needed to cut loose. I needed to have a little drink and friendship. Louise was so good for me. We talked about getting a job and my current financial situation. We talked about Mavis leaving and my birthday in three weeks. I told Louise how sad I was and she held me in her arms and rocked back and forth. For about two minutes. Louise was not one to sit around and moan about life. She was about action. "We need to find a practice interview for you," she said. "You just don't have experience going in and getting a job. You need to choose a job from the ads and go for it, just to get the experience of interviewing under your belt. You don't even have to be qualified for the job or care about what it is. Let's find a test job for you." With that, Louise spread the want ads from the Sunday newspaper out on the floor. Well, there wasn't much there—a page and a half of job descriptions. "Who puts a want ad in the newspaper these days?" I asked. "I've been searching online." "That's good. That's probably where you'll find a job. What we want is a practice interview. We need to find a nice antiquated company for you to talk to. Someplace so out of touch with the real world that they'd spend money to put an ad in a newspaper," Louise laughed. "Look," I said. "Accountant, Finance Director, Fiscal Analyst ... I have no idea what any of these are. What's a PUD supervisor?" "I have no idea," Louise said, looking at the listings. "You aren't a hydro generation operator, are you?" "Don't even know what it is. Forget this column. I'm not doing anything in healthcare." "Agreed. And you aren't an engineer or a computer programmer. Oh look. Here. The perfect starter interview. 'Construction office administrator. Organize and track pending home sales, coordinate construction schedules, delivery timetables, and customer interaction. Be the heartbeat of this small, family-owned operation.' It's perfect," Louise squealed. "I don't know anything about construction," I said. "Who cares. They're not hiring a crew foreman. They want an administrator. With your organizational skills, you're a shoo-in." "You think so?" "No. But it's a great place to try out your interviewing skills." We put together a resume that made my various volunteer efforts sound like I was a fully employed executive, then we toned it down so I didn't sound over-qualified. They probably weren't expecting a college graduate and my English degree was irrelevant anyway, so we just left off any education after high school. Louise helped me write a letter and we chased down an envelope. They wanted resumes mailed in; can you imagine that? I didn't have a stamp, but Louise promised she would pick one up when she left for work and mail it. ------- I looked at Louise over the brim of my wine glass. God! How much of this rot-gut did I drink? It was so good to have her here with me. I'd missed her and I never wanted her to leave. I'D DO ANYTHING FOR YOU! I was so glad she was spending the night. Having exhausted the job-search possibilities, we decided to watch a mindless movie on TV. We snuggled up on the sofa with a fresh glass of wine and watched a sappy new release that I swore was just another remake of a movie I'd seen ten years ago. Don't they make anything new? But it was mostly harmless, so I just leaned into Louise and she leaned into me as we let the movie relax us. Some boy was kissing a girl near the end of the movie when I felt Louise's head move toward me. I looked up at her and suddenly felt her lips on mine. I almost cried. I hadn't been kissed since that New Year's Eve party. I hadn't been held like Louise was holding me now, pressing forward with her lips and her tongue tickling me to encourage my mouth to open. Tasting her, the wine, relaxed me and I drifted into her embrace. I sensed her hand hovering over my tummy and pushed it down onto my waist. My pajama shirt had shifted enough that her hand made contact with my flesh and I nearly jumped away from her. "Louise, I don't think ... I don't know ... I've never ... Those men," I muttered, not able to complete a thought as she kissed my ear and my neck. What? I'm kissing my friend? What am I a lesbian? This has got to stop, now. "It's because they were men. Men never think about a woman's needs. They're pigs. It takes a woman to understand a woman," Louise said. "Do you understand me?" I asked, allowing her to slide her hand up toward my bare breast under the pajama shirt. "I know what you need, darling," she whispered. Never. I'll never let anyone touch my breasts again. It's too disgusting. But there was her hand, sliding up between my breasts, not cupping either one, but staying flat against my chest. I heard myself moan and felt her hand move to lightly slide across my nipple. "See? It's not so bad. Only a woman knows how to touch like that," Louise said. "Let this woman show you where your spirit went and bring it back to you." "Oh Louise," I said. "Yes darling. Bring back my spirit." I'd given Louise the keys to my brain and she'd rummaged around in my memories to make me give up the secrets of that night. Now I was giving her the secrets of my body and I wasn't fighting her. I'm not going all the way, I thought. This is just a little relief session. Nothing to worry about. My orgasm was loud and segued nicely into my sleep. ------- Chapter 7 I woke up slowly with my head full of cotton. My mouth, too. I needed water and struggled to the bathroom to relieve myself and drink gulp after gulp of water from the tap. I scrubbed my teeth and washed my face. I had to get some coffee made. I haven't had that much to drink in a year! I walked back into the bedroom to get my robe. What the fuck? What was Louise doing in my bed? I looked down at myself. I was naked, my pajamas lying on the floor near the door. Her bare shoulders were above the blanket, leading me to believe she was naked, too. I edged over to the door and put on my pajamas and cinched my robe tight around my waist before fleeing to the kitchen. Little flashes of our night of drunkenness played behind my eyes. I knew we kissed. Something told me we'd done a lot of fondling, too. I did have echoes of at least one massive orgasm. That was nothing I'd experienced this year. But to have sex with Louise? To sleep naked with her in my bed? How could that happen? And how could I remember so clearly what happened during my accident and the surgery that followed, but remember almost nothing about last night? I should take one of those boxes of wine to the hospital and suggest Jim Defoe anesthetize his patients with that. As if I'd ever set foot in that place again. I walked—staggered?—into the living room and picked up the box of wine. Five litres. That's what? Seven bottles of wine. It was definitely more than half gone, maybe three-quarters. Shit! I got drunk and slept with my therapist. No, not my therapist. My friend. Was she? Maybe she hypnotized me. Maybe she planted seeds of compliance in me all those weeks ago when she helped me tell the story of my surgery. Maybe. Maybe. "Margot?" Louise's voice came from the bedroom. "I'm naked. Where are my clothes?" I looked around. Apparently her clothes hadn't made it to the bedroom. Her nightgown was still lying on the sofa. I picked it up and went back to the bedroom. Fucking slut. Are you playing the 'I don't remember' card? "Here you are, sweetheart," I said, going to the bed with her nightgown. "You must have dropped them." I giggled a little. What the fuck? I was going to blast her. "Oh god, Margot! Did we... ? Oh shit." Yes we did, you stupid cunt. "Did we what, baby? Did we kiss? Did we touch? Did we have marvelous orgasms together?" Did you get me drunk and rape me? Why am I not saying any of the things I'm thinking? "Are you regretting our night together, sweetheart?" "What? I didn't mean ... I'm so sorry, Margot. That was so unprofessional of me. Dear god, I slept with my client!" Louise was crying. Shit! Maybe she didn't mean to sleep with me. I've never been drunk with her before. "Hey, I was teasing," I said. "I'm hung over, but I don't feel fucked." "Oh, thank god." "But I'm not your patient or client or anything either," I said. I should make you suffer. Why am I comforting you? Who's going to comfort me? "You're my friend and you treated me like any other friend last night." "I still shouldn't have done ... anything," she said. Tears were streaking down her cheeks. She truly looked remorseful. Nice act. "I know you are vulnerable, Margot. Even if not as a therapist, I should never put you in a position where it looks like I'm exploiting your vulnerabilities." "Do you love me, Louise?" I don't know what I'll do if she says yes. I wonder if I can get the window open wide enough to jump. "I love you like a friend," she said. Not quite jump-worthy. "I've always had bi tendencies," she continued. "I usually keep it pretty much in control unless a woman has given me a strong signal. I like you. I think you're pretty and sexy. But I don't ever let you turn me on. I must have really drunk more than I intended to last night." "Louise, I've hidden behind alcohol before. Just because it happened doesn't mean it has to happen again, or that it needs to change how we get along." I wondered if that was true. Would I ever trust her again? Enough to get totally drunk with? Enough to sleep in the same bed? Enough to let her touch me ... there ... where I thought I'd never be touched again? ------- I didn't want to leave my apartment, but after we'd had coffee and had each showered (separately), Louise convinced me to go to a café a couple of blocks away. They had a pretty good breakfast and we didn't have to drive. Selling the house and moving forty miles into the larger metropolis certainly had its advantages. I was even close to a real hospital. She was still walking on eggshells around me. I could hear them crunch. You know, walking on eggshells can't be done without breaking the eggs. People talk about it like if they are walking on eggshells, they are being gentle and tiptoeing. In reality, when you walk on eggshells, you are crushing them under your feet. I wasn't going to survive if she kept crushing me like this. "What am I going to do?" I asked. "When they call me and ask for an interview. What am I going to do?" "Oh, well, you practice your interview, march into the office, wow them, and leave them," Louise said. "You don't care whether they offer you a job or not because they are just practice." "Sounds like my first boyfriend," I laughed. "Steve was so serious and so desperate to please me. All I wanted was to find out what the big deal was all about. Okay you're my boyfriend. Kiss me and feel me up and then get lost." "You were brutal weren't you," Louise said. "I suppose so. But we both got what we wanted," I said. Hmm. Not unlike last night. "I wanted to know what the big deal was about having a boyfriend. He wanted to get his first squeeze of a girl's tits. I found out it was no big deal and—considering the size of my thirteen-year-old tits—he found out the same. I could have strung him along, made him buy me things, and dumped him. Lots of girls did. But we'd served the purpose for each other. I introduced him to Angela. He was happy. She was happy. As far as I know, they're still together." "Did Steve fall in love with you?" Louise asked. "Maybe a little." "Well, in a job interview you aren't playing with people's emotions or leaving scars on them for the rest of their lives. You were kind to Steve. You didn't lead him on and you didn't make him fall head over heels," Louise said. Like you, I thought. "The place where you are interviewing is just a job. It doesn't have feelings. You can make them fall in love with you and then leave with no guilt." "They should fall in love with me?" I asked. Right. Like Jim Defoe? If my interviewer wants to play with my tits I'll castrate him on the spot. "Yes!" Louise said. "Employers don't hire people based on qualifications for the job. Qualifications get you an interview. You get hired because the interviewer falls in love with you." "Are you being facetious?" "A little, but not so much," she answered. "Here's the thing. You interview three candidates. One is an attractive male and the other two are equally good-looking females. They are all equally qualified. Which one do you hire?" "Not the male." I wouldn't let a male in the same room as me. If I had a choice, it wouldn't include him. "That only eliminates one and you can only hire one of the other two," Louise continued. "Which one?" "The one I like best." "Exactly." "Do you mean to tell me that's how people get hired?" I asked. That's insane. "There's more to it," Louise said. Of course. "We talked a lot about this a while back, but so much has happened that you might not remember it all. It's how you present yourself, your confidence, your competence. But ultimately it boils down to whether the one doing the hiring likes you." Louise kept at me until I was feeling a little better. How we managed to go from hung over to interview prep in the course of a morning was beyond me. My confidence didn't help me in my lawsuit. They'd ripped me apart, discounted my entire experience, and sent me packing. The very idea of leaving the apartment and driving somewhere to face strangers and convince them to pay me for a job I didn't know how to do made my heart race to my throat. "You need your hair done and colored," Louise said. I cut it myself. "Let's stop at here at Claire Duvall and see if they can get you in." They're expensive. I didn't used to think that way. But I didn't have money anymore. "I'll never get in there without an appointment," I said. "Head-Lines is right across the street. Let's go there instead." Wait. I wasn't going to do this. Now I'm suggesting a different salon? "Okay. I understand," Louise said. "While we're out, we should stop in at Powell's and make sure you have interview clothes." I don't even have an interview yet. ------- I was worried—worried enough to leave the apartment by myself. I called a cab and had the driver pick me up at the front of the apartment building and drive me to what looked online like a legitimate business. When we stopped in front of the Hypnosis Therapy Center, though, it looked a little run-down. It was just on the edge of the medical center district in an older office building that looked left behind in the development of the new health and wellness complexes surrounding it. I paid the driver and put my sunglasses on. It wasn't bright out, though the sun was peeking through and the snow was turning to brown slush at the curb. If he can't look in my eyes, he can't hypnotize me. I walked in and found the suite. It was a two-room office on the fourth floor. The receptionist greeted me warmly and asked if I wanted something hot to drink. I declined. I sat nervously waiting for "the doctor" to see me. When his door opened, I wasn't expecting what I saw. Doctor Logan looked a little like my father. He was a little less than six feet tall, dark brown hair, generously streaked with gray, and a short, neatly trimmed beard and mustache—also mostly gray. I guessed he must be in his fifties, maybe sixty. He was dressed in casual gray slacks with a white shirt and gray-on-gray striped tie with a curious swirl in the weave of the fabric. I could only see three or four inches of the tie before it plunged beneath the v-neck of his maroon sweater. I took his hand, half-expecting some kind of electric, trance-inducing shock to emanate from the touch. I was relieved. "Have a seat, Ms. Pembroke. I understand you have questions about hypnosis therapy," he said. I sat, clutching my hands together in front of me, not even opening my coat. Why does it have to be so hot in here? "Is it too bright?" he asked, reaching for the blinds on his single window. What's he talking about? He made a gesture toward his eyes and I realized he was referring to my sunglasses. "I ... don't want to be hypnotized." "Oh, I see. Of course." He reached in a desk drawer and pulled out sunglasses of his own, sliding them smoothly onto his face. "Perhaps it would be better if you don't look into my eyes then." He smiled warmly at me and I could see my ridiculous reflection in his lenses. I'm not that easy. They stay where they are. "Thank you," I said quietly. He pulled out a pen and paper. I noticed there was no evidence of a computer in his office. "How can I help you?" "You're a doctor..." I began. "PhD, not MD," he volunteered. At least you're not posing. "That's good. I don't much trust MDs. What is your degree in?" "Undergraduate in Sociology. Master's in counseling. PhD in Human Development. I've been a practicing therapist for nearly thirty years and introduced hypnotism to my practice when I hung my own shingle fourteen years ago. When I was working at the Family Health Services Clinic, I did a lot of counseling regarding weight loss and addiction. I found hypnotism to be especially effective in supporting an individual's desire to get well." He paused. More information than I asked for. "Please feel free to examine my certifications. I keep them hanging on the wall just for clients to verify that I am who I am." "Thank you for your reassurances. Actually, I just have some basic questions about hypnotherapy and the lasting results." "Have you undergone a hypnotherapy treatment?" he asked. I like his voice. It's like the EMT in the ambulance. I nodded. "Tell me about it." Over the next half hour, I told him about my accident, my awareness during the operation, and my therapy with Louise, explaining that I had become friends with my therapist and we had severed our professional relationship in favor of a more casual one. It was the first time that I'd talked to anyone other than Louise about the accident since the stupid lawsuit failed. I didn't like the other therapist I talked to, so we never really got into the details. For some reason, I was willing to open up to Doctor Logan—Carl, he said to call him. I went through my story quickly, almost mechanically so I didn't have to relive the pain, but at the end, I'd been complete. He knew everything right up to having sex with Louise and agreeing to look for a job. "Okay," he said. "I understand the question. And I'm terribly sorry for all you've gone through, Margot." When did I tell him my first name? "I find three issues present that are bothering you. I hope you don't mind that I'm not the kind of therapist that asks you how you feel about things. I'm going to tell you what the issues are and if I'm off, you can tell me." That's refreshing. "I'm fine with that. I came here for some answers, not more questions." "First, the result of your lawsuit was brought about through fear and clever disinformation. The opposing lawyer played on your fears and those of your therapist that hypnotism is a black art and you should be ashamed of it. It isn't. And your judge's ignorance regarding the use of recovered memory and the differences between that and relaxing a witness enough to be able to talk about it stopped him from challenging the lawyer on the spot. The lawyer pushed the limit by counting on the fact that if he withdrew from arbitration, you would be too demoralized to proceed." "Should I sue again?" "I'm afraid at this point that would be looked at askance, but, of course, it's up to you," he said. "What's the difference between the recovered memories and relaxation you talked about?" "There was nothing wrong with your memories of the trauma. You had them all along and they were affecting how you lived your life. They still are," he said. No shit, Sherlock. "What your therapist did was help you talk about your memories. That is a fundamental relaxation technique. Which brings us to the second issue." "Did Louise plant suggestions in me that would make me want to have sex with her?" I asked. "No. Tell me, do you still want to have sex with her?" "No. I didn't want to have sex with her in the first place." "But you were drunk. From the quantity of wine you indicate was consumed, she had to have been at least legally drunk if not sloshing as she walked. If you had consumed all that wine alone, you'd still be unconscious. I don't believe she got you drunk to take advantage of you, but that you both got drunk and let a situation that neither of you would rationally allow get the best of you. It's not unknown. People let their inhibitions down when under the influence of alcohol. Deep cravings emerge." "You mean deep-down I wanted to have sex with her?" Like hell. Even when Garth and I swapped partners with John and Jenny, we went to separate rooms. I liked Jenny okay, but I wasn't going to touch her. "No. I mean that deep-down you wanted sexual release. When was the last time you had an orgasm before your night with your friend?" he asked. "Sometime before the accident. Maybe a week or so before. The holiday was hectic." "Almost fourteen months ago. Your body was craving release and under the influence, you let it find a quick and easy path to that release." Oh god. I am a slut. "But, Louise is still ... hovering. If it was just a mutual relief, wouldn't she be pulling away, too?" "There's nothing saying that she has the same attitude toward the event as you. It is possible that she feels drawn to you sexually, but I think what may be driving her more is guilt. Even though you severed your relationship as a therapist/client, she still feels that she might have taken advantage of you in a way that abused your trust," he said. He looked down at his desk and seemed to hesitate to say anything more. Out with it, already. "I know you have had an intensely bad experience with a medical staff that should have done everything possible to protect you. But by your own statements, you indicated that they saved your life, resuscitated you three times, and worked over you repairing your body for hours. Most medical professionals take their commitment to a patient very seriously. They may have had a lapse of good judgment, perhaps brought about by the same influences that you were under, but I doubt very much that they habitually molest patients under anesthesia." Son of a bitch! If you think for an instant that I'm going to quietly forgive and forget what they did to me just because they didn't do it to anyone else ... Shit! I stood up to leave and Carl stood with me. "I understand," he said quietly. "But please remember this. Hypnotism cannot make you do things that you do not fundamentally want to do. I believe you are safe." "Thank you for your help, Doctor Logan." All right, he really did help. You don't have to punish him. I looked into his clear blue eyes. "Really. I know I'm over-sensitive to some things, but if I ever reach the point of wanting therapy again, I'll call." I pushed my sunglasses onto my face and left the office. When did I take them off? ------- Chapter 8 "They're going to love me," I said facing the mirror. I wasn't convinced. I looked better than I had a week ago. My hair was kind of chestnut brown and you could see red highlights in it. For a cheap cuts place, the hairdresser had done a great job. Why did I ever think I had to spend $200 for a haircut and color? That was a different life. You couldn't see the little indent in my head at all. The scars on my arm were hidden beneath the long sleeves of my very professional jacket. My skirt stopped just a couple of inches above my knees, showing off my calves above two-inch heels. "They're gonna love me," I repeated. "You're not convincing me," Louise said. "You need to know who you are talking about. Try to visualize the guy and tell him." Louise had come over last night to make sure I was up this morning and ready for my interview. She had volunteered to drive me and I agreed as I hadn't driven since the accident. I could only hope that my Camry in the garage would even start. Mavis had been the last to drive it. "They're gonna love me," I said with vehemence. "There's no such thing as 'they.' It's a 'you.' Visualize that contractor dude sitting there in front of you and tell him." "You mean say, 'You're gonna love me?'" I asked. "I already do, but yes, that's what I mean." "You're going to love me," I said, drawing out each syllable. "Yeah! That's more like it," Louise exclaimed. "Sell it. Make him believe it." "You're gonna love me!" ------- Louise managed to chatter all the way to the interview, keeping my mind off the roads and the dirty snow piled alongside. I still glanced nervously up every street we passed, but Louise kept pulling my attention back with the simple word "mantra!" The office was in a housing development that had a dozen houses in various stages of construction. I couldn't tell how many would be in the neighborhood when it was finished, but the streets radiated away from the monument at the entry until they disappeared under snow. We pulled in to the small parking lot in front of a sign that read "Office," and all my confidence evaporated. I couldn't open the car door. "I can't do this," I moaned. "Take me back home. Please!" Louise looked at me and pointedly turned off the ignition. "Margot, you need to do this," she said, turning to me. "I'm trying to be your friend and not your therapist, but any friend would say the same thing. You need to get out of your apartment and start interacting with other people. And you need a job. Remember, this is only a practice interview. You have nothing to lose. You're just going in there and selling yourself to a potential employer. Love 'em and leave 'em, baby." "Will you come with me?" "That's like asking mommy to go to school with you. I'll be waiting right here in the car. All you have to do is go in, meet with the guy, make a good impression, and get out. They probably have twenty candidates to interview and will tell you they'll 'let you know.' Then you can leave and never look back. Now, what are you going to do?" "I'm going to go sell myself to them." "And what are they going to do?" "They're gonna love me." "Tell them that." "You're going to love me!" I said. I got out of the car and headed for the door. You're going to love me. You're going to love me! YOU'RE GOING TO LOVE ME! ------- I walked through the door with a sense of purpose and confidence that buried my doubts and fears too deeply to bother me. I saw a secretary/receptionist desk, but before I could get to it a man had jumped up from his desk and headed straight for me. He looked like a missile locked on target and I took a step back. "Hi! Welcome to Sunset Construction's Tamarack Village. I'm Phil. I'd love to show you the village and the right new home design for you." Are you pre-programmed? I'd never heard a sales spiel that sounded so ... recorded. He reached out for my hand. Confidence, I reminded myself. I took it and felt his firm but not uncomfortable grip. A real salesman. "Thank you for the offer, Phil," I said. "Actually, I'm here for an appointment with a Mr. Frank Miller." Phil physically deflated. "Oh. Of course," he said. "Lori! This woman has an appointment with Frank. Is he in yet?" I looked over at the receptionist who smiled back at me. "You must be Margot Pembroke," Lori said. "Hi! I'm Lori Carpenter. I know Frank's expecting you, but he's still over at number seven. Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea? I know he'll be back in a few minutes. I'll beep him so he knows you're here." "Thank you," I said. She wasn't quite as phony as Phil. Phony Phil, I chuckled to myself. She wore a smile that I was sure would still be there if I told her the house was on fire. "I'm fine. Where shall I wait?" "No need to wait; come right in," a voice said behind me. I turned to see the open door and a veritable lumberjack standing in the entry. He wore a red and black plaid mackinaw, jeans, and work boots. He was stripping a pair of gloves from his hands. I looked into his face, the eyes not quite hidden under the bill of his hat. He stopped in mid-stride, just looking at me. His eyes bored into me and I caught a slight nod of his head. My heart-rate sped up for no reason except that this was the guy I needed to impress. Shit. I don't know how long we stared at each other, but he was in motion again and his gloveless hand was extended toward me. I took it and was surprised at how warm it was. My own hands felt suddenly very cold. "I take it you are Margot?" he asked as I nodded. "Let me take your coat. I swear, neither of these two have any idea how to greet a guest." It won't be necessary to take my coat, I thought. I'm headed right back out of here as soon as I can leave. "Thank you," I said as the coat slipped from my shoulders. He placed a hand lightly in the middle of my back and I moved forward as he opened the door to his office. Was that gentlemanly or aggressive? He tossed both of our coats casually on a sofa near the door. "Are you sure you don't want something warm to drink?" he asked. He had his own coffee pot plugged in on his credenza and poured himself a cup. I won't be here long enough to drink it. "Thank you," I said again. "Do you have a little cream?" He fixed the cup, pulling a carton of half-and-half from a mini-fridge by the credenza, and handed it to me. He motioned to the chair beside his desk. I thought it was an unusual place to have a guest sit. There were two chairs across the desk from him, but I took the one he pointed to. He didn't look straight at me, but as he settled into his own leather executive's chair, it felt like he was reading my mind. "The chairs on the other side of the desk are for customers. Usually we have papers spread out between us. For general conversations, though, I feel like the desk is a barrier to getting to know a person and understanding what she really thinks," he said. What I really think is how stupid you look sitting behind an executive desk in a flannel shirt and blue jeans. "Tell me about your most recent work experience, Margot. I believe you were working on the new school campaign, right?" I glanced at his desk. There was no sign of my resume or any other papers on the smoothly polished surface. What? Did you memorize it? There was no sign of anything to write things down on, either. "Yes. I'm afraid that I've been out of commission for the past year due to an accident so that is my most recent experience. I coordinated the volunteers for the new school levy and kept track of the various polls and correspondence we received. It wasn't much of a campaign, really. Everyone knew how badly the school was damaged by the storm that spring and that we had to rebuild. It was just a case of making sure enough people voted to make the results legitimate," I said. Why are you asking me about this? It's so irrelevant. The interview progressed from talking about my so-called experience to talking about the housing development Frank was working on. He droned on and on about how the first families had moved in just before Christmas and two more had been able to occupy their new homes by the end of January. They were booking construction projects for the spring and would break ground for six new homes as soon as the frost was weak enough to break through. I was starting to drift and felt my eyelids getting heavy. "And the job is what?" I asked when he asked if I had any questions. If the job is as boring as you, can I just leave now? Frank talked on with enthusiasm, though, for the way he wanted to "dress up the office" and get his staff better organized. Paperwork would be coming in at an alarming pace and as much as Frank loved Lori, she could do the work but never seemed to know where the right piece of paper was when needed. Phil was good at nailing sales, but he was really worthless unless a client was in the building. "What I need in my administrator is someone who can take charge of an office and make sure none of the details get missed. I want to have Lori and Phil show you some of the things we keep track of here," he said as he stood to head for the door. I followed. I'll just take my coat with me so I can keep going. I walked out of the office with it still lying on his sofa. ------- "You only have six home plans?" I asked, looking on the walls of the sales center. Each was rendered in color with beautiful landscaping and lush green lawns. Tall trees surrounded the houses. I glanced out the window at the barren landscape that was the development. What dreamers. "Studies show that a person can't make a decision among more than six choices," Phil explained as though he was a scientist instead of a salesman. "If we increased the number of designs displayed by two, we'd reduce the number of in-office sales by thirty percent. The first thing we do when customers enter the showroom is watch to see which designs they seem most drawn to. I take them off the wall and set them on the easels over here. For example, I noticed that you were drawn to this traditional two story colonial." He removed the rendering from the wall and set it on the easel on the right. "All the other homes didn't make as big an impression, so I choose a house that looks a lot like the colonial but doesn't have anywhere near the features. See how this split entry is designed to mimic some of the features of the colonial, like the two pillars framing the doorway and the vaulted entry? Now you have something to compare your first choice with. Can't you see you and your family living in this classic home?" As if I'd live in a housing development! "Yes, it's quite lovely," I said. ------- "This is called a CPM schedule," Lori said, rolling the paper out on a worktable. "It stands for critical path management. The items in red have to be done on schedule or the completion date for the house changes. Crews are scheduled to come on the exact date for their jobs. If we miss a date, we might lose a crew." Lori was intense, but still bubbly. Her smile never wavered. Are you a Steppford wife? She continued by showing me the mountains of filing stacked on every flat surface of the construction office. "Boy, am I looking forward to having you here to help with this!" Like I'm going to do your work for you? "It's amazing," I smiled. "Lori, if you are finished terrorizing Margot, I'd like to talk to her again," Frank said from his office door. "Better go see the ogre," Lori beamed at me. "Hey, brat. Be thankful you have a job!" Frank shot at her. Brat? What kind of nickname do you plan to tag me with? ------- I'd been there an hour and fifteen minutes. Louise was still sitting in the car waiting for me. God! She must be frozen! Frank was finally winding up his presentation of benefits. He actually sounded like he was trying to sell me on what a great place this was to work. I couldn't wait to leave. The petty little lives of these little people! Just kill me. "So Monday at nine," he said, looking me straight in the eye. I couldn't pull away. He looked at me like he was going to devour me. And I believed he would. If I ever came back here, he and this job would eat my soul. I'd spend the rest of my life chained to a desk and smiling an empty smile like Lori's. I'd become a predator, pouncing on every unsuspecting person who stepped through the door like Phil. There was no way I was coming back. "You'll love working here," Frank concluded. What? Was that a job-offer? In your dreams, buddy! You are nothing more than my practice interview. Nice to meet you. Have a great life. It's not for me. "Thank you, Frank," I said. "Will I need anything special on Monday?" "Actually, dress casually on Monday. I want to take you out to see the sites and you'll need shoes or boots you don't mind getting muddy. Warm jacket and jeans would be good. We'll be walking the whole project. I want you to meet the rest of the crew. On Tuesday you can wear your nice sexy office clothes," he said. What the fuck? Sexy? Did you just say sexy in a job interview? You fucking pig! I will so drag you through hell for that. I'll own this piece of crap operation by the time I'm done with you. I'm not your dress-up doll. "I think I can handle that," I said. No. No. No! "I'm really looking forward to being part of your team. I'm going to love it here." I'm going to kill myself. ------- Chapter 9 Saturday night, Louise came over to help me look for jobs online. I didn't drink anything out of the box and began to wonder if my friend had a drinking problem, or if she was hoping for a replay of last weekend. Not gonna happen. "This one," she squealed, looking over my shoulder. Doesn't sound any better than the construction job. I dutifully switched to email, wrote my letter of introduction, attached a resume and hit send. "How many is that?" she asked. "Eight," I answered. "Somewhere out there is my dream-job." "Careful about wishing for that. Some dreams are nightmares," she pointed out unnecessarily. ------- Last night I'd woken up drenched in a cold sweat. It was different this time. Same hospital room. Same cast of characters. Same feeling of helplessness. But this time, when the monster reached for my cunt, I spread my legs open willingly. It was more frightening than the usual ripping of my body. I managed to wake myself up before he could reach for me. I had stayed awake until after dawn, napped for an hour, and then got up. After I showered and dressed, I went to sit in my car. I sat there for nearly an hour, sweating, crying, and hyperventilating. It was a simple case of starting the car and driving out of the garage. I'd done it a million times. Just do it! I jammed my finger onto the power button and the electronic ignition started smoothly. So much for that excuse. Damned hybrid. I carefully backed out of my parking space and drove out of the garage. If it had snowed again last night, I would have backed up all the way to my parking space and run back to my apartment, but the day was sunny and snow was continuing to melt. It's my birthday and I'm going shopping. I wasn't extravagant and I avoided all the boutiques I used to frequent. I found a new pair of jeans that hugged my hips and a couple of darling blouses. They were a little more daring than I normally wore, but I've still got nice tits and I planned to show them off a little. I even used the GPS to get directions and drove over to Sunset Construction's Tamarack Village. I hadn't paid any attention to how to get there when Louise drove me and I wanted to be sure I could find it Monday morning. There were no trucks around the construction sites, but there were cars at the sales office. Saturday must be a day for new home shopping. Phil would be in hog heaven. Come Monday morning, where will I be? ------- "I've had it. That's it for today. No more job applications. It's my birthday." I finally poured myself a glass of the boxed wine and Louise toasted with me. "Happy birthday!" she said. She handed me a small, wrapped package. "Louise! I didn't think you even knew it was my birthday." A present? Shit! What if she wants me to kiss her or something? "I've seen your file, remember? Of course I knew it was your birthday. That's why I insisted on coming over tonight. I've been dying to give you this for months. Now open it." I fumbled with the wrapping a little, then put my wine glass down and started over. It was a jewelry box. Inside, there was a necklace. I puzzled over it for a minute. On the surface it was obvious. A vertical bar hung from the chain. Hammered into the silver in deeply engraved letters were the words "I Survived." I wasn't sure what the stone was, though. It had a kind of greenish cast to it and was irregularly shaped. "It's pretty. What kind of stone is it?" "It's glass." "Oh! Precious." "You goof. It's a special kind of glass. It's from the windshield of a 2009 BMW Series 7. Remember the day we sat in your room and cleaned out your purse? This was in it. From the accident. You survived, baby. You could have been killed before your 28th birthday, but today you are 29." "Oh, Louise!" I crushed her in my hug, but kept my mouth away from hers. I survived! ------- "Frank, this is really a great opportunity, but I'm afraid that it's just not the right one for me." I looked at myself in the mirror and tried the line again. It was no more convincing than the first time. "Mr. Miller, I quit." That was better. Simple and to the point. I'd do it when we went outside for our tour and then I'd just get in my car and drive away. I fastened my new necklace around my neck. It nestled in my cleavage. I was a survivor. Auto accident, surgery, mental and physical humiliation, pain, and suffering. I survived. I couldn't believe that I hadn't told Louise that I accepted the job in the first place. There we were sitting on the sofa looking for jobs and drinking wine—just one glass for me, thank you—and I never once mentioned that I was going to work this morning. I honestly didn't know if she'd be proud of me or appalled. "Remember, you don't have to marry every guy you fuck," she'd laughed at me when we were preparing for my interview. "You're allowed to practice a little." Was that what I was doing? Marrying the first guy I fucked—I mean interviewed with? Well, I'd fix it. I'd get an annulment. I'd invoke the 72-hour lemon clause and return him to the lot. Oh shit! What am I doing? Well, at least I looked good for my first day at work. The new jeans hugged my curves and I had a new appreciation for the few pounds I'd gained. Garth was constantly on me about keeping my weight down and my figure trim. Without him—or any other friends—I'd put a good ten pounds on since the accident. I wore it well. Well, the blouse was a little low-cut, but I'd be wearing my Gore-Tex and I wanted to show off my new necklace. She should have given me a shorter chain. I stuffed my jeans into my boots and zipped them up and took one last look in the mirror. Damn I'm hot. ------- Getting in the car was less of an ordeal than on Saturday, but it still made me nervous. I input the address into the GPS, still not trusting myself to find the place if I was left to my own sense of direction. Every turn the bitch's voice in the device told me to take increased my anxiety. GPS should have a voice like the EMT in the ambulance or like Doctor Logan. I suppose they don't want you to go to sleep while driving, though. When I saw the brick monument at the entrance of the development my heart-rate accelerated. I could feel a tear on my cheek and wiped it away. I'd have to fix my makeup. The setting sun logo of the construction company seemed to fight with the tamarack tree logo of the development. I'll have to fix that. I was a couple of minutes early, so I bent the rearview mirror toward me and reapplied my mascara. I pulled my wool hat down around my ears. There was no new snow, but the temperature was well below freezing again this morning. The thermometer on my display read 28 degrees. I turned off the power, and pulled on my gloves. It's showtime. ------- "Margot! Right on time," Frank said as I came through the door. Phil was already half out of his seat when the door chimes rang. I swear he's Pavlov's dog. He had to be drooling. Shit. He's looking at me. "Good morning, Frank. Lori. Phil." Might as well be cordial. I might meet one of them when I'm begging on the street. "Don't bother taking your coat off," he said as he pulled his on. He handed me a paper cup of steaming coffee—with cream, I noticed—grabbed his own and we headed out. As soon as we were outside he turned to me. "Okay, let's take a look at you. Nice choice of jeans and boots. I like the Gore-Tex, but here..." he reached for my jacket. I froze. What the fuck? He's going to touch me! He lifted my chin and wiped a thumb across my cheek. "You had a little smear," he said. His voice was husky. Yeah. Put that one in my GPS. You can order me around. His hand pulled the zipper on my Gore-Tex down slowly. Stop. I didn't mean that. Please stop. He pulled it down just far enough that my cleavage and new necklace showed through the gap. He smiled at me. "Good. Let's go." We walked out of the parking area and up the street toward the first house. "This one was the first one built and occupied. The folks got in before Christmas. By being first, they got a great deal and a lot of extras. We used it as a model up until they moved in. We'll be breaking ground on a new model home in April. I just need to keep Phil from selling that one for a few months." He gave me a guided tour past the four occupied houses. "You built them all on the same block. Didn't anyone want a house over there by the woods?" I looked at the huge area of undeveloped land. I could see little red and yellow flags sticking up through what remained of the snow. "Oh yes. We sell them something closer. Here's the thing. We build out the development in phases. The first phase was only twelve lots. They're all finished or under construction. In April we'll open phase two. Phase two will be twice the number of units and they'll all be to the east of where we are now. By doing it this way, we keep our crews concentrated in one area. There is no cherry-picking the prime lots in the development and leaving the harder to sell lots until later. People understand that the prices in the second phase houses will be more expensive than the first phase, but less expensive than the third. When we build out a concentrated area, we can focus on landscaping and making that street look like it's got a history it never had. When we tell people it's only a year old, they get a feel for what their neighborhood will look like in a year. They know they're getting a bargain because the furthest lots won't look like that for five years yet. And people like to have neighbors. They don't want to be isolated—especially knowing that it will only be temporary and they won't have any control over who moves in later or what is built there." We were walking up to the first construction site. "How many houses will there be and are they all the six designs in the sales office?" "Good questions. You're catching on fast. There are 180 lots in the development. The six designs you saw in the sales office are Phase One designs. Phase Two houses will be similar, but minor changes that mark the area as slightly more upscale. Phase Three will be on the north side, which is actually the center of the community. It will have the community center and pool, the recreation house, and a small gym. The houses there will be small—1,000 square feet or so. They are called cottages and will attract singles and retired folks. What's funny is that they cost almost the same as the Phase Two houses for less than half the square footage. But they are seen as low-maintenance private homes, a step above an apartment or condo. The kind of place that would be perfect for you." How do you know I'm not married with three kids? Aside from the fact that I'm not wearing a ring. Maybe I already own a house. Maybe... Who was I kidding? He could read me like a book. He probably already knew my bra size and the color of my panties. We walked through the first house. No one was working in it. It was cold and hollow. You could walk through all the walls because they were just frames. It was almost impossible to see the shapes and imagine the sizes of the rooms as I stepped over the frames. "We had to rush to get this one buttoned up before the snow flew and it's the furthest down on our list. Crews will be moving over here soon, but right now, it's weathertight, but nothing else." We left the house and crossed the street. I'd seen someone go into the house on that side. "Harry!" Frank yelled as we went inside. This house looked finished. Carpet had been laid, the walls were painted, and long sheets of paper stretched in every possible direction a person could walk. Frank wiped his boots carefully on the industrial mat lying inside the door and I copied the movement. "Harry!" "I'm coming. Balls of fire, man! Let me get my pants up." The voice came from upstairs. What was he doing? Frank laughed. "This is the only house right now that has heat, lights, and functioning plumbing. The guys often come in here to use the bathrooms. That's why all the paper. We're actually set to go to closing on this one on Friday." I heard boots clumping down the stairs and a potbellied man in overalls came into view. "What's going on, Frank? Can't a guy stop for a shit?" "I want you to meet your new boss, Harry." What? His boss? The job description didn't say anything about... "Hoowee! Ya sent me a purty one this time!" Harry exclaimed, walking up to me. "You'll have to forgive him," Frank said to me. "He's what gives construction workers a bad name. Harry, this is my new office administrator. She's going to have charge of the schedules." "Lori leaving? What's wrong?" He sounded genuinely concerned. "No, she's not leaving. But we're heading into Phase Two and it's going to be too much for her to handle the sales office and the construction schedules. They'll back each other up, but Margot will be my right hand man ... er ... woman," Frank stumbled. "Don't put out for him if he calls you a man," Harry laughed. "Now I know the difference. This right here?" he put both hands on the sides of his prominent belly. "This is the sign of a real man. You come with me and I'll show you what all those squiggly lines on the schedule mean." He shot a look at Frank and took me by the arm to go back outside. "You can go back in and look at that house later. Nothing interesting in there. It's finished. Now this house," he said as we approached the next building, "is getting exciting." We walked in and the place was a hum of activity. An electrician was squatting next to the open wall pulling wires through a pipe. I thought that was supposed to be a plumber's crack. "Electrical boxes are going in here. He's got to work fast because these guys in the dining room are hot on his tail hanging rock. He doesn't get those boxes done, they get closed up behind the wall." Frank handed me a hardhat and I noticed he'd put one on, too. I slammed it on over my wool hat. "OSHA," Frank whispered. He nodded to a guy with a white hardhat making notes on a clipboard. "Are you showing a house under construction, Frank?" the guy asked. "Employee orientation, Sim. I can take my own employees on a tour of a construction site, can't I?" It was obvious that there was some friction between the two men, but Sim didn't push it and turned back to where he was making notes. We finished the tour and moved to the next house and the next. I was never going to remember half of what I'd been told and shown or the people I'd met. Once you got past his gruff and sexist manner, Harry was a pretty good guy who sure knew what he was doing. In the fourth house I met a carpenter named Carpenter. How weird is that? "Lori said we had a new girl starting today. Nice. I'm Pete, by the way. Nobody here'd introduce us, but I've got a lot of experience here and I'd love to help you get adjusted to life in the construction business. We could build something together." What a come-on. Where do you get off? "Mind your manners, Pete. I'll tell Lori you're playing around and you won't be able to find work in this state." Lori? Lori Carpenter the receptionist? "Aw, Frank. You know I wouldn't fool around on Lori," he said. Under his breath he added, "Unless there was a chance." We left the building. "My brother-in-law," Frank moaned. "Never has figured out what the zipper on his pants is for." "You mean Lori, in the office, is your sister?" I asked. That would explain the 'brat' comment. "My little sister," Frank explained. "Now, how about lunch. Did you bring something?" "No. I wasn't ... uh ... planning..." "No problem. I figured I'd take you to lunch today anyway. Get in the truck." He put his hand on my waist like he had ushering me into his office and propelled me toward the truck. Get in the truck? I am not going off with you in a truck with no one knowing where I am or who I'm with. You own hundreds of acres and could probably bury me where no one would look in a million years. I'm quitting. That's why I came here. I quit. He opened the door and gave me a boost into the cab. ------- Chapter 10 Lunch with the enemy. For some reason, I saw my new boss as my adversary. I didn't know the stakes or the game, but I felt like I was at risk. For all my better judgment, I found myself unable to resist him. Yet, he acted as though that influence didn't exist, or that it was simply normal for everyone to always do whatever he said. "Try the fettuccini Alfredo. You'll love it," he said. I ordered it. I ate it. I loved it. It was a disgusting mass of carbs and fat that I would never pollute my body with. But I loved it. "Do people always do what you say?" I asked. "God no! Why would you think that?" he asked. It sounded genuine. "Let's face it, my number one employee is my sister and she never does what I say. My wife is even worse." Wife? He's married? Well, that's a relief. Why no ring? "What about your employees?" "Well, I make sure everyone knows what I want to happen, what the schedule is, and who is responsible. I'm not above making ridiculous demands, publicly dressing down someone who screws up royally, or—rarely—firing someone for incompetence," Frank said. "But I don't expect people to wait for me to make every decision, nor do I expect them to blindly follow what I say when they've found something better. I've never actually found someone who will just do what I say." Until now. "What do you want from me?" I asked. I didn't even know why I was here. Not just why I was in this restaurant eating rich food, but why I was with him, at his company, working for him. I came here this morning to quit. Even now I was struggling to say those words out loud, but couldn't bring myself to do it. I'd never had that kind of problem. I remembered that no one could tell me what to do when I was growing up. Garth had tried to tell me what to do and I laughed at him. He resorted to exploiting my weaknesses, like pointing out how attractive some skinny girl was so I would stick to my diet. I could stand up to anyone... Until the accident. Until they tortured me in surgery and felt me up and cut into me like a slab of meat. Until they took my will away from me. Until they convinced me I was helpless. I couldn't live like that. I'd quit as soon as we got back to the office. "What do I want from you?" Frank mused. "I want you to be the best goddamned office administrator that ever lived. I want you to think one step ahead of me, to anticipate what I want and be there before I know it. I want you to really be my right hand—not man. I want to take one look at you and know that everything is all right, on schedule, running smoothly. It's not much," he said, laughing, "but that's all I want." He wants me to anticipate his wants and be his right hand? Shit! "Why me?" I wanted to cry the words. Show my tears, my fear, and my anxiety. I felt so fucking powerless. But my eyes were dry and my words sounded like I was interviewing him for the privilege of having me work for him. I sounded strong and confident. I didn't sound like I felt. "I really fucking don't know, Margot," he said. "Excuse my French, but you'll hear a lot of it in the construction industry. Get used to it. When I saw you the first time, you were walking into the office. I was a good hundred yards away and I knew ... I knew without a shred of doubt ... that you were my new hire. No. It was before that. I didn't even call anyone else for an interview." Did you get any other resumes with that lame ad you put in the newspaper? "What do you want, Margot?" I want to get the fuck out of here. I want to live the way I see fit. I want my life back. "I want to be the best goddamned office administrator that ever lived," I said. What the fuck? I want to quit. I want to run for my life. "I want to anticipate what you want and be your right hand. I want this job." No. No. No! That isn't what I want. Please, no. ------- The week went by in a blur. I worked. Hard. It was B-O-R-I-N-G! But it was still hard. I thought full-time work was forty hours a week including lunches and breaks and chats around the water cooler. Forty hours stretched to fifty and I couldn't remember taking a break after that first lunch with Frank. Frank. What a fucking blue-collar name. Oh. Duh. The printed CPM charts of the schedules were for Frank's benefit. He needed to see physical things. Like me. But the charts were all created on the computer and the interface looked nothing at all like the result. I had to learn the fucking software in order to manage the schedule. And the filing! My god! There were open files from a year ago sitting on the cabinets and tables that had never been put away. Shit, girl! How much effort would it take for you to just open a goddamned drawer and drop the fucking folder in place? Not that Lori was bad or incompetent. I learned quickly that she knew how everything in the office worked, all the software, what contracts and forms had to be generated for each home buyer, and how to get Phil to behave. I swear, my only entertainment during the week was sneaking over to the front door on Thursday and ringing the door chimes just to watch him jump up from his desk. Bad Margot. But Lori had other priorities. I'm sure she's no older than I am, but she has a ten-year-old kid in school and all the mother things to do in addition to the office stuff. I discovered that even though the sales office had moved to this location last year, Lori and Phil were still handling closings on houses in Frank's previous subdivision, including handing over all the control and ownership of the community's recreational facilities and common grounds to the homeowners' association. And if she wasn't in the office, then greeting customers was my responsibility. Yeah. Greeting customers. Step'n'fetch-it. Take their coats and get them coffee while Phil poured on the charm and read their responses to the home renderings like a book. I had to admit, he was pretty amazing at what he did. When Lori left the office at three to pick up MaryBeth from school, Liz came in. She was a senior in high school and worked after school. I discovered she was Harry's goddaughter. How anyone could let a man like him near their daughter baffled me. And call him a godfather? But it seemed that I was the only one in the office that wasn't related to anyone. It turned out that Phil was a cousin and two of the other crew members on the construction site were in-laws. I had a feeling that even Harry was related, though no one would say. ------- Friday night I was whipped. Even Phil and Liz had left for the day when I finally looked up from my computer screen. I was creating a test schedule for the model home in Phase Two. It had taken me most of the afternoon to fill out the blanks—copying most of it from previous schedules and changing the dates—and finally get the first printout spread out on one of the work tables. I had to admit to a little pride. "Nice work." I jumped. Shit! Where'd you come from? Frank was standing right behind me. "You startled me." "Sorry. I just came in. Had to make sure the sites and machinery were all secure." "I didn't hear the door." In fact, I locked it after Phil left. "I have a door in my office. You know—a way to sneak out if the cops come." He laughed. What? Are you running moonshine or something? "Long week. Let's go get dinner." Me? Dinner? Why? Don't you have a wife? "I ... I..." My words weren't all coming out, but they sounded more coherent than my thoughts were. I was struggling just to say no. "I'd love to. I'll get my coat." Wait, wait, wait. I'm not going to dinner with you. I'm tired. I can't date my married boss. I don't even like you. "Let's just grab something quick at the diner. I'm beat. But it will be easier than fixing something at home. You can tell me what you think of your first week at Sunset Construction and then go have a nice weekend to yourself," he said. "Follow me in your car." We left the office and as soon as I was in the car I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd just keep going. I'd drive straight home and not stop at the diner. On Monday, I'll tell him I got a headache. Shit. Even I'd see through that one. I pulled into the diner behind his truck and parked. As we walked to the entrance, he did it again. He just put his hand lightly at my waist and guided me where he wanted me to go. He wasn't hugging me or embracing me. The position of the hand wasn't inappropriate except that having him touch me was inappropriate. But even when he stopped at the hostess station and I could have walked beyond his reach, I paused as if my body was attached to his hand and I couldn't move if he didn't. Please! What's going on? Why do I feel so helpless to resist you? ------- I found the business card stuck in my bedside table when I got home. I knew I'd put it someplace, but couldn't remember where. I'd gone through my mostly unused desk, the kitchen drawers and three purses before I thought to look in the nightstand. Doctor Carl Logan. I knew there would be no answer. It was eight o'clock on Friday night. But I needed to talk to someone and there was no one else. I couldn't talk to Louise. I hadn't even told her yet that I was working. God fucking damn it! I left a message on the answering machine. The problem was that I couldn't think of anything that had been coercive about the dinner. Well, he likes looking at my cleavage, but... He asked me about my week and how I was adjusting. He wanted my impressions about how the office was running and suggested that he wanted me to go out to the site more often so Harry and the other crew members would know I was checking on them. The idea of walking out there alone made me shiver. One lone woman in a sea of horny men. God. It sounded like one of Garth's pornos that he always figured would get me in the mood. I humored him. When I stopped to think about it, nothing about Garth had put me in the mood for more than a year before we divorced. No wonder we were both so willing to swap with John and Jenny. I was shocked out of my reverie when my phone rang. It was nearly ten o'clock and I was still sitting on the edge of the bed holding Doctor Logan's card. "Margot? I just got your message. Are you okay?" he said. "Doctor Logan? I didn't expect you to call back tonight," I answered. "You sounded ... a little desperate." "Can I make an appointment to see you this week?" "If you're convinced that it will wait, I can see you tomorrow morning. You aren't in danger or feeling like you could hurt yourself, are you?" he asked. So kind. "No. I just need to talk to someone. I don't have anyone else. What time?" "Let's make it ten o'clock," he said. "Margot, you can relax now. You've done a brave thing. You reached out for help and I'm here to help you." That voice. So soothing. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" ------- "I don't want to be hypnotized," I said as I refused to remove my sunglasses again. This time, though, I had taken off my coat. His office was still awfully warm. I guess working where there was always a breeze coming in from the door opening and closing all day got me used to being a little cooler. "I understand, Margo," he said, putting on his own sunglasses. "Why don't you just tell me what's on your mind. It sounds like you just need to talk. I'm here to listen." I started slowly. I told him I was going to lose my apartment at the end of the lease and that keeping it until the lease expired in May was going to cost me the rest of my savings so I went out to find a job. I explained that I was just going on a practice interview and that I had no intentions of taking the job even if it was offered. "What do you think would make you do this?" Doctor Logan asked. "Do you suspect that your former therapist is manipulating you? I thought we had covered that." "No. I trust Louise. At least mostly. See the necklace she gave me for my birthday?" I leaned forward toward him to show him the pendant. He was quiet. Shit! He's looking down my blouse! Well, what did I expect? I practically shoved my boobs in his face. I sat back and shook my head. "More unexpected behavior?" he asked gently. I nodded. "Margot, where do you think this is coming from?" I'd outlined for him briefly what my experience was that brought me to Louise in the first place when I talked to him just a couple of weeks ago. But I had omitted the grislier details of my anesthetic awareness experience. This time I let it go. I told him how they handled me and how they talked about me. How Jim Defoe had threatened me in my hospital room. And then my growing suspicion. "I understand from what you told me last time that we spend much of our lives being hypnotized or mesmerized by different things and that it is a normal part of our learning process. I understand that I can't be forced to do something under hypnosis that is fundamentally against my character or desires. But ... drugs are different. The drug he used on me to create paralysis ... I read about it. He used pancuronium. They use it to execute people. I think he did something to change me. To make me obey commands even when I don't want to," I whispered. He thinks I'm irrational. He'll lock me up. I need to run. I can't run. "I'm not going to say whether that is possible or not. I'm not an expert in drug manipulation and it is obvious that you don't trust medical professionals enough to be checked by them," Doctor Logan said. "There is a way to test, though." "You believe me? What kind of test? I asked. Hope at last. "Margot," he said in his unbelievably calm and soothing voice, "take your clothes off." ------- Chapter 11 "What the fuck are you talking about?" I exploded. "You conniving son of a bitch! What right do you have to tell me to do that? You aren't even a medical doctor. I could get your license for that. You liked looking down my shirt so much that you thought you could see the rest? I've never been so disgusted in my life." I turned to grab my coat. I'd never be back here again. "Margot? Have you undressed?" "No I haven't undressed. I'm not going to undress you sick perverted..." I paused and looked at myself. My clothes were all on my body where they were supposed to be. My throat was already beginning to feel raw from my yelling and screaming. I had my coat in my hand, ready to put it on. I looked up at Doctor Logan. "I think we can safely rule out a sinister plot to force you to obey commands," he said softly. "You were... ? It was a test?" He nodded. I could feel the heat of a flush creep over my body. "What would you have done if I had started undressing?" "I would have ordered you to dress." My heart was still beating rapidly, my emotions mixed. "When?" Can I really trust him? "As soon as I was sure." I stood looking at him steadily for a moment, my reflection in his sunglasses staring back at me. I dropped my coat and sank back in my chair. "I'm sorry," I said. "No, Margot. You have nothing to be sorry for. You exhibited an appropriate response. That is exactly how you should respond when someone has the gall to give you a command that you do not want to obey. I have no right to give you orders. I don't think you know anyone who has that right outside the very narrow parameters of doing your job. I'm sorry that I upset you," he finished. "It took me so much by surprise." "And these other instances that you experienced—did they take you by surprise?" "Yes. I suppose you could I interpret them as just instructions for my job, but I didn't intend to take the job," I was so confused. "Margot, I know you have a serious and well-founded distrust of the health professions. It is not limited to doctors, but to other health workers as well and by extension to me. I want to earn your trust, so I am determined to not do anything that will ever harm you," he said. "That doesn't mean you will never get upset with me, though. I won't always say what you want to hear. It will not always be comfortable. But I won't attempt to hypnotize you without your permission. That's my promise." "Thank you." I took off my sunglasses and laid them on my coat. I could clearly see my reflection in his sunglasses. He lifted his hand and pulled them off. A thrill of danger ran through my body. "I want you to promise that you will take what I say seriously—not as gospel, but as something you should think about. We'll make progress. It might seem slow, but you will move forward. Let's try to uncover what is making you feel compelled to do things that your mind tells you not to do, shall we?" ------- I talked to Doctor Stevens for the rest of my hour, just another twenty minutes. He suggested some breathing exercises that I could do to calm myself when I fell panicked. He didn't try to suggest that I wasn't feeling what I was feeling, but he didn't give me reasons for feeling it either. I agreed to see him again next week. ------- "You what? Without telling me? You need to get out of there, Margot!" Louise was ... angry. I had finally told her that I'd taken the job. She was at my apartment on Saturday night with another box of wine. I was letting her drink, but I wasn't really into it myself. "No, Louise. I took the job. I've put a week of hard work into learning it and they like me," I said. "I thought you said it was boring." "Yes. The tasks don't interest me all that much, but I do have to think and learn. The boring part is because I'm a boring person. I've never had to deal with real people before. I've only had rich snobs around me," I answered. "Is that what you think of me?" "Of course not. Louise, before the accident I had dozens of friends that I saw every day. And they were all like me. They have nothing in their heads but themselves. I've let them go and they no longer notice me. I''m not in their social class anymore. Now I have you as my friend." She hung her head a little and I thought she was still pouting. "I want you as my friend, Louise. But I want other friends, too. Maybe this is just what I want for now." It wasn't a perfect explanation. I wasn't going to burden Louise with my feelings of being manipulated. She wasn't my therapist anymore. Doctor Logan was. Louise could truly be my friend now if she would. "I only wanted to help you, Margot," she said softly. "I didn't mean to interfere." I slid over on the sofa and put my arm around her. Suddenly my stalwart rock was liquid. Louise was crying. "I felt ... felt like I failed you," she sobbed. "I couldn't let go because I had to help you. I'm sorry." "You did help me, baby," I said. "You held me together when I was falling apart. You pried me out of my apartment when I couldn't make the move. And lest we forget, you gave me my first orgasm in fourteen months." She gasped. "I didn't. Did I? Oh Margot! I'm so sorry." She'd had enough wine now that she was regressing to apologies that she'd made already. "What? You're sorry that I had an orgasm after a fourteen month dry spell? Some friend!" I laughed at her. "You ... you're okay with it?" "I can't say I want to repeat it with you, but I feel bad that I didn't repay you in kind." Her eyes got big as saucers as I closed the distance to kiss her. ------- I didn't regret it until morning. I'd had such a stressful week adjusting to my new job and berating myself over being unable to resist a compulsion that getting off with Louise was a relief. I was worried, though, that she would take it the wrong way. I didn't want her as a girlfriend like that. I couldn't blame the wine as I'd scarcely had any to drink. It was my choice and I felt good about making it. I'd just wanted a night of intimacy. I was relieved when Louise seemed to think the same thing. I was in the kitchen making coffee when she stumbled out of the bedroom where we'd spent the night in each other's arms. She looked a little the worse for wear. "Hey, tiny," she said as she came up to me. She gave me a little sideways squeeze that kept all our girlie-bits from touching. "Hey friend," I answered. "Coffee?" "Oh yeah. Thank you." She stirred sugar into her coffee. Silence hung in the air between us. Is she my friend, or have I ruined it? I couldn't say anything. I could barely move as I sat down opposite her and looked into her eyes. "I guess we're even now." she smiled. "Yeah. I guess so." ------- Monday morning came with a decision. I stood looking in the mirror. I was in my jeans and boots again as I intended to visit the construction sites this morning. I was wearing a nice silk blouse with a scoop neck that was just too high to show my survivor pendant. That was okay. I didn't want them looking at my chest if I wasn't in the company of a bodyguard and I intended to make this a solo trip. I'd made my decision. I was staying. I felt confident that I could have chosen not to return but I was determined to meet it head-on. Not only that, but I'd decided not to resist. As long as no one ordered me to undress, I'd just file it away. I'd find out what was causing this and I'd tell Doctor Logan about my week on Saturday. ------- "Hoo-baby! Bring your sweet tush over here and let me show you what's on the schedule today," Harry called to me as I approached the site. "Harry, you'd better be showing me how much ahead of schedule you are on this house. You need to be started on number twelve by the end of the week. Frank didn't see crews scheduled yet," I said as I walked up and put myself belly to belly with him. He backed up a step. "Well, we're having trouble getting another crew in here. Quadrant is snapping up every crew in the area as they come available." "Why aren't we there first?" I asked. "Well, I've been busy. I can't go running around the county every day." "You can today," I said. "Get out there and find us a crew. Quadrant isn't paying any better than we are. We stop building, nobody gets paid." "You are a tough bitch," Harry growled at me. "You got every word of that right," I said staring him in the eye. "Pete!" Harry yelled. "Yeah?" a sleepy voice answered. "Keep the guys working while I go round up some more labor today," Harry instructed. "And better check the schedule. The bitch is going to grind our butts if we're off." He stomped off and got in his truck. He fishtailed a little more than necessary as he accelerated out of the yard. "Shit. What lit a fire under his ass?" Pete said, rubbing his eyes. "I did. Why are you so sleepy this morning?" "Oh. You know family life. Sometimes you can't sleep." "Well, don't sleep on the job. Do I need to come out and check on you today?" I asked. "Well, darlin' if you want. Number six has heat and plumbing in it now. The carpet's nice and soft. We could make sure..." "Maybe I should send Frank to check on you. I'm sure he'll want you to tell him how soft the carpet is. I'll tell Lori why Frank needs to go," I said. "Aw now, Margot. Don't get all mad at me. No need to tell Lori anything. I'll have the crews running smooth all day. Nobody needs to come and check," he said. "Good," I said. I made my way around the rest of the jobsite and made sure that every worker saw me. Then I headed back to the office. ------- "What was Harry steamed about this morning," Frank asked as I walked in the door. He was surprised to see me as it was still only eight o'clock. Frank was just getting ready for his walk to the site. He looked at me expectantly. "Did he call you?" I asked. Frank shook his head. "Margot, you didn't fire him did you? I told you he's rough around the edges, but you've got to get used to that kind of thing when you're working construction." I don't need to get used to anything. I've survived worse than having a guy hoot about my boobs. "I didn't fire him. I sent out to round up crews for number twelve. He's been letting Quadrant get the drop on all the crews coming off jobs," I said. Frank grinned. "And you went out and told him to get his ass in gear?" I nodded. "Good girl." I'm a woman, not a girl. "Let's get that schedule for the Phase Two model finished this morning." Yes sir. God! I didn't say that, did I? ------- Wednesday the crews set up generators in number twelve so they could get work lights inside the roughed-in house. Thursday electrical and plumbing crews moved in to start work—a day early. I'd been on the jobsite every morning at 7:30 to check the schedule with Harry and note any adjustments that had to be made. He still called me "hoo-baby" and had a running commentary about my nice tush and great rack. He's a pig. But I could see that he's a competent pig and his crews would do anything for him. "Hoo-baby, when we gonna get a better look at that sweet body of yours. Aren't you getting too hot wearing that big coat all the time?" Harry whistled on Thursday morning. The weather had turned warmer as we headed into March and the snow was melted everywhere but where the plows had piled it. It was still in the thirties and low forties each day, though. I let the comment pass and instead of going to the office I got in my car and left. I stopped at Wal-Mart and was back at the site in half an hour. "Whoa! What are you doin' back here?" Harry exclaimed when I rounded the corner. "Somebody mighta been taking a leak." "We gotta get more Honey Buckets then. There's people living across the street. You can't go pissing like nobody's around. Besides, the snow's all gone, so there's nothing to write your name in anyway," I said. "Pete! I need a hammer and a nail," I yelled. "What the hell's going on?" Pete asked as he came from inside number ten where he was working on cabinetry. "You can't pound nails. You're not union." "Fine," I said. I handed my package to him. "Nail this to that post." We had a main pole where our temporary electrical supply was metered. Pete looked in the package and shook his head. "Aw brother," he muttered. By this time, most of the guys had come outside to see what the ruckus was about. Pete nailed the big thermometer to the pole. "Here's the deal," I said to all the guys. "If all the houses are ahead of schedule by the time the thermometer hits fifty, I lose the jacket. Now get back to work." I'd never seen guys move so fast. ------- I heard Frank come in through the back door into his office as I was lining up the schedules for the first three houses in Phase Two. I was pretty proud of the way they looked, but I knew that Frank would see things that I didn't know. I was a little worried about what he'd think. He came into the plan room laughing. "You sure know how to motivate men," he said. "Half of them are out there ready to go dig the swimming pool in Phase Three just so they can see you in a bikini when the temperature hits 80." "I didn't say anything about a bikini," I said. Shit. What did I get myself into? "They figured that if you lose an article of clothing every ten degrees then eighty would be a good target. They're hoping for a heat wave," he said. "Well, even if I did that, all the houses in progress have to be ahead of schedule. They'd better hope the temperature doesn't warm up too fast or I'll be wearing my Gore-Tex in the pool." "I don't blame them," Frank said. "I'd like to see you in a bikini." You're just like all the rest of them. I'm nothing more than a sex object. You're no better than Jim Defoe, you bastard. You've seen all of me you're going to see. "It's a little cold right now," I stumbled. Even saying that was hard. My body was already moving toward the door and I knew I'd come back in a bikini. "Let's wait until May," he laughed. "It will be plenty warm in Vegas." "What's that have to do with it?" I asked. I stopped moving. "We'll be at the National Hardware Show. I usually take a break in January for the Home Builders Show, but I was tied up this year. So I chose the hardware show as my alternative," he said. "But..." "You're coming with me. You need to see some of the fun side of this business, too." Fucking A! I am not traveling with you to Las Vegas. Not even if the whole family is going. I looked at him for too long before nodding my head. It had begun to hurt—pain radiating out from the slight indentation where they'd drilled to relieve the pressure. He didn't seem to notice. "By the way, you've done good work this week keeping the projects updated on the schedule and visiting the sites. That's more than I expected of you." Anticipate your wants and be your right hand. "But I do miss seeing your pretty legs in skirts. You need to wear them more often." You slimy bastard. Isn't staring at my tits all day enough for you? Now you want my legs? When are you going to ask to see my pussy. "I guess I could change when I come in from the jobsite," I said softly. He heard and nodded as he bent to look at the schedules. ------- Chapter 12 I didn't have time to look in a mirror. The blue silk blouse I wore beneath my coat was cut a little lower than the scoop necklines I'd been wearing. It went nicely with my blue jeans, but I knew it would also go well with the navy blue miniskirt that I brought to change into. I didn't intend to change. I was thinking that tonight I might go out and would want something nice to wear. It certainly wasn't office appropriate. I made my rounds in the morning, tolerating the usual catcalls and giving as good as I got. I was actually beginning to feel like one of the guys after spending a week making early morning visits to the sites. I noticed that everyone on the crew was showing up earlier so they wouldn't miss me when I started out at 7:30. I'm glad something motivates them to get to work on time. I was relieved to find out that Frank wouldn't be in the office. He was in a meeting with the county planning commission to go over the Phase Two development plans and answer questions they had regarding opening sewer and water to the next section. Hah! Guess you'll miss the legs again, bastard, I thought as I changed into my mini and high heels. After so many days in jeans it felt odd to have my bare thighs rubbing against each other. Why did I forget to bring pantyhose? I walked through the office to get some papers from Lori and noticed Phil's eyes never left my ass unless it was to flick up to my boobs. What a dog. I swear there was a puddle of drool in the middle of his desk. "Wow, Margot," Lori said as she handed me the day's filing. "Could you wait until I get my husband up here before you start filing those?" "What? Why?" That's a weird request. "I really want to get laid tonight and I figure if he sees you bending over the file cabinet dressed like that, he'll have enough lead in his pencil to draw all night," she laughed. I blushed. "I didn't ... I don't..." What the fuck? She wants her husband to look me over so she'll get laid? "I'm kidding," Lori laughed again. "You look seriously hot today. Big date tonight?" "I thought I might go out later. I haven't been in a long time," I answered. Why was I wearing this? I wasn't going to put it on until everyone left. And speaking of filing, Phil would be staring at me the whole time I was bent over the cabinets. Shit! I wanted to tug at the hem of the tight skirt, but I knew that was a waste of effort. "At least now I know why the guys want the temperature to go up out there. Did you really tell them you'd skinny dip in the pool if they got it open before the weather turns again?" "No! Oh my god!" "Well don't tell them you're not. It would destroy their morale." She smiled and went back to her work. When I went to my desk and carefully sat with my knees under it, I tried to focus on organizing what I needed to do today. I took a quick look at Lori. I don't know why she was even concerned about me. She was a 'seriously hot' woman herself. She had long blonde hair that fell unevenly past her shoulders unless she was really under the gun on paperwork. Then she tied it up in a bun to keep it out of her way. She always wore short skirts and had the legs to carry them off, especially when she was wearing high heels. I'd noticed this week that she was wearing more open-necked blouses than she had last week. I guess she was just more comfortable around the crews than I was. After all, she was married to a carpenter. I chose the time when Phil slipped out to get lunch to hurriedly do the filing, then went into the planning room to go over the schedules again. Since the Phase One houses were already under construction before I started work, I'd never seen the big equipment in use that would excavate for basements and pour foundations. I looked up the past schedules for excavation. It would be more efficient to have all twenty-four foundations dug one after another, but digging went faster than rough-in and we couldn't afford the liability of having a lot of open excavations—especially since there were children living in the neighborhood now. I was bent over the plan table trying to calculate the lag time between starts when I felt a presence behind me. I started to straighten up. "Mmm. Don't move," Frank said softly. I heard the door snick closed. I'm out of here. No way am I staying bent over a drawing table with him standing behind me looking at my bare legs and ass. This has gone far enough. "I'm glad you changed into a skirt. It looks great on you." I was still bent over the table, willing myself to stand up and turn around. I was frozen. Oh god, please don't let him touch me! Why can't I just stand up and turn around? I heard him walk toward me and then around to the other side of the table. I looked up. "I wasn't expecting you back this afternoon," I said looking up at him. He was staring down the front of my blouse. It gapped open and I knew the thin bra I'd chosen this morning did nothing to hide my nipples. I thought I heard him humming before he answered. "They were surprisingly accepting of our plans. They've agreed to extend the sewer and water service into the Phase Three and Four sections this summer. I still have to get the power company out to lay lines, though. What did you find on the schedule?" he asked. I looked up at him. He was wearing a navy blue suit with a light blue shirt and striped tie. I'd never seen him in anything but jeans. He did fill out the suit rather nicely. He's no Armani model, but he wears his clothes well. And we were so nicely color coordinated. He continued to stare down my blouse while talking like nothing was happening other than our little chat about crew and construction schedules. It was a mistake to wear this today. It was a mistake to ever come back here to work. How can I continue to make such colossal mistakes? ------- "We'll go to Madigan's for dinner tonight," Frank said matter-of-factly. "It would be a shame to waste being all dressed up on going to the diner." We'd been hunched over the plans for an hour and a half and I could hear that no one was left in the office but us. I was getting tired of standing bent over the table. Doesn't he ever get tired of staring at my chest? He stretched and broke the spell. I was able to stand straight and lift my arms as well, Mimkcking his gesture. Only when I'd done so did I realize that it pulled my skirt up almost to my panties. He noticed. "We'll take your car so you don't have to climb up into the truck." Oh shit! I see London, I see France ... If he stood behind me to help me up into the cab of his truck... "I don't mind driving," I said quickly. But I'll just leave you here, okay? I'm not going out to dinner with you. Madigan's? That's expensive. What will you want after dinner? He stepped around the table and put his hand at the small of my back to guide me out of the office, effectively preventing me from pulling my skirt down. He helped me into my coat—a little incongruous with my fancy clothes—and we left the office. When I sat in the car, the cold leather against my thighs made me shiver. I'm sure it was the cold. ------- He sat on my left across the corner of the table. That meant he had a clear view of my right breast where the blouse buttons gapped. Madigan's was known for that touch of intimacy. Couples did not sit across the table from each other, but across the corner where they could chat more intimately ... touch each other. Couples? We are not a couple! Yet I could feel my body responding to his nearness in spite of my determination. Everything in me screamed to run, but I sat laughing at his jokes and smiling at his conversation. You would almost think I was flirting. He offered me wine or a drink, but I declined, saying I was driving. Thankfully, he didn't order me to drink. He must feel confident of his power over me without alcohol. We'd talked about the project and he gave me a short course in materials ordering. But then he turned the subject, touching me lightly on the back of my hand before withdrawing. The touch made my blood run cold, even as the heat rose in my face. "You live in an awfully fancy apartment building to be slumming around construction sites," he said. "Tell me why you needed this job." How do you know anything about where I live? "I've gone broke," I said simply. "Paying my rent until the end of May will effectively wipe out what remains in my bank account. That's when my lease is up and I need to find a place to live that is within the means of my salary at Sunset Construction." "That doesn't give you much means," he chuckled. "Especially not to live in the manner to which you are accustomed. We'll have to find you decent digs that you can afford. I don't want you leaving for a better job now that I've got you trained." Is that what you've been doing? Training me? Bow-wow. "I never paid attention to the cost of living before my divorce. If I had, I wouldn't have rented such an expensive apartment." Or paid a full-time salary for a companion. Or taken such a poor-paying job. "You drive a nice car, too." "It's paid for and runs economically. As long as I don't need to sell it to buy food, it makes sense to keep it." "You're as smart as you are beautiful, Margot. You just don't have a lot of experience. I can't tell you how glad I found you." You didn't find me. I walked through your office door and ... And what? Came for a practice interview and took the first job offered to me? Demeaned myself to become your office gofer? Your right hand? "I'm thankful to have a job, Frank. I'll try to do my best." ------- I took him back to his truck before I went home and got sick. I walked into my apartment and dropped my coat and purse inside the door. I walked directly to the full-length mirror in my bedroom and looked at my reflection. I looked like a slut. I should be thankful he only stared at me. My blouse gapped open far enough that he could have slipped a hand in and helped himself to my tits. He could have pinched my nipples—taken my body. I scarcely reached the toilet before I was throwing up at the thought of what he could have done. A waste of a perfectly good meal. I showered and went straight to bed, shivering as if I had a fever. I waited in my sleep for the nightmares to begin. I almost hoped they would. ------- I awoke in time to dress for my appointment with Doctor Logan. I packed an overnight bag before I left. I needed to get out of here for the weekend. My appointment was a disappointment. I don't know what I expected. I still felt I was doing things that were against my will, but I couldn't pinpoint anything that was actually evidence of it. No one was coercing me into doing anything and I was reluctant to even tell Carl—he insisted I stop using 'doctor' with him—what kind of things I'd done. Surely no one had even suggested that I start making daily visits to the jobsite first thing in the morning, that I tantalize the crew with my boast of when I'd take my coat off. But when I thought of those two things, I almost got sick again. Carl wanted to know about my family life before the accident, even before I got married. It seemed he thought he could explain my current behavior by investigating my childhood. What rubbish. If it keeps up this way, I won't be coming back for long. ------- It was nearly noon on Saturday when I headed south out of town. I couldn't go too far, but I needed a change of scenery. A different city. A different life. I hit the interstate and was soon traveling at seventy. It was the fastest I'd driven since I started driving again and just glancing at the speedometer made my heart race and my breath quicken. I was so on edge. I saw the exit for Brookline coming up and remembered a small hotel there. I'd always planned to go there for a little vacation and if they had a room for one night, this was going to be it. As I pulled off the exit, my heart rate slowed a little and then sped up again as I saw a sign for an Adult Superstore. I recognized where the tenseness was coming from this time and swung into its parking lot. Perhaps if I just released some of that tension, everything would settle down in my life and I wouldn't feel so compelled to act the way I had been. ------- Armed with a small assortment of toys, I checked into the hotel and was pleased with how quiet the rooms appeared to be. Now that I knew what I was going to do, I delayed. I went for a walk around the historic downtown area. I sat and had coffee at a café, then walked across the street to a different establishment and had a light supper. I sat thinking about the toys waiting in my room and felt my hips shifting back and forth ever so slightly. I wasn't dressed provocatively, but I had worn a mid-calf length skirt and could feel my inner thighs as I rubbed them together, just a fraction of an inch at a time. I considered stopping at a bar, but I didn't want to take the edge off with a drink and I didn't want to interact with anyone. Even my waiter had discreetly given me the once-over and I was sure I was broadcasting pheromones. I went to my room. I drew a hot bath and sprinkled the bubbles in it that I bought. I lit a candle—technically illegal in a hotel room, but I didn't care. I sank into the bath and luxuriated in the passion flower scented bubbles. I lay back and let my hands roam over my body, never quite touching my most sensitive erogenous zones. When the water began to cool, I rinsed beneath the shower and used the hotel's huge fluffy towels to pat dry. I didn't bother to dress or even pull the robe on, but padded naked to the bed and pulled back the covers. The cable television included music channels and I selected one that sounded romantic, then settled into the bed. I was intent on seducing myself—on making love to myself. I found the wand vibrator in my kit and turned it on. I began by stroking my tummy with it, gradually slipping it up between my breasts then around my neck under my chin. When I finally let the device cross my left nipple it all came back. "A little art appreciation won't hurt," he said and then he pinched my nipples. Pain rocketed through my chest, my head, my stomach, my cunt. While the pain threatened to knock me out, my body still spasmed in orgasm. I sent the magic wand south and drove it into my sopping cunt. The pain went through my pelvis to my tailbone and up my spine directly to my head. I thought it would explode. I was losing consciousness. I was falling with the vibrating dildo still stuck unassisted in my snatch while my hands clutched the sheets and my body was wracked by jolts of pain. I felt like I'd stuck a finger in a light socket. He pinched my nipples. He commented on my wet pussy. The son-of-a-bitch! He knew I was awake! ------- Chapter 13 It was Wednesday before I snapped back into reality again. Oh, I came home. I slept in my bed. I drove to work in the mornings. I made my rounds of the construction sites and sat at my desk in the office. I set up the first round of materials deliveries for Phase Two. I suppose I dressed sexily and got leered at. It seemed that I always had a smile glued to my face. But I wasn't really there. If anyone noticed, he didn't say anything. I'd fucked myself senseless in that hotel Saturday night. I'd had only two orgasms since my accident before that night, both with Louise. But Saturday night I was relentless in abusing myself. I put vibrators in every hole, pinched my nipples until I wanted them to fall off, and rubbed my clit until it was raw. Every orgasm baptized me in agony—every pleasurable sensation paid for with pain. The moment of clarity had come and I wanted nothing more than to bury it again. ------- I heard the door chimes from the work room, but I didn't hear Phil rise in greeting. Thinking he and Lori may have stepped out, I glanced out into the main room to see if I needed to greet a customer. Phil was uncommonly busy with his paperwork. I leaned back and Lori was pointedly ignoring whoever had come in. I made the mistake of opening the door farther. A woman, about my height but several pounds heavier, stood in the middle of the room surveying its condition. She walked to the window and ran her finger along the sill. She wore a knee-length straight skirt with a matching suit jacket. Her medium height pumps encased delicate feet for a woman so large. She had a fur around her shoulders. Her jet black hair looked like a Cecil B. DeMille version of Cleopatra. It was totally inappropriate for her age. I couldn't figure out why Lori and Phil were ignoring her. She turned and saw me standing in the doorway. I suddenly wished I'd kept the door closed. She crossed the room toward me, stopped four feet away, and looked me up and down. I took a quick self-inventory. I didn't look to slutty today. My skirt stopped mid-thigh and my heels gave me an inch height advantage over her. I'd chosen a button-down oxford shirt and even though it was open far enough to show my pendant nestled between my breasts, it wasn't obscene. "So you're the new penny candy," she said. I got it. This had to be Frank's wife. I couldn't imagine who else, but I knew already what I thought of her. Penny candy? Is that a new euphemism for two-bit whore? "I'm Mrs. Miller." I hated her. "Oh! Are you Frank's mother?" I asked brightly. I heard a snort in stereo from Phil and Lori. Mrs. Miller smiled a predatory smile and I answered it with my best. I really didn't care who she was. She wasn't going to walk into my office and play dominatrix. "No dear," she said sweetly, "I'm his owner." She walked past me into my work area I followed. For some reason, I closed the door behind me. I had a feeling this wasn't going to be pretty and I didn't want Phil and Lori running to Frank with what happened. What a great day for him to be out with the electrical company surveying the lines. He probably wasn't even aware that she was here unless Lori was busy calling him now. "Welcome to Sunset Construction," I said. "Let's drop the crap," she responded. "I'm Dottie. Frank's my husband for what that's worth. What's more important is that I own this company, this development, and even the desk you think of as yours. I'm not here to play catty games with you. You wouldn't stand a chance." "Well, thank you for the warning. What are you here for?" "My sister and her husband are very dear to me and we talk frequently. According to him the operation has gained a new level of efficiency in the—what, four weeks?—time that you've been here. He tells me that every house in the development is on or ahead of schedule and that he hasn't had a late or absent contractor since you arrived. He also talks non-stop about your ass." She laughed. "It doesn't really seem like that ... uh... big a deal." "Who is your brother-in-law?" "Harry, your crew foreman," she said. "I came by to congratulate you. And to tell you a thing or two that will help you if you listen." "I'm all ears." "Frank may fuck you, but he will never leave me for you. There is no way for you to regain your wealth by insinuating yourself into his good graces. Yes. I know who you are, who your family is, and who your ex-husband is. I'm pretty well-connected in the local financial and social scene and you weren't hard to check out," she said. "I have no interest in fucking your husband," I said. I meant it. Why was it so easy to tell her that? "I don't care. Frank needs me in order to realize his great dream of Tamarack Village. If I pull out, he has nothing," she said. "On the other hand, I do reward good work, both his and yours. I have several million dollars tied up in this property and the houses that are under construction. You reward the crews with your ten degree strip tease. I'll reward you with cash. Keep this project on track and you'll make money. Try to screw me over and you'll be begging on the streets. I'd rather be allies than enemies." I heard the door chime again and two seconds later Frank burst through the workroom door. "What's going on?" he demanded. "Oh relax, Frenchie. I just came by to meet your new administrator and compliment her on what a good job she was doing. You need to tell your employees you appreciate them occasionally," she said. "Also, we have the Henderson party this weekend on Saturday. I wanted to remind you and make sure you didn't make plans. I'm going to stop out and see Harry before I go. Toodles." She breezed out the front door without acknowledging either Phil or Lori. As the door was closing, though, I heard Lori pipe up. "'Bye Mom!" Phil lost it and Frank looked pained. I couldn't help myself. I started laughing, too. ------- "Look, whatever she told you, it doesn't make a difference. I run this operation and she keeps her busy fingers out of it," Frank said. What difference would it make? I'm not getting involved with a married man. I don't even like you. He'd convinced me that we should stop for a bite to eat at the diner before we headed home. Well, convince wasn't really part of what happened. He'd simply said, "We'll stop at the diner so we can talk," and I knew that I was going to stop there no matter what. I just filed it in the back of my head with things I can't do anything about and tried to quell my anger at my inability to resist. "I can't see how it would make a difference," I said. "Unless you say I have a different boss, you are my boss." And what else? Are you doing the controlling? Are you my master? What else did Jim Defoe do to me when he was administering anesthesia during and after my operation? "The thing is, she needs me as much as I need her," Frank continued as if I hadn't spoken at all. Had I? "Contractually, this is a joint venture. Our financial affairs are separate due to a pre-nuptial agreement that was written by a dozen lawyers and is more complex than most of the new home contracts we write up. But the net result is that as far as the development goes, she agreed to invest in my project. She would have to show a breach of contract in the joint venture in order to get me out." "What's a joint venture?" I asked. I knew there were all kinds of financial arrangements that people would get into, but I wasn't sure how any of them worked. Why do I care? "That's where a person with money becomes partners with a person with experience. At the end of it, the roles are reversed," he laughed. "At least we can hope so. It just means that she agreed to tie up a huge amount of money in the project, but as equal partners I get half of all the revenue, whether she gets her money back from it or not. The only way she has a hope of making a profit is for the entire development to be completed on schedule. For her, the profit is in Phase Five when we build out the prime lots in the edge community over by the woods." "Why would she agree to that?" "Because she is greedy," he said. "Bankers are like that. They'll take a huge risk if they see a pot of gold at the end. You just have to make sure they can always see the pot." "So you have a marriage of convenience? Is that a joint venture, too?" I asked. I didn't know why I was even interested, but my eyes never left his face and I knew I was smiling my most charming smile. I'm such a slut. "It was genuine enough when it started. Now we have separate lives and see each other if we happen to pass in the hallway of our home. It's big enough that we don't often have encounters," he said. "But enough of this. We need to figure out your living arrangement when your lease expires." We? What do you mean 'we' ke-mo sah-bee? "I'll figure something out," I said noncommittally. "I've got an idea," he said. "Don't worry, I'll take care of everything." ------- I'd gone home after dinner with Frank. Something had changed. I couldn't quite comprehend what it was. He had done nothing obviously aggressive except tell me not to worry. And I wasn't. In fact, it seemed like a ridiculous thing to worry about. Oh, I knew I was going to have to do something about finding a new place to live, but it was silly, really. I had a job with a steady even if not extravagant income. I could find a modest apartment and simply sell off my unused furnishings. It was nothing to worry about. No, the thing that was different was less tangible. When we finished eating, I pulled my jacket on and stood by the table. I didn't move. I knew the way out of the diner. I knew where my car was parked. I knew I was done with my workday and my social obligation with my boss. I could go home now, take a nice hot bath and get a good night's sleep. Maybe I'd even take a few minutes before sleep for the blessed relaxation that would come with the pain of playing with my toys. But I still stood there. Frank got up from the table and moved toward the exit. I had a moment—no, an eternity—of panic set it. My heart rate hit the ceiling. I could feel moisture gathering in my eyes. Why can't I move?! I was rooted to the spot. He turned and saw me standing there. He was only a couple steps away. I tried to smile at him and he answered with a broad smile that told me he was ... pleased. He returned to my side and I felt his hand touch the small of my back. Suddenly I was mobile again and I walked at his side out of the diner and to the car. He opened my car door and held it while I fastened my seatbelt. "Drive carefully," he said, closing the door. I watched as he climbed into his pick-up and then put my car in gear. ------- After I'd had my bath, I didn't go to bed. I didn't play with my toys. I could see a haze of red around everything I looked at. The bath hadn't soothed me; it had inflamed me. I knew who had the answer to my questions. He was in a small town fifty miles away where I used to live. He was the anesthesiologist that tortured me. I needed to know what else he had done. I dressed in black jeans and a black turtleneck. I had a black wool stocking cap that I'd worn outside last winter when I was completely bald. I went through my closet and chose my black leather boots with three-inch heels and zipped them on the outside of my jeans. I completed my best bad-girl outfit with a Jones New York black leather jacket and black gloves. I was in the car and driving west by ten o'clock. I'll wait for him to come to work and then I'll ... I'll what? I had no weapons, but I didn't want to kill him yet anyway. I wanted answers. I wanted to know what he'd done to me and how to get my life back. I didn't even know when he came to work or if he worked tonight. But I knew I'd find him. I'd confront him. I'd find out. It was nearly midnight. This is so stupid. My lower back was in pain. It happened as soon as the stress got to me. The seat heater had long since gone cold and I was tempted to start the car and drive just for the heat on my lower back. I was so caught up in berating myself for a stupid idiot that I almost missed him approach. He was nearly at the employee entrance to the hospital when I jumped out of the car and ran toward him. "James Defoe!" I shouted. I must have looked like a lunatic bolting across the drive dressed in black. I expected him to dive inside the entrance, call the police, and have me taken to a loony bin. Oh yes. That would be good, wouldn't it? A place where you can inflict pain and suffering and no one would believe your patients. It hadn't occurred to me until he turned to face me that he might be armed and I came to a stop about five feet away. I didn't see a weapon, but I didn't want to be inside his reach either. "Do I know you?" he asked calmly. "Yes. And I want to know what you did to me," I said. I was short of breath from my sprint and from my pumping adrenalin. I felt the words glide away from me in the cold night air. "Oh," he said. "And who are you?" "Do you do it so often that there is more than one possibility?" I asked. Oh god! What if there are more women like me? What if he tortures women for pleasure? "I'm Margot Pembroke." "Ah yes. Well, according to your lawsuit, I tortured you, molested you, and threatened you. Right? What else do you need? A confession?" he sneered. "I want to know what else you did. Why I'm like this." "Good question. Why are you upright instead of dead? Why are you able to run across a parking lot when less than eighteen months ago you were lying on a table clinically dead? What did I do? As I remember it, I knocked you out so a fine doctor whose reputation you also attempted to smear could save your life. I intubated you to resuscitate you. I monitored your vital signs so the doctor would know when you were in danger. I worked for eight hours over your sorry carcass to save your life and then put you in a coma for three days so your body could start the healing process and you would miss the worst part of the pain. I checked on you personally over thirty times in those three days to make sure you were comfortable. I visited you when you thought you were awake during surgery and let you accuse me of failing in my job. I offered help to you and convinced the hospital and insurance company that your claims might be valid." His words were vehement. If I hadn't known what happened he would have convinced me. Oh yes, I've no doubt he helped save my life, but he was hiding something. "I believe you did all that and all that I claimed as well. I know that you pinched my nipples and talked about my wet pussy. And I know you knew I was awake. You did it intentionally," I snarled at him. "Oh now that's rich. How was I supposed to know that?" "You can tell me. But what I want to know is what else you did to me. Why do I blindly obey orders from certain people without hesitating, even though I'm screaming inside that I won't do it? And I want to know why the very thought of sex makes me hurt—sends pains from my core to every extremity. I want to know why the only way to pleasure for me is through pain." There. I said it. I put words around the problem. Now tell me. "You need to see a doctor," he said. "I no longer go into hospitals or see doctors. You made me afraid." "I made you. I made you. I ... Maybe you should try a witch doctor because lady you are possessed," he said. He took a step toward me and I involuntarily retreated. "Listen to me, you worthless cunt. You're just like every other woman who wants to blame her problems on someone else. Maybe you've just admitted your misandry and you just hate men. You are such a typical cunt. If you ever come near me again I'll have a restraining order sworn out and I'll prosecute you for stalking. I will bury you so deep in the legal system you'll wish you'd died on that operating table." He turned on his heel and in three steps was through the door into the hospital. I do wish I'd died! I stood there shaking, unable to move forward or back, thinking on what it was like to wait for Frank to put his hand on my back. Unable to move without being told or shown what to do. I imagined him giving me a little shove and placed one foot in front of the other until I was back in my car. Maybe I am possessed. ------- Chapter 14 I was so depressed when I woke up in the morning that I decided I needed to do something nice for myself. I took extra time in the shower and shaved my legs and pits. I thought about taking care of the girl, but I wasn't going to be showing her off, so I figured screw it. My hair was still only about four inches long, but I fluffed it up and put some mousse in it to style it. I took extra time with my makeup. I wanted to feel pretty and womanly. The encounter with Defoe made me feel dirty. I needed to feel different—good about myself. I had a white lace blouse that I hadn't worn in two years hanging in the closet. It had convenient pockets over the parts that needed to stay hidden, but I always used to wear a red bra with it. I had one that fit, so I put it on and slipped into the blouse. I was learning a lot about what I could wear with jeans, though I often changed into a skirt when I came in from the jobsite. Today, I chose my tightest jeans and then admired how my round butt looked in them. I'd wear open-toed high heels in the office, but of course I put on my work boots for my field tour. I checked my makeup and my nails, then put on my coat and gloves and headed for the office. I met Harry on the site and we went over the schedule. He had a list of materials that he needed for Monday and I took it to make sure things were ordered. It seemed like no one was around this morning. I'd got used to being stared at the entire time I was on-site, but the guys I saw were all heads down on their jobs. Well, I guess that's a good thing. I headed back to the office and changed out of my boots into my heels, then sat at the computer to enter the order that Harry gave me. As I looked through the file and compared materials to schedules, I noted there was a red squiggle through each schedule. They were all marked through the date for tomorrow or one day next week. I needed to check with Harry about this. I hadn't seen Frank yet to ask and figured he was probably making his own tour of the jobsite as he often did later in the day than when I was there. I was reaching for my phone when it rang and I answered it automatically. "Margot, we've got a problem," Harry barked at me. "Bring your copy of the schedules and hustle your cute ass out here now." He hung up. Son of a bitch. Who do you think you are to order me around? Well, I was about to call him and figure out what the marks on the schedule meant anyway, so I gathered them all up, grabbed my coat and headed back to the site. I didn't bother to change my shoes. I didn't plan on being there long or on wandering around the muddy sites. I found Harry, apparently engaged in a heated discussion with Frank in front of number nine. They had a pair of sawhorses with a sheet of plywood between them and it looked like Harry's copies of all the schedules were spread out in front of them. I walked up to the two of them. "What's the problem?" I asked. "You got your copies?" Harry asked. I nodded. "Match them up with mine and verify for this asshole that they are correct." Oh shit. If there was a conflict between Frank and Harry this was bad news. I matched my copy of each schedule with the one on the table. "They look the same to me. What's with the red squiggles?" "That's the issue now isn't it?" Harry barked. "Let's look at the red squiggles. Frances here just walked through and marked the schedules with where we are today. I marked your schedules last night. Is there any difference you can find?" I examined the schedules and they looked identical to me. "I don't get it. What's the problem? This shows all the projects are ahead of schedule. Congratulations." "That's the problem," Harry said. "Come here sweet cheeks." I followed him to the light pole and saw it coming. He tapped the thermometer. It read fifty-two degrees. "Oh shit!" I said. Harry produced an air horn and gave it a blast. He usually did that when it was time for everyone to take lunch. The crews all filed out of the houses and assembled around the electrical pole. Everyone was quiet, though there was a little jostling for position. I took a deep breath and Harry stood back waiting. I glanced at Frank and saw that he had a big grin on his face. You turd. This was all a set-up. "Guys," I called out when I was pretty sure they were all there. It wasn't much to motivate them, but if this was what they wanted, I wasn't going to stand between them and a little harmless entertainment, even if I was it. "It's come to my attention that every project we've got out here is ahead of schedule." I stripped off my left glove and tossed it on the makeshift table. Somebody whistled. "Then Harry called me over here to the thermometer." I tapped it with my still-gloved hand and then peeled that glove off, too. When I tossed it to the table there was a cheer. "It seems that the temperature has finally broken fifty degrees." I unzipped my jacket slowly. There was no longer any pretense of decorum. The guys were hooting and whistling. What was I wearing? Shit! Oh well. "It's just a good thing I didn't wear a low-cut blouse this morning," I said turning my back to them. There was a groan until I slid the jacket off my shoulders and hung it on the nail next to the thermometer. I knew they could all see my red bra through the back of my blouse. There was a sudden intake of breath. I turned slowly to face the crew. Well, if having a couple dozen carpenters, electricians, and other construction workers hooting and hollering over seeing you in a see-through blouse was a turn-on for you, then you would have loved being me. As far as I was concerned, it was only moderately humiliating. I had chosen this, after all. I had told them I'd do it if they met their goals, and they kept their end of the bargain. I wasn't coerced. And I wore this outfit in the office. It's not their fault they can't come up there to see. I glanced at Frank and he was smiling broadly at me and nodding his head. "Listen up, guys," I said quieting the gang. "There's no number of houses you could build here, and no distance ahead of schedule you could be that will get me naked, so whoever suggested skinny-dipping in the pool can do it himself." Again with the groans and 'awws.' "But, every ten degrees on the thermometer that you are head on all projects, I'll ... uh ... enhance my appearance. And I hear it's going to get awfully hot this summer. I hate sweating. So get your butts to work and let's get some people moved into this neighborhood!" I grabbed my jacket and slung it over my shoulder, but didn't put it on. It was spring. I walked over to where Frank and Harry were still looking at the schedules. "May I have my copies and my gloves, you pigs?" I asked. Harry turned and looked me up and down carefully. I could feel him evaluating every curve. He spent a long time looking at my tits as he rolled up the schedules. "That turned out much better than I thought it would," he said wistfully. "Much better." He handed me the schedules and I walked back up to the office. There was a little more sway in my hips than was strictly necessary, I suppose. ------- I walked into the office and hung my jacket on a peg then headed for the work room just as Lori came out of Frank's office. "Shit, you look hot! Don't tell me you went out to the jobsite with no jacket!" she said. "Oh I wore it out there. That's where I took it off." "Oh girl. I'm gonna have a nooner in Pete's truck for sure. And I tell you, if I get pregnant, I'm naming the brat after you—boy or girl," she laughed. What? "God, Lori. Don't go have unprotected sex just because your husband is horny!" "You volunteering to fill in for me?" "No!" Lori was laughing almost hysterically. "Don't panic, Margot. The manufacturing facility shut down when MaryBeth was born. Fortunately the recreation park is still operating," she said. "You can get my husband horny anytime you want. Just point is dick at me when he's good and ready." Her phone rang. "Yeah honey.—Really?—Well, I suppose so. Now get to work." She looked at me and winked. "I'm never going to understand this business," I said. "Thank god I've got some nice schedules to work on. Everything gets moved up a day!" "Hey, you got the important stuff down the first week you were here," she said. "Oh, by the way, this came for you." She handed me a brown envelope. It just had my name scrawled on the front. "Who from?" "Oh. 'Mom' was here," she laughed. Man, she's in a good mood today. Wonder how she'll be this afternoon. "Mom? Oh! You mean Dottie? That was really catty of me, wasn't it?" I said. "Yeah. But one of the funniest things I've ever heard. That's probably your severance papers." "How come neither you nor Phil spoke to her yesterday?" I asked. "Wellll, she doesn't like us much. We're Frank's side of the family. Liz, Harry, and Rudy are from her side of the family." "Rudy? The electrician with the... ?" "With the plumber's crack. Yeah. That's her family," she finished for me. "But they all seem so nice," I said. "She came in here just after you left and sat here until her phone rang. Then she handed me this envelope for you and left. What's in it?" I ripped open the envelope and looked inside. "Tell Frank I'm waiting in his office for him," I said. I walked through the door and slammed it behind me. That bitch. ------- "Why are you so angry? It's a bonus," he said. I didn't take the chair next to his desk, but sat firmly in one of the chairs on the other side. You can't twist me around this time, buster. "It makes me feel like a cheap whore," I complained. "Speaking from a modest amount of experience, two grand isn't cheap," he said. You bastard! "You gave the guys a bonus for being ahead on the day you told them to be. Dottie gave you a bonus for the same reason. They are ahead of schedule because of you. You did your job above what I expected. I'd have given you the bonus, but it would have come out of my money instead of hers. There really isn't anything more to it than that. The faster they get it built out and we get people living here, the faster she gets paid back. It's all just money to her." "Still..." "Margot, take the money and be happy with it. Keep the crews ahead of schedule and there will be more bonuses. It's the way the business works. And look; it's cash. I guaran-damn-tee you it isn't going to show up on your W-4," he said. I folded the envelope and put it in my purse. It just didn't seem right. "Thank you, Frank. Please say thanks to Dottie for me." What? Just take it? Twenty tax-free hundred-dollar bills? I can't take that! "No can do. If you want to thank her, you have to tell her. She doesn't even think I know she gave it to you. I plan to keep it that way," he said. "Now I was thinking I'd take you someplace nice Saturday night." "You can't," I said. "You have the Henderson's party to go to." That's a relief. You can't take me out Saturday. "Oh shit, yeah. Whoever heard of having a spring equinox party? Well, we'll reschedule. I want to spend some close personal time with you soon." FUCK ME! You want to what? Don't I get a say in this? I don't want close anything with you! "I can hardly wait, Frank," I smiled. Shit! No! Not again! ------- "Bless me Father for I have sinned. It's been ... a long time since my last confession." How long? I couldn't even remember. Had I been in a church since high school? Well, yes. I got married. I suppose I went to confession before that disaster. My Saturday morning session with Carl Logan had been uneventful. He asked if anything had happened this week and I told him no. No, I didn't feel compelled to do what my boss told me and even waited for him to give me signals now. No, his wife didn't tell me she doesn't care if I fuck him. No, I didn't go stalk my anesthesiologist and try to make him confess to altering my brain. No, I didn't do a pseudo-striptease for my construction crew. No, I didn't scream through a dozen painful, self-induced orgasms in order to reach a moment of clarity. No, nothing happened this week. Saturday night I went to church and some priest I'd never met waited on the other side of a partition to hear my confession. Tears were streaming from my eyes. I sobbed in the booth as soon as I got the ritual words out of my mouth. What was I going to tell the priest? "Let's skip the formalities, daughter," a kind voice said. "Tell me what's troubling you." "Father, I think ... could I ... I might be ... demon-possessed." It's either that, or I'm crazy. ------- Chapter 15 I dressed carefully. Red bra and matching panties. Hot pink spaghetti-strap tank top cut low enough to expose my cleavage and the survivor pendant but short enough to not quite reach the waist of my denim miniskirt. Precious Savior, forgive my sins. Help me make good decisions and keep me safe from harm. I bent at the waist, watching the skirt ride up to where it was barely decent and pulled on my calf-skin cowboy boots with three inch heels and a silver toe-cap. Precious Savior... I slipped the denim vest on, covering my shoulders and dropping below the waist of the skirt. It hung open in front, giving glimpses of my exposed valley and tummy. ... forgive my sins. I made sure my bright red lipstick was even and that my eyes were highlighted perfectly. Help me make good decisions... I pulled on my trench coat and belted it, topping off the ensemble with a red cowboy hat. ... and keep me safe from harm. I was ready. ------- The priest had been kind—comforting. He listened as I told him everything. I sat in the confessional for more than an hour as I started with my drunkenness at the party, and went on to the accident and my experience in surgery, my growing conviction that I had been abused, my divorce, my lawsuit, my time with Louise, my job, my inability to resist what people told me to do, my tease of the workers, my stalking of the anesthesiologist. Since I couldn't see him and he couldn't see me, I felt safe in confessing everything to him. And I wept. "There, child. Take comfort. Take the Lord's blessing in the form of his body." His hand reached through the opening and laid a tiny wafer on my tongue. It dissolved there and I swallowed. "Thank you, Father, but am I... ?" "Possessed? I don't believe so. You were just able to take the sacrament. No demon would suffer its touch." "Then what is wrong with me?" "You have been hurt and are a troubled young woman. The Lord feels your pain and suffers with you. But He is able to help. He forgives you," the priest said. I wondered how old he was. He didn't sound old enough to have such deep wisdom. I'd been gone from church for too long. "What penance should I do, Father?" I asked. "Do I say Our Fathers or Hail Marys?" "The prayer our Lord taught us is not a punishment. It is a comfort." "Then nothing?" "I will give you one thing," he said. "Each morning when you wake up and each time you feel this ... strange compulsion, I want you to recite a simple prayer. It is not as long as Our Father, so you needn't rush to get it out. Say simply, 'Precious Savior, forgive my sins.' Go ahead." "Precious Savior, forgive my sins," I repeated. "Help me make good decisions..." I repeated after him. " ... and keep me from harm." "Is that all, Father?" "No. There is one more thing. Believe it can make a difference," he said firmly. "And if I can't believe?" "Then pretend." ------- The office was bustling. Lori had boxes of sweet rolls and donuts and pots of coffee ready to take to the jobsite. Phil was packing camera equipment over his shoulder. I didn't get a chance to take off my coat before we were hauling things to the back of Frank's pickup. Everyone was dressed in Western wear, our theme for the day. Lori wore a gingham blouse and knee-length denim square dance skirt with short cowboy boots. Phil wore a red Western shirt complete with a black yoke, pearl snaps, and a fringe dangling from the sleeves. And Frank looked positively regal in his black jeans, Western shirt, sport coat and big Stetson. With the goodies in the back, all four of us piled into the cab and drove out to the jobsite where we'd break ground on Phase Two this morning at nine. I was pretty sure it was Phil's hand under my butt and didn't know if I should be pissed or thankful it was him and not Lori. A ground-breaking can be a big deal, or just a private thing. There wouldn't be any reporters or camera crews at this one. We were just starting construction on a new part of an existing project. Maybe we'd have a big celebration this summer when the houses were framed. But today we'd hold a celebration for the crew. Everyone would be paid an extra hour today as they gathered around site number thirteen. It was going to be a lucky day for us. We'd scarcely pulled up before the crew was mobbing the back of the truck to get coffee and donuts. You'd think they were cops! We let them all get their treats before Frank and Harry called them over to the staked-out lot by blowing Harry's air horn. Everybody brought their coffee and gathered round where Frank was holding a new spade. "Guys, we've got a great crew here," Frank shouted. "We're breaking ground on Phase Two of Tamarack Village this morning. You all know Bill Garman up there on the Cat. He's gonna dig basements as fast as we can get them surveyed and laid out. We've got the mud crew here, too. We're going to be bringing concrete in through the west entrance so watch where you park your trucks. I want everyone to start using that entrance now and keep the east entrance for residents and guests." There were some mumbles and shouts, but it was all in good humor. "I'm going to hand the shovel to your job foreman, our general contractor Harry Johnson for the ground-breaking." Frank handed Harry the shovel and Harry set the point in the ground. "You know what, Frank?" Harry said. "I don't want to do this. I think we should have our team mascot break the ground. Sweet-cheeks, come over here and put this shovel in the ground, would you?" He pointed at me and held out the shovel. I stepped up to it. "What makes you think I know how to use a shovel, Harry?" I asked. "I won't break a nail with this, will I?" Everybody laughed. "Yeah, laugh you guys," I yelled. "You know what breaking ground here means, don't you?" "What's it mean, baby?" Rudy yelled at me. "It means that as of today, everything will be on schedule." There was a chorus of groans. "I want you to know, though, that I've been looking out for you. Yesterday afternoon, about the time you were all tearing out of here to go home and drink your beers, I came out to check on something. What I saw was the thermometer had topped sixty degrees." They hooted. Precious Savior, forgive my sins. "You were ahead of schedule on every single house." They were cheering now. Help me make good decisions... "You should have been here." There was sudden silence followed by one lone guy moaning, "No-o!" I handed the shovel to Harry and started to untie the belt on my trench coat. ... and keep me from harm. I kept talking. "I guess now, there's nothing for you to do but wait till it reaches seventy and hope you've got these new sites ahead of schedule. Cause, damn, it's getting hot fast now." I pulled off my coat and grabbed the shovel. The guys went wild. Geez! You'd think they never saw a girl before. Construction dudes are as bad as computer nerds. I put one booted foot up on the spade which caused my skirt to ride up almost to my butt cheek and paused for Phil to take some pictures. I was sure he was getting down extra low so he could snap them up my skirt. Every guy on the crew will have one of them pinned in his pickup by morning. I pushed down and pried out the first shovelful of dirt. They hooted and howled and cheered and I stood there feeling the cool breeze having its effect on my nipples. At least they couldn't see that under the vest. After Harry took the shovel while they were still cheering and deepened the hole, Frank stepped up and put his foot on the blade, driving it into the ground. Before he pulled out his shovelful of dirt he stopped and waved everybody quiet. "Harry, it was a good thing you did to have Margot dig out the first shovelful. She's been shoveling your shit for the last two months. But this is going to be our model home for Phase Two. And Margot certainly looks like a model to me." More cheers. Oh God! How embarrassing! "Now Phil sold our model home in Phase One before we'd even completed the second house. I've got to do something to keep this one open while he sells out the rest of the units. So I figure it would be a good idea for our model to live in our model home." What? You've got to be kidding! I can't afford a house like that. "Now she has to be out of her apartment by the end of May, so you guys have your work cut out for you. Margot, you're going to live here. Welcome home!" Precious Savior, forgive my sins. Help me make good decisions and keep me from harm. I can't take this! What do you expect me to do to earn it? "I hope it doesn't disappoint you all, but I do intend to have curtains," I said. No! ------- "One, two, three, four, five ... You do have panties on, don't you?" Lori said as she circled around me once we were back in the office. She was looking up and down my body as she went. "Red ones," Phil offered, confirming my assessment of his photography. "What are you doing?" I asked. Don't tell me you are bi and want to get a piece of me, too. "I'm just calculating and trying to figure out what you'll still have to take off when the temperature reaches ninety," she laughed. "Whatever it is, I plan to drop MaryBeth here at the office and take the next day off. I'll be too sore to move after the fucking Pete's going to give me." "Shit! I'm really going too far, aren't I? I need to tone it down or I will be skinny dipping in that non-existent pool. I'm so sorry, Lori. The guys aren't treating you differently because of me, are they?" It's one thing for them all to think I'm a slut, but to have them treat Lori or Liz like that would be horrid. I've got to get a grip. "Don't apologize to me! It hasn't been this good between Pete and me in years," she said. "I don't know about poor Phil, though," she whispered. "He's spending an awful lot of time in the bathroom these days." "Oh, come on, Lori," Phil said. "I'm not spending any more time in there than you are. Margot, you walk through the room and bend over Lori's desk in front of her and she'll be jilling herself for the next half hour." "Phil!" Lori took a swing at him, but I think she missed intentionally. "Well, if you're through examining the merchandise, I've got work to do," I said. I shoved them both toward their desks. "Oh! Wait Margot," Lori said. "Looks like Mom was here." She hadn't stopped calling Dottie 'Mom' since my catty remark two weeks ago. I hadn't seen the elusive Mrs. Miller since then. Lori handed me an envelope that was identical to the one she gave me with my "bonus" in it. I went into the workroom and closed the door. The envelope didn't feel like it had twenty bills in it. I opened it and shook the contents out on the work table with my schedules. Two keys fell onto the surface. A piece of rose-colored notepaper floated after them. On it was written the words, "May 30 if it's finished." She knew? She wants this? I don't get it! ------- "I'm proud of you, Margot," Frank said as he walked into the work room. I was bent over the schedules for the first five homes in Phase Two. I kept staring at the May 30 completion date for the model home. My move-in date. What the fuck? The keys lay on top of the date. "Thank you, Frank. You surprised me." "Good. I was beginning to think you would be ahead of me on everything. Why didn't you ever have a full time job before here? You're really good," he said. I couldn't help myself; I felt proud and flushed at his praise. I needed to maintain my distance. I wasn't being seduced by him. I wasn't relenting. "I never needed a job. I had money and a life. I never even thought about a job." "Well, I'm sure glad you found me. I don't know what I'd do without you anymore. You picked up the job quickly, but you established your place with the crews faster than I've ever seen. They all love you." "They love my tits and ass," I said. "So do I." I felt his hand on the small of my back. Why hadn't I stood up when he entered the room. It must look like I'm waving my ass at him. Where is he taking me? He just turned me toward him. I felt—sensed that something was different. Then I knew. His hand was drifting down off my waist as he looked into my eyes. Run! Scream rape. This is sexual harassment. He's going to ... going to touch me! He moved toward me as his hand slipped under the hem of my skirt and cupped my ass, pulling me against him. His lips pressed insistently against mine as he murmured "Kiss me, Margot." Stand straight. Keep lips together—mouth closed. Be rigid. Be cold. He'll go away. I opened my mouth to let his tongue dance with mine. Precious Savior, forgive my sins. I melted against him, feeling my breasts crush against his chest. Help me make good decisions... My hands came up around his neck and I held him to me. ... and keep me ... keep me ... fuck! Suddenly I wasn't there. I was separate, looking at my body responding to his touch. Knowing that there was nothing I wouldn't do for him. Crying. Unable to tell him I didn't want this. Unable to make my body protest the invasion of his tongue. Helpless while he had his way with me and I murmured words of consent and encouragement. I could hear every word and feel every touch against my skin, but I couldn't cry out in protest. Help me! I'm awake. PLEASE DON'T HURT ME! ------- Chapter 16 There was no reason to go back. Anyplace. I'd called Carl twice, intending to cancel my appointment, but hung up before either he or his machine picked up. I certainly wasn't going back to confession or church. I didn't think my young priest would be humored by my confession. I dressed like a slut and when my boss made a pass at me, I was unable to resist. In fact, I could still feel the print of his hand on my butt where he'd clutched me to him. I'd looked in the mirror this morning to see if he'd left a mark. It was invisible, but I could still feel the heat of his hand where he touched me. We'd gone about the rest of the day's work as if nothing had happened—no line had been crossed. At the end of the day, I found myself standing by the door, my trench coat on but hanging open, waiting for Frank to arrive. Waiting for his touch to guide me where he wanted me to go. I found myself looking at myself from outside again. Go girl! Get out of here! But my instructions went unheeded. I noted a blank look in my eyes. There's nobody home. When Frank's office door opened, my face took on a look of bliss as he smiled at me. I was going with him! Wherever he took me, I was following like I was spellbound. I snapped into my body when I felt his hand at my waist. Take it away! I let him guide me out the door and usher me to my car. So kind. So gentle. So completely inappropriate! Imperio! I'd read my Harry Potter. I knew the unforgivable curse. That had to be it. I was under a spell. Who could have cursed me like this and made me into a toy? I needed to find a witch and have the curse unlocked. I wonder if they're listed in the Yellow Pages. ------- "It was amazing to watch all the guys like they'd died and gone to heaven. That sexy little outfit you're wearing rang everyone's bell," Frank said. "They cleared off the lot as soon as Harry blew his horn and everyone was yelling 'Dig! Dig! Dig!' Harry said he'd never seen a break end so completely and so fast. You're a motivational genius." "Well, you have to start with the assumption that they are all dogs," I said. "Then you just train them to want their little treat. I'm not walking around out there like this every day, though. Then it wouldn't be special for them." "That's fine. Walk around like that in the office but don't let them get used to seeing you in a miniskirt on the jobsite. They'd never get anything done while you were making your rounds," he said. "Try the veal scaloppine. They do a great job of it here. You'll love it." We were at another Italian restaurant. I'd long-since figured out that if given a choice, Frank would choose Italian food over any alternatives. As far as I could remember, he'd never asked me what I liked. I'd never eaten veal and my stomach recoiled at the thought of baby cows being taken from their mothers and slaughtered when they're just a few weeks old. I don't know why the thought was any worse than a full-grown cow being raised for slaughter, but it nearly turned me into a vegetarian when I was a teenager. When the food arrived, I loved it, even though my soul was retching. ------- I waited for Frank beside the table. He put his hand on my back and I moved with him. He led me to my car. I kept waiting. Waiting for him to kiss me again. Waiting for his hands to roam my body. Waiting for what I knew was coming, but never did. JUST DO IT ALREADY! He told me to drive carefully and he'd see me Monday morning. I watched as he mounted the step of his truck, waved, and drove away. I don't know how long I waited, but eventually I got home. ------- I pushed Carl's door open and his receptionist said he'd be out in a few minutes. I absently read a mental health magazine, but I didn't find anything in it that related to what I was feeling. Feeling? I hadn't even thought about my feelings. I felt used, shamed, angry ... but more and more there was something else. I felt myself separating further and further from what was happening. I was beginning to feel... resigned and empty. Carl's previous patient left his office looking relaxed and happy. I wanted that. I wanted to silence the bitch in my head that kept telling me not to enjoy my success on the job and the company of my boss. I wanted to expel her from my psyche. Wait! That's me! You can't get rid of me. I'm Margot. I belong here. "How are you doing today, Margot?" Carl asked. "I wasn't sure I'd see you this morning." "Why not?" "Well, even if there is a hang-up, I still get a caller ID. I was afraid you were working up the courage to cancel our appointment," he said. "Oh. I was thinking about it." "Is there anything specific you'd like to talk about?" he asked, kindly. "I think I'm ready," I said. "Ready?" I took my sunglasses off and looked him straight in the eye. "I'm ready to have you hypnotize me and root around inside my head until you find out what's going on inside me. I don't care anymore. I can't live like this. I wish I were strong enough to kill myself, but I'm a coward," I said. "Please." "I'm willing to try that if you are sure, but Margot, I won't violate your trust," he said. "I promised I wouldn't hypnotize you without your consent. Are you certain you want me to do this?" "Yes." Yes. At last we agree on something. ------- I woke refreshed, like I'd just had a good night's sleep. Well, I had a good night's sleep, didn't I? Then I got up and came to Carl's office. Why wouldn't I feel refreshed? "Well, Doc, am I healed?" I asked smiling. "Are you feeling well?" he asked. "Hell, yeah. I feel like I could wrestle a bobcat. What did you do?" "Other than help you with your struggle against pain, not a great deal. Margot, have you been in pain ever since your surgery?" "Uh, yes. Except the night I got drunk with Louise. That reminds me. I haven't seen her in ages. I need to call her and have a party," I said. What about the pain? "Well, that's certainly a good attitude. Don't overdo it, though. You don't want to be in a position of getting in or causing an accident, right?" "Right. Uh ... Carl? What did you do to me? Why do I suddenly feel so good?" "Your mind controls much of your awareness of pain. I've made some suggestions that will help you manage the pain. I hope it helps, but it probably isn't permanent. You should expect that the present euphoria may wear off." "So, clean bill of health?" I asked. "For now. I'd like to continue treating this, but I want to do some more research and consult with a colleague. You needn't worry about confidentiality. I don't need to use your name or any personal information to get the help I'd like. But next week I should have a better idea of what is happening. I think that managing your pain should be a top priority," Carl said. "Well, if you keep me feeling like this, I'll keep paying your $150 a week. You're better than drugs. 'Bye!" I left Carl's office and called Louise as I was headed to my car. ------- Thursday afternoon the pain crept back into my lower back. That was when Frank finally chose to repeat last Friday's encounter. Lori and Phil had both left the office, Lori to pick up her daughter and Phil to show the last remaining unsold house in Phase One. He turned me so gently to face him, his hand at the small of my back, guiding me to his lips before sliding down to cup my ass as he pulled me against him. Pain rocketed from the small of my back into the back of my neck, but I was lost in the kiss. Bastard! "We'll have a great time in Las Vegas," he whispered in my ear. It raised gooseflesh on my arms and sent the pain into my skull. Like hell we will! "I want you to love me, Margot. Love me like I love you." MAKE ME! ------- "It's amazing! I can't say that I'm 100% pain-free, but I can tolerate it," I said as Louise and I raised our wine glasses. She'd been surprised to hear from me, and though we'd had to wait a week before we could actually get together, it was truly wonderful to see her again. The past week had flown by at work and I was amazed to see how much progress could be made in such a short period of time. It wasn't all pain-free. After Thursday, I was feeling my old self and almost swore at Frank when he put his hand on my back to go to dinner. Almost. I couldn't make my mouth say the words, but I was thinking them. Then Saturday morning I visited Carl again and left floating on a cloud. I didn't care what he was ferreting out of my brain during our sessions, but leaving with my head clear and minimal pain was great. He gave me some kind of triggers I could use to refresh my hypnotic state. I met Louise for dinner and we were contemplating going back to my place for wine and a sleep-over. "What are you going to do when you have to move out of your penthouse?" she asked. "You wouldn't believe it. I'm moving into a new house." "You're kidding! Did the stock market come back up?" "No it's a bonus. Come on. I have to show you." I loaded Louise into my car and drove out to the site. We parked in front of number thirteen and I pulled my flashlight out of the glove compartment. Louise followed me as we both walked in high heels across the plywood path. I shone the light into the hole. The walls and basement floor had been poured during the week and Monday the masons would lay the four courses of concrete block that would finish the foundation. "This is it!" I said proudly. "My house is going to sit on top of this hole. It's the model home for Phase Two, so the guys are working hard to get it ready for our grand opening in June. I pay no rent for twelve months. My home has to be kept spotless and showable at all times, but really they've agreed to only show during business hours, Saturday and Sunday, and by appointment. I made need to come and stay with you on weekends." "I might need to come and stay with you during the week. This hole looks huge!" Louise said. "That's just because it's dark out. It's really not that much. See this cut-out? That's where the garage goes. It will be built on a slab. They're planning to pour on Monday or Tuesday, depending on the weather. The lower level of the house is the size of the basement, but the upper level is over both the basement and the garage. The total is only 1850 square feet. It's just half the size of what I lived in when I met you." "Well that place was a monstrosity. Why did you have a place that big, anyway?" "Because we were rich and it was expected and I was a whore. We had to look the part of the successful financier and his wife, even though most of the money we had invested in the house came from my parents. I feel bad about that. They lost as much on the deal as we did when we divorced," I said. "You don't have to do anything ... um ... that you don't want to do in order to have this place, do you?" Louise asked. You're still a whore. I shifted my hips to take the pressure off my back and took a deep breath like Carl taught me. The pain lessened and the voice went away. "No. I keep our crews on track and keep them ahead of schedule. As a result, I get rewarded. This is my reward, providing all projects are at least a day ahead of schedule on the thirtieth of May. And they will be," I said confidently. It looked like the temperature would top seventy this week and I was ready to take my outfit one step further. Those crews would do anything for me. "You're really making something of your life, Margot," Louise said. "I'm proud of you." "Frank says I was born for this kind of work. I owe it all to Frank." I looked at Louise as she stood next to the hole that would become my home. She looked so sweet standing there that I lifted my face to her and kissed her lips. "Do you want to spend the night at my place so we can drink wine and gossip like teenagers?" I asked. She smiled at me. "Yeah. I'd like that." ------- We sat in my apartment in our pajamas, joking and drinking. We'd decided to watch a sappy movie. Well, it was sappy ten years ago the first time I saw it and it was full of syrup this time. Boy meets girl. Boy loses girl. Boy gets girl. We didn't really need to watch in order to know what was going on, so when we started making out, it didn't interfere with our enjoyment of the movie. I seemed to remember being horrified that Louise had sex with me the first time it happened. I couldn't remember why. It wasn't like we were lesbians—not that that's bad. In fact, I knew Louise had started seeing a guy that she really liked. It's why we couldn't get together last Saturday when I called her. We were just friends, laughing and getting drunk and willing to give a girl a hand where it was needed. I'd been avoiding my toys the past month. Using them on myself still caused pain and I'm just not into pain. But when Louise slipped her hand under the hem of my shirt and rubbed my tummy—when she pressed the palm of her hand against my heart between my breasts—there was no pain. When I held her bare ass in my hands as we kissed and let our tongues loose in each other's mouth, there was no agony. We filled our wine glasses again and dropped our pajamas on the floor as we headed into the bedroom. We played little lovers' games as I spilled wine on her tummy and licked it out of her navel as she squirmed on the bed. She painted my nipples with wine and sucked them clean. We kissed the wine from each other's lips. And then the wine was forgotten. Even when we'd played the previous two times, neither of us was bold enough to go down on the other. We'd only used our fingers and our passion to rocket into orgasm. But somewhere in this night I took my first taste of another woman's pussy and it was sweeter than the wine. I was drunk. Drunk and free of the pain as I came again and again. ------- Chapter 17 NOTE: I am adding the tag "NonConsensual" to the story today. Throughout the story, an inner battle has been raging between the Margot that is interacting with people and the Margot that is still suffering from her surgery experience—a kind of PTSD. That battle continues, but the next three chapters show her in an increasingly sexual relationship that her inner self continues to protest to the extent of nearly crippling her. These three chapters will be the most intensely sexual of the book, so if that offends you, be forewarned. - aroslav I walked through the jobsite in my jeans and a windbreaker. The last two houses in Phase One were wrapping up with just finish work and touchup to be done. Walk-throughs were scheduled with the new owners early next week with closing and move-in before the end of the month. Harry took me through the site to the new houses under way in Phase Two. "My" house was being framed. It was amazing to see it go from a hole in the ground to walls in just two weeks. It was the first and going the fastest, but the concrete had been poured for five homes. Pete's carpentry crew was working on the framing on my house while a second crew of carpenters worked to get floor joists placed on my next door neighbor. The masons were laying block on the next two houses and there would be a parade of cement trucks in to pour the parking slab for house number five in about half an hour. "We need to make sure the sticks are here for number fourteen yet today," Harry said. "The guys can start framing as soon as the joists are in and I don't want them borrowing from thirteen. If you don't get material here, one house won't be ahead of schedule, we'll have an idle crew, and it will be your fault." "Harry, have I let you down before?" I asked. "Hot stuff, you lift me up as soon as I see you, didn't you notice?" "You'd have to have a foot-long dong for me to see it under your belly, Harry. You just keep rubbing yourself and I'll go track down our missing truckload. How soon can I deliver to fifteen?" "You're a cruel mistress, but you've got nice tits. Framing should be off of this baby by Friday and we'll button it up for plumbing and electrical. That means framers want to rough-in fifteen on Monday." "You make it difficult, Harry. I don't want material dumped on the ground over the weekend. It's supposed to rain." "Crew doesn't get here till 7:30 Monday morning. Work your magic. See if you can make Thompson Lumber dance to your tune." "I can't shake my ass at a whole company. What time do you figure it will hit seventy this afternoon?" I asked. "Guys will be broken-hearted if it doesn't make it before the whistle at 3:30," Harry said. "The stunt you pulled on the first almost gave 'em apoplexy. Never saw so many guys go into shock all at one time." He laughed and I had to join him. "Okay, here's the deal today," I said. "Make sure nobody leaves early and blow your damned air horn at 3:00." "Go home early? It's all I can do to keep them from working overtime. You got something special planned this time?" he asked. "You'll have to wait and see," I said. ------- "We got that beer on ice?" I asked Phil. "Forty-eight longnecks and two dozen Pepsis." "Get 'em in the truck," I said. "Margot, baby, you got company!" Frank said coming out of his office. I looked out the window and saw the Thompson Lumber truck rolling up to site number fourteen. "Suit up, Lori," I said. "I can't do this one alone!" She laughed. "I'll be lucky if I even get home before I get fucked tonight," she called as she headed into the bathroom and closed the door. Damn! Where am I going to change? I headed into the workroom with my bag. ------- I stripped off my bra and grabbed my halter, pulling the ties around behind my back. Hands took the strings from me. Hands that weren't mine. Shit! I'm half-naked here. Can't a girl have a little privacy? I stood there with my hands at my side while he tied the first pair of strings. I didn't even try to cover up. He reached around me to get the neck strings, but he didn't pull them up. Instead his hands cupped my breasts. They were soft and gentle, almost like feeling Louise touch me. Somehow I'd expected them to be more calloused, rougher. But Frank didn't swing a hammer much these days. He pushed paper, negotiated sewer and water services, signed contracts, and basically made my life worth living. Miserable! The slight pressure he put on my already erect nipples sent a shiver down my spine that conflicted with the pain shooting up it. The two met in the middle and I nearly passed out from the sensation. He pressed his lips against my bare neck and nipped at the tender flesh. He didn't grab my nipples or twist them or pinch them. He just let his hands slide over them, then raised the ties of my halter to the back of my neck and tied them. I let myself fall back into his arms as his hands came around my front and caressed my bare tummy. It hurts. It will never work. Every time you touch me you'll hurt me. I nearly came. He turned me around and looked into my eyes. Then his stare traveled down my torso, pausing at my very erect nipples and again at my navel. "Beautiful and clever," he said. "I like it." You like anything with boobs, you horny cowboy. I'd chosen to only display my upper assets on this trip. I wore black leggings that conformed exactly to the contours of my body and five-inch spikes on my heels. But the red halter was what everyone would be looking at. It would be obvious that I had no bra on. They'd get an eyeful while I was still fully dressed. What the guys on site weren't expecting was that Lori was dressed as my somewhat shorter but just as sexy twin. We'd see how Pete responded to that. Frank turned me around and patted my butt to send me toward the door. I glanced down to see if there was a wet spot showing on my black leggings, but I couldn't see one. I still smell like sex, though. "Just follow those headlights on your chest, baby. They're on high beam and pointed the right direction." Lori and I ran out the door as quickly as we could in our heels and Phil and Frank lifted us into the bed of the pickup. We hung onto the sides and each other as the truck lurched up to the jobsite. The jolting truck made my back ache and I had trouble standing up. I don't want to do this. I took a deep breath, thinking about how peaceful it was when Carl hypnotized me. We rolled to a stop just as Harry blew his air horn. Guys came streaming off the jobs and running toward the pickup. "Holy shit! That's my model!" I heard Pete's voice echo in surprise. "Hi baby!" Lori shouted. "Like my new look?" I couldn't hear Pete's response because the rest of the guys were cheering. "Guess what, guys!" I yelled. "It's seventy degrees out. I've got beer and soft drinks. And we just doubled your pleasure!" I wrapped an arm around Lori's waist as they cheered. "Fellas, we've only been on this phase for two weeks and you've got every open lot a day ahead of schedule. Did somebody thank Bill for getting that fifth hole dug a day early?" "I'm here, gorgeous. You're thanks enough for me," Bill yelled. I saw that it wasn't only the rough-in carpenters who were here, but Bill had come back even though he wasn't scheduled to dig again until the end of the month. The plumbers and electricians who would start tomorrow were here and I could even see a couple of guys who technically wouldn't start until we were ready for sheetrock and mud. "And look, even our great delivery guy from Thompson is here with sticks for tomorrow's framing. Hey, come up here Jimmy!" The driver was getting the crane on the back of the truck ready to shift a load of two-by-fours off to the garage slab of number fourteen and was a little confused. He climbed down off his rig and I pulled him up to the truck bed. "Jimmy, I'm so glad you got here for this little celebration. We get a treat every time the weather goes up ten degrees if every jobsite is ahead of schedule." Everybody cheered. "You like treats, Jimmy?" I took hold of his left arm and hugged up to him. Lori took the cue and did the same on his right. "Um ... yeah. I guess so." I picked a beer up out of the ice and rubbed it against his cheek. He shivered a little, but then he watched as I rubbed it across my exposed upper chest, not quite touching the halter, but letting a few drops trickle down into my cleavage. My nipples popped out even further and I heard Jimmy take a ragged breath. "We need our next load of sticks at 7:30 Monday morning, Jimmy. Otherwise number three will lose a day. Could you help us make sure we get our treats?" The poor guy was helpless. Thirty guys were staring at him and he was being hugged by two pairs of tits. What could he say? "I'll load it before I leave Saturday night and have it here by 7:15," he gulped. The guys cheered. "I'll have your beer right here when you're done unloading tonight's delivery," I said, rubbing the bottle lower into my cleavage. What a slut. "Be safe, but don't waste time, okay love?" That boy jumped down off the pickup and ran to the flatbed. Pete hauled two of our guys with him to help Jimmy position the load as it came off the truck. "Now I want you all to understand one thing," I yelled at them. "This house that's framed is where I'm going to live for the next year just so I can be closer to you all. But I can't move in on May 31 when my lease expires unless every single lot is ahead of schedule. Do you want me to live here?" "Hell yeah!" somebody shouted. Everyone joined the cheer. "Then come and get a beer and let's show Quadrant how houses get built in this county!" ------- "You are something else, girl," Lori laughed. "I thought that poor boy was going to go off right there in front of everyone." "He wasn't the only one," Phil said. "You couldn't find that many hard-ons in a titty-bar. Margot, you should be a stripper." "Thanks a lot, Phil. You're a pig," I said. But I said it good-naturedly. Phil still stared at me almost the whole time I was in the office and I figured pictures from this afternoon would be in everyone's truck by the end of the week. He never made a move toward me or touched me. I wondered sometimes how he ever got his work done. "I'm surprised you came back to the office, Lori. Wasn't Pete going to drag you home by your hair?" I asked. "I told him I had to clean up and I didn't want to look like a wanton slut when MaryBeth got home." Like me. "I'm going to change clothes now. He was a good sport, but he doesn't want me showing everybody the goods all the time. I tell you though, he's going to get sucked as soon as I can get the kid over to her friend's house. I might go for a hat trick." "A what?" I had no idea what she was talking about. "Mouth, pussy, ass," she said. "I wonder which one Pete's going to pretend is yours." You what? My what? Holy shit! Three times? "Uh ... yeah. Don't bother to tell me, okay? I'm gonna go change." I headed toward the bathroom, but Lori was a step ahead of me. Oh well. My bag was in the workroom anyway. I walked into the workroom and closed the door. I could feel him approaching me before I actually saw him. He must have been in the room waiting. Stalker. "Need some help?" he asked quietly. I felt his hands on my shoulders. "Relax," he said as he began rubbing. A massage? "You get so wound up when you pull one of these stunts. Let me work a few of the kinks out." Kinks? Let's not get into kinks. It's bad enough that you are touching me and I can't do a damn thing about it. His hands did feel good, though. I could feel my muscles relaxing. Then I felt the strings of my top loosen. The back strap went first leaving the halter hanging loosely over my tits. I could feel my breath coming more quickly. Stop it! Stop it! I'm not doing this. His fingers kneaded my back muscles willing me to submit to his control. Inside I could feel my eyes fill with tears while outside I was practically purring in his hands. I felt the neck strap untie. I did nothing to stop its fall from my body, scarcely noticing as it fluttered to the floor. Still he didn't reach for my breasts, but softly and insistently massaged my neck. He stroked from my neck down my arms in long firm motions that made me want to collapse. We're in the fucking office, for God's sake! What if someone comes in? I'm half naked. I couldn't stand it any longer. I spun to slap him across the face, but instead collapsed against his chest with my hard nipples boring into him. My arms went around his neck and I pulled him to me for a kiss. It was long and deep and at last I felt his hands move to cup my breasts, his thumbs lightly caressing my nipples. It hurts! Oh God! Why does everything pleasurable have to hurt so much? Why am I letting him—no helping him—handle my body like this? Nerves that once seemed to run from my nipples straight to my clit, now sent piercing signals into my lower back. Still, I could feel my pussy responding to his caresses in spite of the pain. "Put your top on now before someone realizes you're missing," he said calmly, handing me my bag. I took it and put on my bra and blouse from earlier in the day. I changed from my hooker heels into tennis shoes, though I didn't bother with jeans. When I was dressed and had my bag repacked, I stood in front of him waiting. What did he want from me? He put his hand on my waist and opened the door. "Drive carefully, sweetheart," he said. I took a deep breath, calming myself with the triggers that Carl taught me. I felt my doubts receding and the pain washing away. I'm still here. ------- Chapter 18 "This is amazing. It's like it's a house already!" Louise said. It was Saturday night and I was taking her for a tour of what was about to become my new home. Two weeks ago I'd pulled a motivational stunt when the temperature hit seventy and I was waiting each day for a hot spell to push us over the eighty mark. Late April had turned cold, and rainy again, though, and it looked like it would be going out like a lion. Nonetheless, there was a new hole at number eighteen ready for the crawlspace the immense home would be built on. Masons were scheduled to arrive on Monday, almost a week ahead of schedule. My home was fully framed, the electrical, plumbing, and HVAC were in, the kitchen was roughed in, exterior wall insulation was in, and Monday they would start with rock and mud as soon as the building inspector had checked everything off his list. The crews were flying on this house and all the others were benefiting from the stepped up pace as well. It was beginning to look like a house. I was actually looking forward to living here. "If everything stays ahead of schedule, I move in May 31. It will be a record for the company to have the home go from stake-out to occupy in sixty days," I said. "You sound so excited. You're really into this homebuilding stuff, aren't you." "When I started here three months ago, six of the twelve homes one the street behind us were no further along than this house is now. The last of them closes and the new owners move in next week," I said. "I did that. I didn't hammer any nails, but I managed the schedule. I talked to suppliers. I got appliances delivered on time. And I got crews—fifty guys—excited about getting a house built." "Are they excited about that or about finding out what skimpy costume you'll dress in next?" she laughed. "They all love my tits and ass," I agreed. "But in spite of all the hooting and hollering, no one has ever made a pass at me or approached me disrespectfully." Unless you count Frank who can't seem to get enough of having his hands under my shirt. But that was different. "You know, this is the safest place on earth that I could live because if anyone did anything to hurt me, fifty guys would kill him." "One after the other," Louise concluded. We laughed. I showed her where my big tub would be and the walk-in closet beyond. Living alone, there would be enough room in this closet for all my clothes. Even the ones still in plastic bags in the third and fourth bedrooms of the penthouse. "Is all your furniture going to fit in here?" she asked. "Frank is coming over in a couple of weeks to inventory what I have and make suggestions on what to replace. Did you know he has a degree in interior design? Construction runs in the family, but he is into home decorating. I can't believe it. He's picking out the final colors and fabrics to go with my furnishings and will supply "model home" furniture to fill in for anything he thinks needs to be changed." "Just like that? You don't get a say in what your house looks like?" "Louise, remember the monstrosity I used to live in? Do you think I went out and chose all that furniture and the carpets and drapes? I hired someone who bought everything and put it in the house for me to enjoy," I said. Those were the days. "I buy my clothes. Why would I care who buys my furniture?" ------- "Wait, wait, wait," Louise said after we'd had about a dozen glasses of wine to go with the pizza we ordered. "You're just going to Las Vegas with them? Are you crazy?" "Lots of people are going," I said. "It's a company thing. Frank will be there and Rudy and Pete." "And you. Anything about these odds that make you uncomfortable?" she asked. "You've got to be kidding. Harry can't come because without him here to yell at people and blow his air horn, no work would ever actually get done," I said, rambling on. "Why would I be uncomfortable?" "Well, traveling on a business trip with so many men to a hardware tradeshow that will be crawling with men. I wouldn't feel safe," she said. "It's Las Vegas. Everyone's safe. Come with me and look at what I've got." I led her into the bedroom and opened my lingerie drawer. Under a few select Victoria's Secret panty bra sets—where did those come from?—I pulled out three brown envelopes and dumped the contents onto the bed. "Margot! What is all this?" "Money. I got two bonuses and the keys to my new house as bonuses each time I pulled one of my ten degree stunts. Two thousand dollars at fifty degrees, keys at sixty degrees, and two thousand at seventy degrees. The keys stay in my drawer. The cash is going to Vegas with me." "I hardly recognize you from the frightened girl whose hand I held a little more than a year ago. I'm so proud of you," Louise said as she hugged me. "And a little scared for you." I'm a little scared for myself. ------- "What is it Harry? You look worried," I said as we walked through the five framed houses Monday morning. Everything was ahead of schedule. "Well, you will be gone for five days." "Only three workdays. We leave tomorrow afternoon. You can handle this by yourself for three days. Christ! You did it all before I got here," I said. "But what if it hits eighty while you're gone?" You're worried I won't be here to dress sexy for the guys? You are all so sick! "If it hits eighty while I'm gone and everything is still ahead of schedule, the guys will get the treat of their lives on Monday. Be sure you tell them that." "Okay. Margot..." "What? No sweet cheeks? No hot tush? No titty-babe? What's wrong, Harry?" "I worry about you kid. I know I talk rough and you really crank my engine, but I still think of you as somebody we've got to protect. I feel like we're sending a baby to Las Vegas," he said. He's such a cute pot-bellied little Buddha. "I'm a big girl, Harry. I can take care of myself." He nodded his head and we finished the morning walk-through. Why's everyone so worried about me? ------- "Keep an eye on Pete for me, will you?" Lori said. "Pete? He'd never cheat on you," I said. "Not unless he had an opportunity," Lori laughed. "But he's so naïve. He'd give a stripper his wallet and all his credit cards just because he thought she was in love with him." "You should talk to your brother about that. I don't plan to go to any of those places. I'll play a little craps and roulette, and I'll see a show if I can, but I won't be going to Little Darlings with them," I laughed. "Now Thunder Down Under is a different thing entirely! You think Pete would like to see that?" It was some kind of male strip show from Australia. I didn't know anything about it except it looked like an Aussie version of the Chippendales. Like I need a cock! "It would be more likely that he'd fish around in some girl's panties and find a cock and balls. He really doesn't have a clue," Lori moaned. "Well, we'll put Phil on duty to watch him then," I said. "Oh, all is lost!" Lori said, breaking out of her morose mood and laughing. "Get out of here. You've got a plane to catch." "Just don't go wandering around topless out there if the temperature hits eighty," I laughed. "You'd steal my thunder." ------- "So you never want to leave the strip and you never want to play a craps table that doesn't offer at least 3X odds," Pete rambled on. He'd been giving me gambling instructions from the moment he cinched his seatbelt in the seat next to me on the plane. I almost wish I was sitting next to Frank. "Pete, every table in Vegas offers at least 3-4-5X odds. Haven't you ever been there before?" I once dropped ten grand on a single bet. Garth and I came to Vegas at least once a year in the old days. Of course I had money back then. "Well, I'm just saying..." He seemed really taken back and I reached over and patted his hand. He was the same age as me and had a ten-year-old kid! But he looked scared to death. "I just want to make sure you show me what I need to see at the show. Our houses are pretty outside and the interior isn't bad, but the bathroom fixtures, kitchen fixtures and door hardware look a little sad when you compare them to some of what's out there," I said. "What's the best hardware we could put on the front doors?" "Oh, well we have a great deal on Schlag," he answered. "Didn't ask about deals," I said. "What's the best? We'll make the deal after we choose what we want." "How did you learn to do all that?" he asked. "I went to school and learned to swing a hammer. Give me a Skilsaw and I'll cut any length you want, square and true. But all I know how to do when I talk to a salesman is pay whatever he asks." "I don't know. I didn't know I had that talent until I came to work here. I didn't know I could create or manage a construction schedule. I'm still in awe of you guys who can swing a hammer," I laughed. "We'll make a good team, Carpenter and deal-monger." "Just show me the best stuff," I said. ------- "We got the best there is," Frank said. He gathered up the various envelopes from the front desk and handed them around. "Everything is prepaid, so charge your meals to your room if you're here at The Venetian. Otherwise, keep receipts so Lori can get you reimbursed when we get back. The only things you can't charge to your room are gambling and women. I'm headed over to the conference center and pick up our registration packet. Go ahead and settle in and maybe pick someplace for all of us to have dinner tonight, Phil. You've been here enough times to know the places. Ask Margot if you can't get a reservation. There's what, five of us? That shouldn't be too tough. I'll see you all at seven." With that he left, not bothering to put his backpack in his room, but heading out toward the Sands Conference Center as he shouldered it. What's with him? I figured I'd be fighting him off as soon as we were out of town. It was a relief, but it made me nervous, too. ------- "Caneletto," Phil said once Frank was gone. "He says make a decision, but if I chose anything but Italian food he'd complain until we left." He walked over to the concierge and came back two minutes later with a reservation for five at seven o'clock. "I'm going to get a nap, he announced." He was sending text messages to everyone as he headed for the elevator. Rudy and Pete stopped at the first blackjack table they saw and I went by myself to the bank of elevators that had my floor number on them. All I had with me was a roll-aboard, which, if a little larger than was strictly allowed, the airline had still allowed me to carry on. I had to put it width-wise in the overhead bin instead of endwise, but no one complained. I stuck my key card in the slot on the room door and thought again about what front door hardware meant to the feeling of comfort and security that a home could provide. This door had a full set of fancy hardware that felt great when you heard the latch click. I parked my suitcase just inside the door and took a look around my digs. Jesus Christ! It's huge! And there's no bed. This wasn't just a room, it was a luxury suite. I saw the curtained archway to my right that must lead to a bedroom. I was apparently in the sitting room as there was a large couch in front of a flat screen TV that had to be fifty inches wide. To my left there was a kitchenette, not just a mini-fridge, but a microwave and bar. Next to it was a dining room with a table set for a candlelight dinner for two. All it needs is food and the man of my dreams. Hah! I grabbed the suitcase and rolled it through the curtains to the bedroom. The bed was big enough to sleep our entire crew. Now that was a scary thought. I looked at the walk-in closet. I should have brought more clothes. Beyond the closet was a luxurious bath with a raised marble spa. The toilet and bidet were enclosed behind the two-headed shower that had no walls. It was just wide open. Cool! It was nice to be in Vegas, but I was going to be here for four days so I put away my clothes, seriously considering using my four thousand bonus bucks to go shopping, but deciding a nap was in order. I stripped off my clothes and crawled into the bed. Oh my god! This is the most comfortable bed I've ever been in! In a few minutes I'd drifted off to sleep. ------- I felt the bed move. The bed shifted some more and I came awake as Frank's arm came around me. He was on top of the covers and I was under them, but I was naked except for a pair of panties that hardly had enough fabric to count. I looked up into his eyes as he bent to kiss me softly. "What are you doing in here?" I squeaked. "How did you get in?" "Both answers the same," he said softly. "This is my room. I used my key." "But why am I here then?" "Because it is also your room," he said. He was gently stroking my head. He'd never touched my hair for more than a second in the past, but now he petted me like I was a cat curled on his lap. Get out of my room! There is no way I'm sharing a room with you. "I came to get you ready for dinner," he continued. "I brought you a little something and you'll probably want to shower first. We've got thirty minutes to get ready." "I ... uh ... but..." "Come on," he said tugging at the covers. "Get up." "But I'm..." It didn't make any difference. I was pushing the covers off my shoulders, knowing full well that in a second my breasts would be fully in view. He'll touch me. He'll hurt me. He sighed as I pushed the covers down to my waist and looked longingly at my tits. But he didn't reach for them. What are you waiting for? Instead he held out his hand and stood. I swung my feet out of bed, took his hand, and stood in front of him, dressed only in the thin pair of panties. "You are so beautiful, Margot," he said. "Go ahead. Get your shower. I have something for you when you get out." I'll bet. I went into the bathroom and he made no effort to follow me. A fresh set of underwear and a big fluffy towel sat on the sink. Sexy underwear. A black strapless half-bra and matching thong. You think I'm going to wear that? I stripped off my underwear and turned on the water in the shower. It was hot and steamy and I let it wash away the stress I felt. He'd looked at me, but didn't touch. It almost made me want to go to him. Almost. As I showered, the lights seemed to fade and then come back on. It was disorienting and I looked around the room. I hadn't even turned lights on in the room because the skylight was so bright. I looked up at the skylight over the tub. We're in a top floor suite with a skylight? I was sure there were floors above ours. I watched the skylight as water pelted down on my back and saw it darken as clouds passed overhead. It was almost seven o'clock. Why would it be so bright in the first place? It's fake. Like everything else in Vegas, it's fake. It wasn't really a skylight; it was some cleverly programmed fixture that even simulates changing sky conditions. Late tonight it would probably have starlight. All fake. And the man in the next room? He's fake, too. ------- I stepped out of the shower, toweled off—so soft—and put on the underwear I'd sworn not to wear. How did he know my sizes so perfectly? I stood looking at myself in the mirror, my nipples barely covered by the black lace, but still clearly visibly beneath its translucent fabric. I powdered my face. I dabbed on a minimal amount of eye-shadow and applied the mascara. From my makeup kit I chose blood red lipstick. If he kissed me again, he'd bear my mark. "Margot, it's time to come out and dress now," he called. What the hell am I going to wear with this? I walked out of the bathroom in my new lingerie and stepped into his arms. He held me gently, his hands on my back—my shoulders. His right hand slid down to the small of my back and he stepped aside guiding me back to the bed. A red, off-the-shoulder cocktail dress was laid out. It's beautiful. I stood beside the bed as he lifted the dress over my head. I raised my arms, letting it settle down against my breasts. He zipped it. The sweetheart bodice made me thankful for the demi-bra, barely hidden by the dress. The A-line chiffon skirt flowed nearly to my knees. I was dressed. Why was he doing this? Why get me dressed at all if he was just going to strip me again? He had me sit on the bed and knelt before me. Is he going to propose or something? He raised my foot to his lips, kissing each toe, its nail painted bright red. He pulled a ridiculously high pair of heels onto my feet, taking so much time and care in fastening them and asking whether they felt right that he could have been a shoe salesman. I can't get away now. I could never walk without holding him for support. I looked him straight in the eye when I stood and leaned forward to kiss him softly, leaving the mark of my lipstick on his lips. He didn't wipe it away. I complacently let him pretend I was his personal Barbie doll—dressing me and holding me—turning me into a showpiece for his ego. He led me out of the room and into the elevator to eat more Italian food with four men who would spend the evening staring at my cleavage and my legs. ------- Chapter 19 Dinner was actually pretty damned good. For once, Frank didn't dictate to me what I should order and I was able to have my own favorite Italian dish—Linguine alla Buranella, a delicate white wine sauce with prawns, scallops, and clams. Oh my god! It's so good. I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair, breathing deeply as I savored the exquisite dish. When I opened my eyes, I saw four men staring raptly at my swelling chest. Shit! "Are you guys going to eat or spend the whole night drooling drooling over my tits?" I asked. "I'm not sure," Phil said, "but I think we might have to give Rudy's heart a jumpstart. Me too, if I wasn't so used to seeing you parade around the office." "You look at this every day?" Rudy choked. "Any man that could stare at this all day and not walk bowlegged has to either be a eunuch or a homo. Which are you?" "Who says I don't walk bowlegged?" Phil snarked back at him. "Lori and me take turns in the bathroom." "Lori?" Pete said, suddenly recovering. "My wife?" "You should see the way she looks at Margot," Phil continued. "I swear the moans that come out of the bathroom will do as much to give you wood as the view from my desk." "Well, at least you both clean up after yourselves," I commented. I had another glass of wine. "I've gotta get me an office job," Pete said. "You'd never get any work done," Frank said. ------- Our meal was leisurely and after the first twenty minutes or so, the guys managed to quit staring quite so much. My guys. Every other guy's eyes in the restaurant kept coming back to me. When Phil asked what we were going to do next, I suggested I wanted another glass of wine. I knew what was going to happen next after dinner. I was going back to my room. And Frank was going there, too. Delay as long as possible. Get him drunk and maybe he'll pass out. Maybe I can drink enough to pass out. ------- As we walked out of the restaurant, Phil, Pete, and Rudy headed for the casino. I was unsure. I needed a place to hide. I didn't bring my cash with me, so I really couldn't leave the resort. What am I going to do? I don't even have a room key. I felt Frank's reassuring hand at my waist and let him guide me. It wasn't toward our room. "What's this?" I asked as we took up our position at the end of a short line. "The famous Venice gondolas," Frank said. I laughed. "Have you ever been to Venice?" I asked. "Only here, but I've never ridden in these boats before. I always wanted to try that." "Venice is beautiful. It has excitement and history and art and architecture. It has culture," I said. I'd been there twice—once right out of college and once with Gary. We'd been young and in love and I loved the city. Late night dinners with two or three bottles of wine that went on for hours. This was just an amusement park by comparison. "That's why I like coming here. It's got all that and great rooms, too." "It's all fake here," I said. He held my hand as I stepped into the boat. He settled beside me and our gondolier pushed away from the landing. Frank looked at me, put his arm around me and pulled me to him. My body relaxed in his arms. My head was screaming for him to get away. I was ready to swim, but I also knew that my nipples had poked up erect into the thin fabric of my dress. Traitors! As we passed under a replica of the Rialto Bridge, he tilted my head up and placed his lips against mine. I wasn't going to respond. He was trying to get me in the mood and I wasn't going to cooperate. My lips parted and my tongue sought his. Our gondolier began to softly sing. Someone on the walk beside the canal—the fake canal—hooted as we drifted past. I wanted to pull away. I struggled to pull away. But my hand rose to his neck and I held him to me. "That wasn't fake," he whispered when our lips parted from each other. "Why are you doing this?" I asked. "This is going to be our first night together," he said. "I want it to be one you always remember." I'll have nightmares about it for the rest of my life, asshole! ------- We still didn't go to the room. After we spent twenty minutes navigating the fake canal, we walked, hand-in-hand, around all the shops along the winding street. The entire ceiling worked like the fake skylight in the bathroom. Stars twinkled overhead and for a few minutes the sky/ceiling clouded up and it rained over a small section of the canal that had no boats in it. All fake. Still, I held onto his hand like a lifeline, feeling every twitch of his muscles and the dry confidence of his palm against my skin. It was the only way I could walk on the perilous heels. We went into the shops along the canal, especially the women's shops. It seemed like he was hunting for something and when he found it, I was embarassed. What kind of slut does he think I am? It was a sparkly crop-top with a pair of red hot pants. The guy had a thing for red. "When am I supposed to wear this?" I asked as we left the store with the package. "When it hits eighty," he answered. Right. Like I haven't been showing enough already. Shit! Whenever my doubts started to rage, I felt his hand at my waist, gently guiding me where he wanted to go. I didn't need to think. But behind it all, the tension was building. Why are you taking so long? JUST FUCK ME! ------- We went from the shopping area into the casino. It wasn't as loud as some casinos I'd been in. The noisy machines were in their own isolated area and the table games rested on thick soft carpet. We saw Phil at a craps table, Rudy playing blackjack, and caught a glimpse of Pete in the poker room. "What's your game, Margot?" he asked. I had the impression that he was asking about something more than gambling. "I left my money in the room," I answered. I couldn't say 'our room.' It was too intimate—too personal. "I'll spot you a hundred and you can pay me back later," he said, pulling a hundred dollar bill from his pocket. I looked around me. The roulette table had a ten dollar minimum and half a dozen people were shoving chips onto red and black squares. I snatched the bill out of his hand and marched up to the table laying on the edge of the layout between the one and four. "Double street, one to six," I announced to the dealer. "Money plays one hundred at five to one," the dealer intoned as he flipped the ball into the track. A pit boss glanced up at the table and then went back to what he was doing. I saw Frank pull out another hundred and plop it on the red diamond. "Money plays red for one hundred," the dealer called. The pit boss looked up again and stepped over toward the table. "No more bets," the dealer said, waving a hand across the table. We waited and watched as the ball rolled into the black seventeen and then bounced out and into red five. It rested there. "Red five odd," the dealer said as he placed the peg on the number. He raked chips in from all over the table before dropping a black chip on Frank's hundred and five blacks on mine. I scooped my money up off the table and stuffed the hundred Frank gave me in his shirt pocket as he pulled his off the table. "I'm done gambling," I said. ------- We stood outside the door. Frank fumbled around looking for his card. There was no sense looking at me for a key card. I had brought nothing with me but the clothes on my back, for what they were worth. I clutched five $100 black and gold chips and a small shopping bag in my hand. He finally managed to get the door unlocked and led me in. Run to the bathroom and lock the door. End of story! I stepped into the room and stopped, unable to move my feet—afraid that one step on the marble entryway and my high heels would slide right out from under me. He put his hand on my waist and guided me far enough into the room that he could shut the door and throw the deadbolt and frame lock. Why didn't I think of that when I came to the room the first time? Frank's insistent hand turned me toward him and when I was fully facing him he pressed his lips against mine. He didn't wait for me to open to him or go seeking his tongue, but pried his way into my mouth with his tongue and ravaged my tongue with his own. I could feel the pain mounting in my hips and focusing at the base of my spine where his hand held me to him. I needed to get these ridiculous shoes off. I stumbled a little as Frank let go of my lips and he caught me, lifting me in his arms and carrying me straight to the bed. Instead of flinging me to the middle and having a go at it, he set me down gently at the edge of the bed and once again knelt before me. "These must be killing you. You looked so good in them, though," he said as he unstrapped first the left and then the right from my feet. Blood rushed into my newly flexed arches and with it an ache that went right up my legs. A year and a half ago I thought I would never wear heels again, but I'd done so successfully. Frank began to rub and massage my feet and up my calf. Ow! Hurts! It felt so wonderful to relax my legs and let him work the muscles in my feet and ankles. I was getting turned on and the more turned on I was, the more my lower back ached. Is sex always going to be so painful? This wasn't even sex yet and I was feeling the shooting pains emanating from my pelvis up my back. He was up to my knees and headed north. This has to stop! "Um ... baby, I need to use the little girl's room, okay?" I asked. Shit! Could I baby-talk him any more than that? He leaned back on his heels and smiled at me. He stood up and offered his hand to help me stand. Flattening my feet on the floor after having them pointed in my shoes all evening sent even more bolts of lightning up my legs. I walked unsteadily to the bathroom and closed the door behind me. I clicked the lock. There! Now I'm safe. If he thought he was getting lucky tonight, he'd be sorely disappointed. I pissed in the toilet and reached behind to pull the zipper down on my dress. He'd bought clothes for me! Underwear, dress and shoes. I was wearing what he'd given me. I jerked the zipper down and let the dress fall at my feet. Why did he have me raise my arms and put this dress on over my head? All I had to do was step into it and pull it up. Having him there to zip was helpful, but he didn't have to make me stretch. Did he make me? I stood in front of the mirror and lifted my hands over my head. My breasts stretched up out of the bra and my pink areola emerged. The stubborn hard nipples stayed secure, just under the edge. What am I doing? Did I put my hands over my head intentionally? Enticingly? I have to remember how much it hurts to even think about sex with him. Sex is pain. A satisfying twinge sprang up my back as I stretched. Now to go take care of you, mister. I reached toward the terrycloth robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. "Margot, come out, dear. I need to use the bathroom, too," Frank said. I dropped my hand to the door handle and it unlocked as I twisted it to leave. Frank was standing outside the door in his slacks and a t-shirt with no shoes or socks on. At least he isn't naked. He'll understand. He went into the bathroom, looking at me appreciatively as I came out in just my bra and thong. I glanced over my shoulder as I walked toward the bed and he was stopped in the doorway looking at my butt. I smiled. "Didn't you need to use the bathroom?" I asked. I crossed my feet one in front of the other as I continued toward the bed. I paused and bent over to retrieve the chocolates the turn-down service had left on our pillows. Finally I heard the bathroom door close and lock. Lock? Is he so shy that he locks the bathroom door behind him? Maybe he'll just jerk off and be done. I hesitated, deciding which side of the bed I would claim. Take the whole thing then he'll have to sleep on the couch. I decided that was a good idea and crawled into the exact center of the bed so I claimed it all. I stretched out on the luxurious pillow-top bed. My back ached from walking around in those ridiculous shoes. I can't sleep in this, I thought as I stripped off the bra, taking an unrestricted breath of air. I snuggled under the covers as I heard the toilet flush and the water running. At least he washes his hands. I could sleep here for a week. This bed was really comfortable. It wouldn't be that bad to have him share it with me, if he'd just keep his hands and other body parts to himself. Except for a massage. I remembered the way he massaged my feet and calves. I could use those magic fingers on my back. He came out of the bathroom wearing just his jockeys and t-shirt. I couldn't help but look. Not that I could see that much, but he seemed to be well-hung. Christ, if I didn't hurt so much, it wouldn't be so bad. But I do and I won't. The pain is too much to let myself go. "I took you for a boxers kind of guy," I quipped. "The legs get all balled up in tight jeans and I'm not so hung that I need a pants leg to keep my cock in," he answered bluntly. I don't know. Looks adequate to me. He approached the bed and I held the sheet up a little to indicate he could get in. Go sleep on the couch. I don't want you here. Go away. The bedding slipped a little and exposed my left breast. I saw him smile. He stripped off his t-shirt and slid under the covers beside me. Just stay on your side of the bed and I'll stay on mine. I rolled toward him and pressed my bare breasts against his naked chest. Oh shit! Pain washed over me in a wave that made me want to cry, just from the touch of his skin. I kept rubbing my hard nipples against his skin as I crawled up his body to kiss him. They pinched my nipples when I couldn't stop them! They hurt me. "Make love to me, Margot," Frank whispered as he rubbed his cheek against mine. No! I won't do it. "Throw caution to the wind and put it all on a winning spin. You've got the luck tonight." My hands found his chest and I rubbed it, twisting my fingers in his sparse hair. You don't understand. It will hurt. Even if it didn't, you don't appeal to me. You aren't the kind of guy I'd spread my legs for. I rolled on top of him, still kissing and felt his hand roam over my back. As he reached my butt, exposed by the thong, pain lanced through me. Oh god, it hurts! Why can't I stop this? He pushed my almost non-existent panties down as he kneaded the flesh of my ass. I wanted to eat him up. Do it! Then he won't want anything more. Blow him and get away. I slid down his frame, dragging his briefs along with me and releasing his huge cock. What did I know about huge? It felt bigger than Garth's as I wrapped my hand around his stiffening shaft. I stroked him gently and he moaned as I moved down to lick the pre-cum off the tip of his cock. He held still as I tongued him and slid him into my mouth for the first time. Just come and then we can go to sleep. I was sure I would get him off but he had different ideas. I'd only just begun, it seemed, when he pulled me back up and his hand snaked between my legs. Christ! Don't do that. Ow! I was so wet he slid right over my bump and into my cunt. Oh shit! Take it out! Don't do that to me! I moaned my pleasure—pain!—into his mouth as he drove my body toward a higher peak. I won't let you do this to me. I won't be your slut. I won't let you hurt me anymore. I opened my legs as I rolled to my back and he followed, hovering over me. The first touch of his cock sent jolts of pain—pleasure—up my spine and into the back of my skull. I couldn't go through with it. It would kill me. My head was already exploding, but my pussy was so lubricated he was sliding into me unobstructed. Traitor! I reached for him drawing him into me. Please stop. I want to die. Please don't hurt me anymore. They were touching me. They were talking about my hard nipples and my wet pussy. Why don't you realize I'm awake? I can hear what you are saying. I can feel what you are doing. I feel your hand in my cunt pulling my bones back into place. God, please stop. I'm awake. I'm awake. Frank pressed into me until I felt his cock against my cervix. The touch, only just enough to let me know he was there, sent another round of shock waves into my back and down my legs. I'm broken. I hate myself. I'm helpless to resist. This was it. Frank plunged repeatedly into my depths, plundering my core, swelling with the drive to come in me. And it hurt so much! Explosions of pain were shooting through my brain, even as my orgasm overtook me and I screamed. His hand in my cunt and the resounding crack of my bones as he pushed them into place echoed in my ears and my memories, destroying any hope of happiness, of sharing, of having, of loving. My senses were imploding. I shook with the fierceness of my climax, unable to stop it. With every clench of my cunt, Frank sprayed more of his seed into me and my head cried out for blackness. It was too much. How could I ever separate the pain from the pleasure? I am Margot. I am pain. And I'm awake. I screamed again, thrashing under Frank so violently that he was dislodged and lay beside me holding me to no avail. My nerves were short-circuited. I was crying—screaming. I shook before going rigid. So rigid my heart stopped. So shocked I felt my eyes roll up into the back of my head. And at last I went where they couldn't hurt me again. I died. ------- Chapter 20 "Margot! Margot!" Frank shouted at my lifeless body. I floated serenely overhead. So this is what it's like to die when your mind isn't shrouded in drugs. It's not so bad. I wish I could have enjoyed that guy a little longer. He's got a nice cock. He keeps shouting at me, though. He reached the phone, punching the operator. "911 emergency. My girlfriend's gone into cardiac arrest! Get help here now!" Poor guy. It's too late for that. Your girlfriend? That lifeless blob of self-doubt and insecurity under your hands? You really are an unfortunate fellow. I watched for a long time as he pumped up and down on my chest and then put his mouth against mine to force air into my lungs. I wasn't sure why I was hanging around, but I didn't know where to go. I just knew that if he woke me up again, it would be terribly painful and this was the first time I'd been free of pain for so long. Let it rest, fellow. Let it rest. ------- I woke up screaming. The pain was killing me. Pain in my head. Pain in my side. My stomach. My arm. God! My ribs! I couldn't force myself to breathe but air was being blown into my lungs then sucked out again—every lungful an agony. My head. My head. Not again. Please God, not again. "Stay with me, Margot. Baby, stay with me," I heard his voice as his lips descended on mine to blow another painful lungful of air into me. "Help is on the way. Oh, baby, don't leave me. I love you, Margot. I love you." Each phrase punctuating another breath of air. He loves me? ------- "You must be a hell of a lover, man," a voice said as an oxygen mask was strapped on my face. Oh God! I'm naked! They'll all see me. "Usually it's guys who have a heart attack during sex." It was a woman speaking. Where's the kind EMT with the soothing voice that sounds like Carl's? "Want to see if you can knock me out later?" She's hitting on my boyfriend while I'm lying here? I'm awake, you know! "Just get this one back to me in one piece. Stay with us, Margot. We're on our way to the hospital." No! Not a hospital. Not a place where they'll torture me again. ------- "Margot, you're stable and breathing on your own now, but we're not sure that the problem is resolved," a new voice said. Deep. Strong. Slightly English. A dark face swam into view above me. Bald. "We need to ask you some questions. I'll make them simple so if you can't make words, just squeeze my hand once for yes and twice for no. Do you understand?" I squeezed his hand. "Have you ever had heart problems?" Two squeezes. "Trauma to the head?" One squeeze. "Less than a year ago?" Two squeezes. "Less than two years ago?" One squeeze. "She was in a near fatal auto accident about a year-and-a-half ago," I heard Frank's voice. "It was before we met." "Can we have permission to get your hospital records?" One squeeze. "Okay. You're doing fine, Margot. We're going to do a CT scan now that we know what to look for. Are you in pain right now?" Pain? I'm mostly numb. Where is my pain? Two squeezes. "Good, but be sure to let me know if you are. I don't want to sedate you unless we have to, but I don't want you to hurt, either." I squeezed his hand, surprised at the strength of my grip. He pulled his hand away. "Let's get to radiology. Don't worry, Margot. You're a strong woman and we'll get you through this." I am strong. ------- "How are you doing, Margot?" asked the doctor. I could see him hovering above me. I tried a word and discovered I could still talk. I wasn't sure. "O-kay." "Good. I'm Doctor Zed and I'm going to tell you what we've found. You had a bad injury to your head and a lot of fluid has built up around your surgery site. That's put pressure on your brain and caused this last little episode. I'm going to relieve that pressure and you'll feel better as a result," he said. "Please. Don't. Hurt. Me." I managed the words one at a time. I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks. Please don't hurt me. I'd rather die. "I am not going to hurt you, Margot. I promise. I'm going to take some of the pain from your head away," he said. Where are you going to put it? "Frank?" I asked. "Would you feel better if he was with you?" "Y-yes." "Nurse, get the boyfriend scrubbed up and in here to hold Margot's hand." He was going to do it? Just like that? "Th-th-thank..." "It's okay, Margot. This can be pretty scary. But you don't need to be scared here." His voice was even better than Carl's. "We're going to use a local anesthetic here on your head, so you shouldn't feel more than a little pressure." "Hair?" "They shaved you last time, didn't they," he said, flatly. "This is going to be so tiny that we won't disturb more than a few strands of your pretty hair, Margot. You have really pretty hair. I'll bet your boyfriend likes to pet your head, doesn't he?" Just then Frank arrived. He was led to my side and he took hold of my hand. He took hold of me. He cared. "I'm here, baby. We're going to get through this okay. They told me what the problem was and they can fix it. I'm right here with you," Frank said. "S-sorry," I mumbled. What a great way to ruin a night. "Okay, Margot. We're going to start now. Remember, if you have any discomfort, you let us know. If you can't speak, squeeze Frank's hand," the doctor said. "Now we're putting this frame against your head so you don't accidentally move. Is that comfortable?" I was going to nod, but I couldn't. I squeezed Frank's hand once. "She squeezed my hand. Is that okay?" Frank asked. "One squeeze for yes, two for no, right Margot?" I squeezed Frank's hand again. "She says, yes," Frank responded. "Okay, Margot, we're already in and I'm not going to do any cutting or probing. We're watching with the scanning equipment," the doctor said. In? I didn't feel anything! They are in my head? "Ohh. Nasty build-up of fluids. No wonder you reacted like you did. We're draining out the bad stuff. Are you still with me?" Where would I go? My head is clamped in a vise. I squeezed Frank's hand. I was getting light-headed. Which is funny. They're draining my brain. "Margot, we're almost finished here. I don't think you'll suffer any long-term effects from this, but you should be checked by your home doctor regularly. I'll send my report to Doctor Adams and you should schedule an appointment with him as soon as you get home," my doctor said. An appointment with the butcher? Not on your life! I was squeezing Frank's hand frantically. "Easy, easy, Margot," Frank said. "She's squeezing my hand like crazy, Doc. Don't panic, Margot. Everything is all right." "Won't see him," I managed to croak out through my tightly clenched jaw. "Never." "Not to worry, Margot," the doctor said. "We'll talk about this before you're released. If you have someone else who is caring for you, we'll send the records there. But this injury needs to be monitored. You won't even have to stay here for long. We might be able to release you later today. Although, I'd avoid having sex for a few days if I were you. Or anything else that puts you under stress. Let's get you healthy." ------- I lay in a hospital bed contemplating my future. I was listening to myself but I wasn't hearing anything. There was no positive proof that I'd died, unlike the car accident. I stopped breathing and Frank gave me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. At the first available opportunity, I was going to make sure that he did mouth-to-everything-else. After all, how many guys could say they gave you such a powerful orgasm that it killed you? It was better than my toys by far. Will it always hurt so much? But what was I going to do? I remembered everything—how I fought within myself and felt I was being controlled. The pain consuming me with the pleasure. The panic as I couldn't stop the explosion happening inside me. The serene dispassion that I felt when looking down at my dead body. Well, I was sure I wouldn't have to worry about the conflict again. What guy would willingly go to bed with a woman who dies during sex? Well, what guy that a woman would actually want to have sex with? There were suddenly a lot of jokes that weren't all that funny anymore. I wonder where my pain went? They must have been giving me some pretty good drugs during my recovery time. Doctor... What-was-his-name? Zed. Doctor Zed didn't want me unconscious, but didn't want me in pain either. Imagine that! A doctor who actually seemed to care. He was concerned that I know and understand everything that was happening in the emergency room. And he even let Frank sit with me and hold my hand. I couldn't see him behind the surgical mask and his hand felt funny in the gloves, but I could hear his voice, all anxious and concerned. Poor Frank. The guy just wants to get laid and then has to spend the night in a hospital with me. After he'd gone to so much work, too. Did he really say 'I love you?' I'll have to make it up to him. Really good drugs. I might be in pain, but I just don't care. ------- "How are you doing, Margot?" Doctor Zed asked when he came into the room. "I feel a little out of it. Like something's missing in my head," I said. "Well, something is. We drained a lot of fluid that was putting pressure on your brain. It looked like it had been building for quite a while—maybe ever since your initial surgery," he said. "Your head might be a little tender where we went in. You know what it's like to have a hole in your head. In fact, we used the existing hole, so all we had to do was puncture your scalp a little. It was minimally invasive." "Wow! How often do I need to come back for a tune-up?" I asked. "Just drain the radiator and check the oil, thanks." "Well, it's a long way here from where you live. You should find a doctor you trust back home," he laughed. "Do I have to?" "Margot," he said softly, "tell me what happened." I told him. I cried. He cried. That was pretty amazing to see a towering black man with a shaved head with tears dripping down his cheeks. Then I told him I had felt manipulated—that someone else was overriding what I was thinking, even to last night and having sex. But right now, I couldn't hear the voice that told me these things. I was afraid I was going crazy. When I'd spent myself, he took my hand a looked thoughtful for a few minutes. He pressed a couple of fingers against my wrist like he was taking my pulse, but I had the feeling that it was just so he could touch me and that I wouldn't interrupt him. "Margot," he said at last. "Have you been in pain ever since the accident?" I nodded my head. "Are you getting counseling?" "Yes. Lately things have gotten better most of the time. He's given me some hypnosis tricks to help manage the pain." "Good. Do you mind if I discuss your case with your therapist? I can forward our records to him and he can help you choose a local doctor you can trust," he said. "You don't have to be isolated like this. Instances of anesthetic awareness do occur. Cases like yours are rare. But no one deserves to go through the humiliation that you did. That is unforgivable. A freak snowstorm and power outage was what prevented you from success in your case. It's just unforgivable," he repeated. "You don't have to suffer for the rest of your life." "Will you really help me?" "I promise. Let's get your information put together so you can get home and get started. And be sure you let me know immediately if you are in pain. We have some pretty amazing pharmaceuticals these days," he laughed. "Doctor Zed ... how did you get that name? It sounds made up." I said. Nothing like being blunt. "It is," he shocked me. "My parents were followers of Malcolm X in the Nation of Islam. They changed their name, but felt it was disrespectful of Malcolm to use the same last name. They argued for a while and then chose Zed to put an end to it." "So you are Moslem?" "No. When Malcolm was assassinated, my parents were appalled and moved to England for a few years. That's where my accent is from. I grew up without a church and without a religion. And I'm much happier for it," he said. "Now I can just help people and not be concerned with what they believe." "Thank you, Doctor," I said. It would almost be worth moving to Las Vegas just to have you as my doctor. ------- I was released before dinner, much to my relief. After last night's incredible meal, I wasn't looking forward to hospital food. Frank had brought me clothes and I was relieved that he hadn't chosen to dress me like a slut. I wore my tight black slacks and a comfortable pair of walking shoes that I'd brought for the tradeshow. He brought one of my favorite silk blouses and all the appropriate underwear. He left the room while I dressed and I stuffed the bra back in the bag he brought it in. I like the feel of silk against my tits. We went back to the room and I looked around at its opulence. It was really very nice. The table was still set for a lovely dinner and I wondered if Frank had requested that or if it was automatic. "Did you really do all of this for me?" I asked him. "You deserve so much more," he said. I turned and hugged him. "Did you see the size of the tub in the bathroom? I was thinking of using it before dinner. I smell like a hospital," I said. "Let me run the water for you, darling. Then I'll order dinner for us. Take a look at the menu and choose whatever you'd like." He left me next to the table and I heard him start the water in the bathroom. I looked at the room service menu. He didn't tell me what to order. In a minute he came back into the room. "Go ahead. Did you decide what you'd like?" he asked. I looked at him. It was like seeing him for the first time. The care and concern were evident in his eyes. "You go ahead and order for me," I whispered. "I'll like whatever you choose." I handed him the menu and went into the bathroom. The room was already getting steamy and I tested the water to be sure it wasn't too hot. It felt great, so I undressed, hanging my clothes on the rack by the door. "Frank," I called. "Could you help me?" I thought he would crash through the doors as quickly as he ran to me. I stood next to the tub, naked. His mouth dropped open and he stared at me. I let him look as long as he wanted. When his eyes finally reached mine I held out my hand. "I don't want to slip getting into the tub," I explained. ------- Chapter 21 Frank never got in the tub with me, but he sat on the edge and bathed me so gently and so sweetly that I nearly cried. He took my hand and helped me step out of the tub then spent more luxuriously gentle time patting me dry with a towel. He draped one of the hotel's luxurious robes over me and ran to answer the door and let room service in. When they left, he conducted me to the table where candles were lit and a lovely meal was set. He'd ordered me a simple but divine chicken breast, perfectly grilled with vegetables and mashed potatoes with a mixed green salad. He ate a filet and we looked at each other across the candlelight during the entire meal. He didn't serve any wine as the doctor had recommended I avoid it for a while. I was on some good painkillers. I didn't need the wine. I was pretty drunk on what I was seeing. After dinner he went to take a shower and I left a 'do not disturb' sign on the door before slipping naked into bed. I had a different reason for occupying the center of the big bed tonight. No matter which side he slept on, he would be touching me. He walked out of the bathroom wearing one of the hotel robes that barely reached mid-thigh. I think he gave me the big one when I got out of the shower. "I can sleep on the sofa," he said when he had come to the bed and kissed me softly on the forehead. "Was I just a one-night stand for you, Frank?" I asked. I was genuinely hurt. I thought he said he loved me. Was I really so stupid? "God no! I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I mean ... you were just in the hospital and..." "And the doctor said no sex," I finished for him. "Can't you sleep here without sex for tonight? I don't think I'll die in my sleep, but I'd feel safer if you were here beside me ... maybe holding me." I lifted the covers, exposing myself to him and inviting him to join me. He dropped his robe and crawled in next to me putting his arms around me. "Margot, I was so afraid I'd lost you last night. When you ... when you were out of it ... I felt like a hole had been punched through my heart. I may have said some things that you didn't hear," he said. "I think you need to hear them. I love you, Margot. Stay with me. I love you." That was all I needed to hear. Was it possible that there was hope for me? I hugged myself to his side and fell asleep with my head on his chest and his arm holding me protectively to him. ------- "Did you tell everyone ... about what happened?" I asked. We'd awakened about eight and ordered more room service for breakfast, delivered and cleared by a staff that was trained to see nothing. We showered, careful not to get my head wet. The doctor warned us that there could be some seepage and showed us how to clean it, but he advised against shampooing or scrubbing. Frank carefully examined me and placed a kiss on my head. "I had no idea you had a hole in your head when we met." "Yeah. I'm one crazy bitch," I said. "It must be why you fit in so well with us." I had to stop and think about that a minute. "I do fit in well, don't I?" I said. That was curious. A one-time rich girl who felt completely at home with a bunch of construction workers. I sort of liked what I'd become. "To answer your question, no, I didn't tell anyone that we were having madly passionate sex when you suddenly died of extreme pleasure," he laughed. "Oh god! I can just imagine. I texted them that I was invited to visit with an old friend from Kohler and wouldn't be around. No one knows." "Thank you. It would be just what I need to have four horny contractors suddenly turn into little mother hens around me," I laughed. "But that means that I have to establish some contacts and make some deals. Here's what I've got in mind." I told Frank my plans to improve the tactile impression of the houses with the addition of two upgrades. First would be new kitchen and bathroom fixtures that felt good and were easy to clean. That latter was important. There's nothing a woman hates more than a faucet that's always covered with water spots. The other thing that I wanted changed was the front door hardware. There was nothing wrong with Schlage and we were getting a great deal on their middle-grade hardware. But I wanted us to change our entryways to full-thickness solid oak doors with top of the line hardware. I'd play Schlage against Baldwin and test some of the other manufacturers, too. "You know that's going to cost more. You're cutting into our margin on the house." "I'm improving our sales potential by putting the customer in a mood to buy when they first take hold of the door handle," I said. "And that's another thing. Phil has to stop opening the door for customers and ushering them in. He needs to hand them the key and develop a line about starting their experience of a Sunset home the way they would if they lived here. Let them take hold of the door and see how good it feels to open it and close it." "Weren't you dead yesterday?" Frank asked. "It's been more than twenty-four hours, so I think we're safe," I laughed. "Let's go make a deal." ------- We didn't have the buying power to negotiate great deals, requiring only a couple dozen units a year. But I got us a good deal and it wasn't going to increase the cost of the home by more than a few dollars. I figured we'd make it up on sales if Phil was as good as he appeared to be. And I was carrying home new front door hardware for "my" house. I could hardly wait to show it off. The day passed quickly and I didn't think I'd seen half of what I should see before we met the guys for the last night dinner and to go see a show. We talked around the table about what we had seen and the deals I made on locksets and fixtures. They, of course, wanted to see a sexy Las Vegas show. I vetoed the outright nudie shows and talked the guys into seeing a magic act that I knew had both gross and risqué humor. Since we were going to the 10:30 show, there were fewer restrictions on the dress of the magician's assistants, so there were plenty of tits for the guys to appreciate. Actually, one girl reminded me of Louise and I let myself appreciate what I was seeing as well. After the show, Frank gently cuddled me in bed, our naked bodies pressed against each other. Even though he had a natural response to the intimacy, neither of us moved to make sleeping together a sexual thing. We had another full day at the show on Friday and I was too tired to walk by the end of the day. Pete caught an early flight out, saying that he really needed to get home to Lori. "Those two are hornier than a Texas steer," Frank laughed. "They can't stand to be apart for more than a couple of days. I tried to talk Lori into coming down for the weekend, but she doesn't like Vegas and figured staying up north was the best way to get her man home quickly. She's right about that. He couldn't have stayed any longer if I'd paid him time and a half." "What's everyone else doing?" I asked. "Well, Rudy's headed for Pahrump for the weekend. You know he's single. I guess no normal woman would have him anyway. But he saves up all year for his trip down here. He'll go make a $5000 deposit at one of the brothels and stay there getting his fill of pussy until the money runs out and they kick him out. When he gets back home, he'll need two days to recover before he comes back to work. It's the way he is," Frank said. Yuck! I knew Rudy was a little gross, but I didn't expect him to just go to a whorehouse for the weekend. The poor girls. Then again, I suppose that's what they get paid for. "What about Phil?" I asked, fearing the worst. "This will surprise you. Phil comes to Vegas every other month. You notice he wasn't talking a lot about gambling or going out at night? Well, a couple of years ago he met a girl—a dealer—and they hit it off," Frank said. "He had this weekend planned even before I said he could come down to the show. He checked out of the hotel yesterday and has been staying with her." "That's dumb. He should have brought her here. It's beautiful." "He can't. She works here. Don't worry, though. I don't think they care what their surroundings are," Frank laughed. "That leaves us," I said. "What do you want to do, Margot?" he asked. "There are parties tonight and I've got a few invitations. We can get on a plane and go home. We can go out and see the town." "We could just stay in our room and make love," I said. "I don't know if that's safe yet," Frank said. "The doctor said..." "Screw the doctor," I said kissing him. "If you don't screw me." "Okay," Frank said. "Dinner at Tao. A little dancing and then we can come back here and do whatever you want." "Tao? Oh my god. I need to go shopping." "Get something pretty," Frank admonished before he left me to my own devices. For the first time I headed out of our room by myself with $4,500 that no one was telling me how to spend. I hit every shop along the canal and then crossed the street to Ceasar's and made my way through The Forum Shops and The Appian Way. It finally paid off and I was back in our room dressing before seven-thirty. Frank wasn't back yet, so I took a long shower—careful of my hair—managed to use a washcloth to scrub the part of my hair that I could and positioned a Georgia Nash black jeweled turban on my head. I could be bald for all anyone could tell. Speaking of which, I looked at myself in the mirror and made one more decision. I hadn't shaved my girl in over a year and she was pretty bushy. I trimmed down and then carefully shaved everything, leaving only a landing strip that pointed the way. I knew Frank loved red, but we were going to Tao and the only real choice was black. The dress I chose was perfect. It was a halter top with one long sleeve that covered the scars on my right arm and left almost my entire left side bare. There was barely twelve inches of fabric that spanned from the top of my hip to my thigh on the left side while the right side swept down to my ankle. I'd shopped carefully for shoes, choosing a pair of black Ferragamo sandals with two inch open mesh heels so I could feasibly walk and even dance in them. The lotion I used on my chest had glitter in it, so both my upper chest and my bare back sparkled. Fully dressed, I stepped out of the bathroom to find Frank waiting for me. He was classic Vegas cool. His open-collared black silk shirt and tight pants were topped by a loosely structured black linen jacket with the sleeves pushed up. His bulging forearms were exposed. Shiny black shoes finished the ensemble and his hair was freshly barbered. We were quite the pair. We got to Tao and he had a line pass that got us straight to the front and seated at a table near the dance-floor. The music was rocking and it was obvious that we weren't going to do much intimate talking. Instead I let my body talk, sitting on his left so the arm he put around me had free access to my bare back and side. I didn't intend to eat just sushi, but once the yellowtail sashimi arrived, I was lost. I ordered a chef's choice of sashimi and sushi and had enough that I could encourage Frank to try some. "You know what we call that, don't you?" he asked as I shoveled raw salmon and wasabi into my mouth. "Bait." On the other hand, he was able to use his chopsticks well enough to stir Kobe beef in a broth for shabu shabu. The guy likes his meat. But at least it wasn't Italian. After dinner he took me to the dance floor, but the music was so loud and boisterous that we didn't last long. After molten chocolate cake and one last cup of tea, he settled our bill and we headed back to the room. ------- We brushed our teeth and I led Frank to the bedroom. He'd already lost his jacket and I slowly unbuttoned his shirt, kissing each inch of chest and stomach that was revealed. I was pleasantly surprised to find that he wasn't wearing anything under the tight black slacks and it was a good thing I got them off of him before he split them with his wood. I knelt before him and sucked his cock, circling the head with my tongue and savoring the flavor of his leakage. I needed him to be solid and gentle with me, so I plunged my mouth over him and stroked with my hand until I felt and tasted his release in my mouth. I kissed my way up his hairy belly and chest until I reached his mouth. He was a little reluctant to dip his tongue in my mouth, but I shoved mine into his and he eventually figured out it wasn't that bad. "Undress me, Frank," I said softly. "Unwrap me. Discover me. Make love to me." He figured out the combination to the straps at my right shoulder and the dress fell to my waist, still clinging to my right arm. He pulled the sleeve off my arm and I helped him find the hidden zipper on the right side at my waist. At last it fell to the ground. That was it. The dress would not tolerate any kind of bra and I'd intentionally ignored panties. We were standing naked together and I pressed my body against his, trapping his hard manhood between us. I could feel it, even its moist tip as we wiggled ourselves closer to each other. "Are you sure it's okay?" he asked. "Let me check with the management," I left his embrace. "Really, help me to the bed and give me just a minute to make sure my pain is under control. The drugs are good, but I don't want to take any chances." We sat on the bed. He leaned against the head and I sat between his legs with his arms wrapped around me. I felt so secure. So safe. This is how Baldwin should market their locksets. There's no safer feeling. I breathed deeply three times and let my mind repeat the mantra Carl had given me that would trigger my hypnotic state and relieve the last vestige of my pain. I was here. There was nothing between me and my love. I turned my head to reach up for his kiss and Frank met my lips. He was so calm and gentle. We turned to each other as I curled in his lap and for the first time I truly explored our kiss. I felt the texture of his lips—the taste of his mouth, fresh from brushing his teeth. I could feel the slight prick of his beard against the softness of my cheek and imagined how it would feel against my inner thighs. I was aware of his breath against me and his eyelids drifting closed as we lost ourselves in each other's embrace. I wanted him. But he was so fully in control that I let him set the pace. When his lips brushed my nipples, the old familiar flood between my legs began. I searched for the pain as he continued his journey down my body, leaving trails of kisses and licks everywhere he could reach. He kissed up and down the scar on my right arm, the scar on my abdomen. He worshipped my legs and feet and returned to my center along a path that touched every nerve in my legs. And still there was no pain. I enjoyed the sensation, but at the same time missed the intensity that the pain brought. A part of me was deadened. It wasn't gone, I realized. It was blocked away—walled up where it couldn't get out. I relaxed. For tonight, at least, I would simply enjoy the sensations of being loved. He sucked my lower lips and opened my flower to let me drift into an orgasm that filled every ounce of my body. He poised over me and sank his cock into the warmth of my smooth-shaved pussy. Oh god. It was sheer pleasure. He awoke all the nerve-endings in my cunt and just kept touching them in and out. I could feel him rising to his peak, but I couldn't wait for him. I let myself plunge into a waterfall of pleasure, bathing in the torrents of my climax. He continued to push into me until I felt his release adding to the last ripples of my own—another, if smaller crest of blissful catharsis. I was alive. But I am still here. ------- Chapter 22 There were four messages on my machine when I got home. All were from Carl. I'd had my cell phone off for two days and when I turned it on there were two more messages from him there. It was Sunday night, but his last message said to call as soon as I got in, no matter what time. Have you missed getting in my head that much, you old pervert? I was getting a little bitchy. Frank wouldn't spend the night because everyone knew we were back in town. That was fine with me. I was sore and my back had begun to ache on the plane. Even my nipples seemed hyper sensitive when he touched them lightly while we kissed. I'd survived a monster week and wasn't anxious for a repeat. Thank heaven that's over. "Margot! I'm glad you called," he answered on the second ring. "How are you doing?" "Fine, Carl. Just fine," I said tiredly. "What's up?" "I had a long talk with your doctor in Las Vegas, Doctor Zed," Carl continued. "He believes it is critical that we expand your pain management techniques and that we get you competent medical care for your pain and you head injury. He said you were about out of the painkillers he gave you." "Yeah. I took the last one this morning and frankly I'm getting a little cranky," I said. I'm not going to any more doctors. "What time can you come in tomorrow?" "Tomorrow? Tomorrow is Monday and I've been out of town for most of a week. There's a ton of stuff I need to catch up on. I can't come tomorrow," I snapped. "Margot, this is important. You don't have to be in pain all the time. You need to come in." I am the pain, you numbskull! "Fine. I'll be there at eleven after I make my morning rounds. Okay?" "Yes, Margot." He sounded mollified. "I'll see you then." ------- "Wait! This house has slipped a whole day in the schedule. What happened?" I yelled at Harry. "Well, that's Pete's crew and you took him away for three days. He might not act like it, but he's a great crew chief and they don't get as much done when he isn't there," Harry complained. "He's not a great crew chief if his crew can't do without him for a couple of days. Where are they?" I demanded. "Well, they're framing number seventeen, but..." "Let's go. They need a little fire under their asses." "But Pete isn't there," Harry finally blurted out. I stopped and spun on him. "Why not? It's Monday morning. He can't still be fucking Lori. Her car's in the lot." "He's in number thirteen." "Why?" "He insists that he's the one that has to do the fit and finish because this is going to be your house." "Oh that idiot." I was torn. Yeah it was a nice gesture of loyalty, but if his crew couldn't work without him, I wouldn't be moving in anyway. Should I go light a fire under the crew or go rip Pete a new one? "Pete!" I yelled when I walked through the front door with Harry right behind me. "In the kitchen!" he yelled back. I walked in to see the cabinetry had been hung and Pete was trimming the counters. "Look at this, Margot," he bubbled. "You'll love the way these drawers feel. And not a bump in the wood joins on the trim!" "Pete, what are you doing here?" "I'm finishing your house, Margot. I want it perfect for you when you move in." He grinned at me like a little boy. "Your crew is floundering, Pete," I said. "They've fallen a day behind on seventeen. If they keep going at this rate, I won't be moving in because that house will be lagging the schedule. You need to be over there." "But I want this perfect for you," he said. That's it! You stupid slow-witted boy, get your ass in gear! I walked up to Pete, took his face between my two hands, and kissed him. Not a sweet little thank you friend kiss. I hit him with everything I had. As soon as his lips relaxed enough to realize what was happening, my tongue was between them and wiggling in his mouth. I kissed him with intent to kill. When my lips left his, he was standing there in shock with his eyes glazed over. I glanced over my shoulder. Harry wasn't in much better shape. "What... ?" Pete started. "I love ya, Pete," I said. "You're sweet and kind and caring. Your heart's in the right place. But your ass isn't. Get it out of my house and go get your crew back on schedule or for the love of God, I'll get Lori to withhold sex for a month. Understand?" "Yeah. Margot. On my way. Now," he said as he picked up his tools and crab-walked to the door and out. I rounded on Harry. "Is there a finish crew that's supposed to be in this house?" I demanded. "Yeah. They went to number fourteen when Pete came in and took over," Harry said. Damn! Maybe he does have a foot-long. I swear I can see a tent under that belly. "Then get them where they're supposed to be. You are the foreman on this site, aren't you? It's your job to assign the crews, right?" "Right!" he snapped out of it and turned toward the door. "Shit, you have the hottest ass I've ever seen. I gotta get me one of them kisses." What a sick perverted job this is. I stopped before I left and stood behind the kitchen counter, just touching the sleek black marble countertop. I wondered what I'd cook here first. ------- "Good, you're here," Carl said. I'd never seen him so anxious to get started. "Really, Carl. Things aren't that bad. I did my exercises this morning and I've only had a few twinges as I was walking around the site this morning," I said. Nonetheless, I took off my sunglasses and stretched out on the sofa across from the door. We'd found this was the place that I was most comfortable when I was under. "I'm glad it's working for you," Carl said in his calm even voice. I was already beginning to relax. "We'll reinforce your triggers to make it easier for you to control. Now just relax." ------- "Feel better now?" he asked. "I feel great. I still don't know what the big deal was, though. I come in, talk for a few minutes and we're ready to go," I said. "It's been a little longer this time," Carl said. I looked up. "What? Oh my god! Carl, It's almost two o'clock. How long was I out?" "A little more than two hours." "What did you do?" I reflexively squeezed my legs together to see if I'd been raped. Nothing seemed that squishy. What the hell? "I had a conversation with your pain," he said flatly. He looked wrung out. "Which of us is crazy, Doc?" "I was on this track, but things Doctor Zed said when we talked made me probe a little deeper," Carl said. He had a stack of papers on his desk that he pushed aside. "Here's the summary. You've given your pain a life of its own. It has a definite personality, and it's not pleasant. Why would it be? It's a pain." What kind of a load of crap is this? "I've given my pain a life? What the hell are you talking about?" There was a twinge in my lower back. "It's not gone, by the way. Why was I out for two hours and I still hurt?" "This happens on rare occasions, and the experience you had helped it along. Your pain was constant and was the only thing you could relate to during surgery; it became a person in your head," he said. "You mean like schizophrenia? A split personality?" "Very much like that." "How did you figure this all out?" I asked. This is too weird. "I followed the line that Doctor Zed gave me and when you were under, I simply asked to talk to your pain. In your head, your pain believes it is you. You identify with words like 'I am my pain.' But in another way, it isn't a split personality. I'm not hospitalizing you. You aren't crazy," he said. That's a relief. "Unfortunately, since it is embodied in this way, you actually fight against yourself. Pleasure becomes pain and you feel that you are being manipulated into doing things you don't want to do. Part of you doesn't want to do them. If the other part overrules the pain, you get a conflict in your head." "I'm getting a headache," I said. "This is a bit much and I don't think I believe you." "Well, I convinced Doctor Zed to phone in a prescription for a continued supply of painkillers for you, but only on condition that you see a physician and start working on genuinely getting rid of this pain," he said. "Neither of us wants you to become hooked on painkillers as an escape from chronic pain." "Shit. Can I go back to work now?" I was tired and I really wanted to get my schedules updated without staying until eight o'clock. "Yes, but please stop by the pharmacy and pick up your prescription. Get started on it right away and let me make a doctor's appointment for you." "Sure. I'll see you Saturday, I suppose. Thanks," I said as I left his office. Pills. I hate pills. ------- "It's quiet," I said when I walked in the door of the office. "Phil's out at your house showing it to a prospective homeowner. Frank and Dottie are in a conference over the budget and access to the remaining Phase Two funds. Stay out of their way." "Thanks for the warning. How was your weekend?" Lori grinned at me. "I love the way you send my man back to me," she said. "Three days and nights alone with no nookie then the boy comes home and tries to make up for it all on Friday night. Whee!" "That reminds me," I said. "I told him this morning that if he didn't get his crew back on track, I'd get you to deny him sex for a month." "Not unless you've got a big strap-on you intend to use on me," Lori laughed. "I'll pretend the threat is good, though." "Um ... he might be a little horny tonight," I confessed. "Why? What did you do?" "I'm sorry. I got carried away and kind of drove home the point by kissing him." "You what? You kissed my husband? You slut!" "I'm sorry, Lori. Really. I know I crossed a line I shouldn't have. I feel terrible," I said. Geez, lighten up. I didn't fuck him. "I want mine," she said, standing up from her desk and moving toward me. I flinched. Did she really want a cat fight? "Right now," she demanded. "I want a kiss every bit as good as the one you gave Pete, and believe me we're going to compare tonight and it better be equal." "What?" "Kiss me!" Oh fuck! I kissed her. I squeezed her lips between mine until they popped open and I reamed her mouth with my tongue, trying for her tonsils. It wasn't enough. I reached around her and grabbed her ass, pulling her toward me and grinding my pussy against hers. I felt her hand palming my tit and knew that she was as far gone in lust as I was. I didn't want to quit when she pulled away. She looked at me, her eyes still glazed with lust, both of us panting. "I need to get home and get naked before Pete gets there," she said. She left her desk the way it was, grabbed her jacket of the back of her chair, and was gone. Shit. She was as good a kisser as her brother. I went into the workroom and started laying out the schedules so I could cross check the dates and update them on the computer. My back was aching as I bent over the work table. Damn. I didn't take the pill yet. I went over to my bag to get the bottle out and heard laughter. Frank's door was open a crack. Doesn't sound like much of a budget review to me. I stepped closer to the door and listened. "I told you to fuck her, not kill her," Dottie laughed. "It wasn't funny," Frank said. "EMTs got there and I was still naked with my junk hanging out. The bitch actually asked if I wanted to try to knock her out." "Well, now that you've got it out of your system, you can get back to work," Dottie said. The goddamn son of a bitch! His wife told him to fuck me to get it out of his system? And he did! I'll show him out of his system. The front door of Frank's office opened just as I pushed through the side door. Dottie was closing it behind her. Frank stood a step away and as soon as the door was closed he muttered, "Bitch." He turned to see me standing behind him. "Margot! Baby, I missed you. Come." He held out his arms to me. Come? Am I a dog? Am I supposed to jump up in your lap and lick your face? I fell into his arms as if he was my last hope on earth. My head was hurting and my back was hurting. And he was kissing me. Even that hurt. "You look exhausted, baby. Did you see a doctor today?" "Yes. I haven't taken my pill yet. I needed some water." And then I heard you and your wife laughing. "Let's get you some. We don't want any repeats of Las Vegas." Not of any of it? I took the water from him and downed the pill. I didn't know how long it would take to kick in so I took a deep breath and went through the mantra Carl taught me. The pain started to ease. "Come sit on my lap and tell me about your day, baby. I'll tell you all about mine," he said soothingly as we sat in his big desk chair. I kissed your brother-in-law. I kissed your sister. I heard your wife say she told you to fuck me. My doctor said I have a split personality. And one of us is going to kill you. ------- Chapter 23 My hypnotherapy was helping. I wasn't in acute pain as often as I used to be and sometimes I could stave it off if I felt it coming. Of course, drugs helped, too. Which brought me to my new doctor. She was good. She was a woman. Doctor Sarah Cornell stepped into the exam room after a nurse had taken my blood pressure, pulse, and temperature. The nurse had also asked me about a million questions about my medical history, all of which were answered yes or no. Christ! Can't you read? This is all on the form I filled out in the lobby. "Tell me about how you've been doing lately," Doctor Cornell started off. Just like that. No introductions or niceties. Let's get down to how you're doing. "I had a scary incident in Las Vegas and Doctor Logan, my therapist, and Doctor Zed, the physician in Las Vegas, said I needed to see a doctor here at home," I said. She nodded, but didn't probe. "Are you having any continued pain in your head?" she asked. "I never really had much pain in my head," I said. "An occasional headache is all. Most of my pain is in my lower back. When it really gets me it just fires up my whole spine." "I see." She made some notes and had me lie on my stomach on the table. Great. The backside of this stupid gown leaves me wide open. At least I wore normal panties today. She put her hands on either side of my spine between my shoulder blades and slowly worked her way down my spine to my butt. "Have you had a CT Scan of your pelvis since your surgery?" she asked. "Uh ... no. The only doctor I've seen since my surgery was Doctor Zed. They only did a scan of my head, I think." "Stand up here facing away from me." I did as instructed and she sat on a stool behind me and placed her hands on my hips with her thumbs at the base of my spine. "Raise your right foot. Now your left." I followed her instructions, marching in place. I could feel my bones grinding together with each step. She asked me more questions and had me lie on my back as she probed my abdomen. She placed her fingertips on my pubic bone and had me repeat the stepping motions while lying on my back. She hemmed a lot, but didn't say much. "Am I going to live?" I asked in my best smart-aleck voice. "That depends on you," she said. "Are you suicidal?" That woke me up. Am I trying to kill myself? "No, I don't think so." "Good. Then you'll probably live. Now the question is will you live in comfort or in pain." "If it's 'in pain, ' I might reconsider the suicide question." "Then let's make sure that isn't the option we choose, shall we?" she asked. "I want a scan of your torso and pelvis. Might as well do your head, too, so that we're sure the leakage has stopped. It's not uncommon for people who suffer a dislocated pubic symphysis to have lingering pain. We're getting better at remedying that, but even though it's not a hundred percent, you should never be in the agony that you've described. I want you in physical therapy to work on getting these bones aligned correctly and the muscles to hold them in place." "Great. More doctors." "Ms. Pembroke, for some reason, you never got well after your surgery," Doctor Cornell said. "I've looked at your file. I want to assure you that I understand. But part of the reason you are still in pain is that you terminated doctor care and therapy without telling anyone you were suffering. Don't look at me like you hate me already. You have good reasons to mistrust the medical profession. You don't want to be under a doctor's care. Frankly, I don't want you as a patient." That's comforting. "So let's get you out of treatment as soon as possible. But I won't blithely let you walk away unless I'm confident that you are healthy. Your recent episode in Las Vegas showed that you weren't ready. Let's change that. Your injuries need to be monitored. You have a team behind you now. Get well." Doctor Cornell left the room and Nurse Ready-Whenever came back and led me to x-ray. I lay down in the tube and they did the scan in about thirty minutes. Then there was more waiting. I didn't get my schedule status entered in the computer today. I'll have to go from handwritten notes tomorrow morning. If it doesn't stop raining, we can't dig number twenty. It's May, for fuck's sake. Stop the damn rain already. ------- "You have an impingement between the sacrum and T-5. Physical therapy should help, but if it doesn't we have a surgical alternative. I can fuse the joint and relieve the pressure that is causing your nerve to go haywire. That could easily move the problem to between T-4 and T-5, as it increases the stress on that joint. I don't think you'd want to keep fusing vertebrae every time a new problem arises. So devote yourself to your PT. It will be hard work but it's the best option. Got it?" I nodded. She was thorough, but she had no bedside manner at all. I nodded and got dressed. ------- "Nice," Frank said appreciatively. He wasn't looking at me. He was standing inside the door of my apartment surveying my living room for the first time. Somehow this was more intimate than having sex—something we'd managed only twice since Vegas. I don't know how we'd managed that as he hadn't come to my apartment and I couldn't go to his house. We'd fucked like teenagers on the seat of his truck Friday night and Sunday afternoon we rented a motel room in a town fifty miles away. "I'm glad you like it," I said softly. I still wasn't sure what our relationship was. I can't even decide what I want it to be. I waited for him to continue. I'd accepted his control. Whatever he said to do, I would do. "So, this is how we'll do it. Take this pad of yellow stickies and tack one to everything that is personally meaningful to you. Sentimental value, just something that resonates, gifts you don't want to part with, the most comfortable piece of furniture. Anything you definitely don't want to part with," he said. "I'm going to go around and put pink stickies on everything that is particularly perfect for the setting of the model home. But it's going to be where you live, so if I tag anything in pink that you are tired of or want to get rid of, put a black 'X' on the sticky. Here's a pen. This should be fun." Fun? Since when is it fun to have someone evaluate your taste and comfort and tell you what is worth keeping? Fuck! I took the offered pad of yellow sticky notes and the pen and headed down the hall. I didn't want to start in the same room as Frank. What if I cross his path and there are no pink stickies? I hate this. I went to the third bedroom. It was where Mavis had lived until I could no longer afford her wages. The bedroom set had been new when we moved in. She was a small woman, so the bed hardly seemed used after less than nine months' occupancy. Bed, night stands, dresser, rocking chair, table, lamp. It was a room almost as large as the master bedroom but without the walk-in closet and a smaller en suite bath. But was there anything here that I wanted? The lamp and rocker were nice but kind of little-old-ladyish. There was a nice braided rug under the chair and a footstool. I walked around the room touching things to see if anything resonated with me. Eventually I left the room with my untouched pad of sticky notes in my hand. The guestroom was furnished in a high-end Danish modern set to maximize the space. You could probably get the same furniture at IKEA for half the cost of this set, but Garth and I had used it as our guest-set in the old house and it was among the limited furniture that I took with me, thinking it would set the theme for my new penthouse. When I actually moved in, I decided I didn't like the style that much, so none of the other furniture matched. I found pretty much everything Scandinavian to be uncomfortable. I certainly didn't want to sit on it in my living room. I left the second bedroom with an untouched pad of sticky notes. I'm so shallow. Did I always surround myself with meaningless crap that I thought looked good? Yes. By the time I entered the master bedroom, I was beginning to see myself as an estate liquidator who viewed a dead person's household with cold objectivity. Nothing cried out for me to claim it and treasure it. Well, my bed. It was a top of the line orthopedic bed that I ordered to make sleeping less painful and it served me well. I wondered if Frank would like the bed. It wasn't as plush as the one in the Venetian, but I could add a pillow-top to the mattress and the frame was nice. For the most part, I'd lived in this room more than any other since I moved here. Yes. I want my bedroom set in my new home. The thought satisfied me. ------- When we were finished, there were many more pink stickies than yellow and I'd only marked an 'X' through one. I truly hated that lamp and had no rational explanation for why. We sat at my dining table and looked at the plan for my new home and the list of furnishings. I noted the dining set wasn't tagged. "Don't like my dining room?" I asked. "Love it," he responded. He pushed the plans toward me. "Where would you like to put it? Garage?" I realized what he meant. I was moving to a house that was actually two hundred square feet smaller than my apartment. It didn't have a dining room. It didn't really have a living room. It was one large open space on the main floor that included the kitchen, nook, and family room. There was no room for a nine-piece dining set. I couldn't even imagine where we'd put the chairs. There wasn't even really room for my television unless I wanted it sitting next to the fireplace. "Don't I get to watch TV anymore?" I asked. I looked over and noticed it had a pink tag on it. He planned it to come along. "Up here," he said, pointing to the second floor plan. "The big television will go up in the bonus room with your comfy couch and chair. It's a little more intimate up there and there is wiring for a smaller TV over the fireplace if you want one for company downstairs. We'll furnish the family room and Nook with new, slightly smaller furniture to make it look bigger." "Can we curl up together on the couch in my bonus room and watch a movie together? You said it would be more intimate," I suggested, touching his arm. He smiled at me and put down his pencil. "Why don't we try it out and see if we fit together on it?" he asked. Yes, master. I took a deep breath and silenced my inner voice and the pain. ------- Moving day looked great. Clear skies and my furniture and clothing were already packed and being loaded in the van. Frank had directed the packing and loading while I did my rounds at the jobsite. I'd managed to sell almost everything that I wasn't taking with me and pocket a nice sum. I could have paid another month or two of rent. My new table and chairs as well as a dozen other pieces of furniture had been delivered to the model home on Wednesday. As a crowning touch on the house, I'd let Pete install the new lockset on the front door. There would be a grand opening open house on Memorial Day, Monday and everything needed to be unpacked and put away over the weekend. I guess I'll have to go to work Monday. How'd they manage to pull that off? What was even better was that I was feeling good. In two weeks of almost daily physical therapy and twice-a-week hypnotism, I was walking straighter and in less pain than ever. I was doing a hundred pelvic floor pulses a minute a dozen or more times a day to strengthen my core. And Frank just loves that. Having the pain relaxed made it easier for me to deal with the voice in my head. She still bitched at me, but I ignored her most of the time. If I couldn't, I took a painkiller. I was wearing flats most of the time which helped my back, but cut a lot of the sexy out of my short skirts. I'd always worn heels, but now I was saving them for special occasions. I caught Frank looking longingly at my legs in the office once or twice and just automatically raised up on my toes. He directed the movers so when I got back to the apartment after my rounds, there was little for me to do but scrub and clean so I could get my rental deposit back. It was a hefty sum and I wasn't going to give it away because the toilet wasn't clean. "Margot, come here, please. We need to know about the potted plants," Frank called. I was nose first under the kitchen sink, mopping up a spill of something sticky and was too busy to go answer an inane question. I focused on my task. Ignore him. I hit my head on the sink when I jumped. Frank had called me, given a direct order and I hadn't obeyed. I scrambled back from the sink and ran to the living room. I reached him panting like I'd come from the furthest reaches of the apartment. I was panicked. Should I tell him I was busy? How could I explain that I'd ignored him? He seemed not to notice that I'd delayed and simply asked which rooms the various plants were to be delivered to. We marked them and he went with the movers to head for the house. When they were gone, I sat in the middle of the empty living room and cried. What have I done? I knew Frank had been controlling me. I didn't know how, but his voice always compelled me to obey. I had grown to accept it now. I argued against doing some things in my head, but was usually involuntarily doing he ordered me to before the argument had been settled anyway. Had he let his control slip? Was a side effect of being on painkillers numbing me to the effects of his voice? And what will he do when he discovers that I'm immune? Will he be more forceful? Will he reinforce his control over me? I needed to keep this a secret and distract him from what had happened. I would listen carefully and make sure I obeyed quickly so he wouldn't suspect that he wasn't controlling me. If only my physical responses would continue to work. If he said, "Let's make love," and I wasn't wet would he know I was free? I looked around me at the empty apartment. I was dependent on him now. It was a different kind of control. Without him I was homeless. I needed him. ------- I showed up at the house, the model home, my new dwelling, about an hour after the truck got there. Nearly everything had been moved in and Frank's decorating crew were setting up the beds and hanging art. Well, here goes. My white tennies, sparkly crop-top and red hot pants made me look like a cheerleader. I bet these guys all have cheerleader fantasies. Probably why Frank bought me this outfit in the first place. I glanced at the temperature on my dashboard. Eighty-one degrees. I rolled down my window and could smell the grill cooking brats on my deck. Phil was hard at work getting things ready. I called Harry. "What is it sweet-cheeks? I see your stuff is here." "Yeah. In fact I've got all my 'stuff' here, Harry. You'd probably better come out and blow your horn," I laughed. "My what? Is it..." "Eighty-one, right on time," I said. "You guys didn't lose any time on the schedule today, did you?" In answer I heard the stereo of the air horn being blown outside and through my cell phone. "We're on time and we're on our way," he howled. I laughed. ------- "All right you guys!" I yelled. "You've managed to stay ahead of schedule on every house this month. In fact, we've got two more under construction than we had planned by this time. We might have to slow you guys down a little." "No!" "I'm kidding. All my furniture has been moved in to the first house finished in Phase Two, thanks to this great moving crew. And even they are an hour ahead of schedule. Not bad, fellows." Everyone applauded. "I'm so proud of you all for your hard work. And for giving me a place to live. Proud enough to have refreshments in the kitchen and back deck. I want to invite you all to come in and see where I'm going to live. You'll even get a peek at where I'm going to sleep. And if that isn't enough for your daydreams, I'll even show you my bathtub." They were all laughing. "Without me in it!" I laughed. "And seriously. You've done good work. The quality is here. The price-point is great. We're going to have some very happy homeowners in the near future. Phil's been selling his ass off and has three signed contracts. We'll have an open house on Monday for our official Grand Opening and try to sign three more," I said. "These folks are going to have nice, quality homes, because of the work you do. So come on inside and see what that means, but don't get any mud on my nice new carpets!" Maybe I am a cheerleader. ------- Chapter 24 Life was good again. I wasn't pain-free, but I was improving daily. I loved my new house, even though it wasn't completely free. The company had to report the value of the rent on the house as compensation, so I ended up having tax withheld from my paycheck. After the rent was decreased to pay for use of the home as a model, the net I was paying still meant a big increase in my retained earnings. The second Friday of June, instead of going to dinner with Frank, I invited my work buddies to my house for dinner. Frank took over the grill for our steaks and I served appetizers and wine to Lori, Pete, Harry, and Phil. We laughed and had to find a couple of folding chairs from the office in order to all sit at the table for steak, potato salad, grilled asparagus, and more wine. Before he left, Phil promised not to wake me up to show the house before nine in the morning. "Well, this has been nice," Harry said about eight o'clock. "But I have to get back to the missus. She gets powerfully horny on Friday nights. At least the first Friday of the month. If there's a full moon. And the temperature is over eighty. I don't want to miss my opportunity." I walked him to the door and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll sure be thinking of your ass while I'm plowing hers, though," he whispered. "Harry!" He winked at me and left. I returned to my remaining guests. "Speaking of horny," Lori whispered in my ear, "do you want to join us tonight? MaryBeth is with her grandma and we've got all night to play." "You are such an evil girl," I laughed. "Hey it wasn't me who kissed another woman's husband and gave him ideas." "I'll never live that down, will I?" I sighed. "Not as long as it keeps giving him a hard-on every time I mention it." "Well, go have fun with him. I want to spend a quiet night in my new home." Lori glanced toward the deck where Frank was cleaning up the grill. She smirked. Not as good a secret as you thought. "Hmm. Okay, but I hope you don't mind that I stole a pair of your underwear. I'll pretend I'm you when we fuck tonight. I even have a little short wig that I'll wear. It will drive Pete crazy." I just looked at her in disbelief. She raised her eyebrows mischievously and giggled. "Hey, horndog. Let's go home," she said to Pete. "I got something to show you." The two laughed as they left the house to go home and Frank and I were left in the kitchen finishing the dishes. "Do you have to go home tonight?" I asked softly. "I don't think so," Frank said. "Why don't I stay here tonight?" "I'd like that." ------- We lay in bed in the soft afterglow of sex. He was such a lazy lover that I never knew exactly when sex ended and cuddling began. I just knew it felt wonderful. I'd managed to silence the bitch within long enough to really relax. "Why do you even go back home?" I asked softly. "I'm married." "She doesn't ... I mean ... Do you... ?" I was beginning to sound like an insecure mistress. Well, I am. "We don't have sex. Is that what you're asking?" I nodded my head against his chest, unable to look him in the eye. "I just like what we have so much," I whispered. "I like it, too. There isn't a minute that goes by that I don't think about you. I hate going home. I think she hates it, too," he sighed. "Why do it then?" "It's complicated. We got our finances tangled together and there are the two families. Tipping the boat could cause unintended consequences. We could all go bankrupt," he said. "But she sent you to me. I heard her say she told you to fuck me." Tears were leaking from my eyes and I was beginning to feel the pain radiating outward from my core. "Did she really think you could just fuck me and leave me?" You goddamned faker! I'm just your sex toy. "She blew up at me when I told her I was in love with you," he said. His hand played with my hair, my new pageboy style was soft and even I loved petting my hair. He was always so careful around my surgery site, like he was afraid he'd poke through the tiny hole in my skull. "That was a long time before we slept together, by the way." Really? "We haven't been intimate in years. It was her that first told me if I had an itch then scratch it." Why don't you leave her then? "I see. Am I just a convenient hand to scratch your itch?" I asked. "There is nothing convenient about you, little lady. You're everything I've ever wanted." Then leave her for me. LEAVE HER! "I have a little itch that needs to be scratched. Do you think you're up to the task?" I asked. His hand dipped toward my center. "Not there," I laughed. "It's just beneath my left shoulder blade." He looked at me sharply and then laughed with me. He scratched my itch. All night long. ------- Saturday morning, Frank left early. I had another cup of coffee and then made sure the house was spotless. I knew Phil would show it as often as possible today. It wasn't so bad having my house perpetually on display. We had an agreement regarding when the house could be shown, and though I needed to be away most of the weekend each week, I had plenty to do and it wasn't that inconvenient. I arrived at Carl's for my twice-weekly appointment and sat down in the waiting area. We were so attuned to what we were doing now that I could go into a trance in seconds. Once there, I could deal with my demons. Carl's door opened. "Margot, before we start, I need to ask you a question." No one else was in the office so I felt fine answering him in the waiting room, even though it seemed odd. "Do you trust me, Margot?" "If I didn't trust you, I never would have taken my sunglasses off," I laughed. "Of course I trust you." "I'm going to ask you to face your demon today, Margot. Can you trust me to see you through it?" Weird! My demon. My pain. The bitch in my head. "Carl, you've helped me more than I can say. If you think there is one more thing I should do, I'm not going to fight it. Lead on." He took a deep breath. "Okay. Come in." I went into Carl's office. It was so familiar. The window with the blinds mostly closed. The diplomas on the wall. The couch where I normally underwent his treatment. The chair across from his desk. The man sitting in the chair. Run! He'll hurt you! Run! I stood rooted to the floor as Doctor Trent Adams stood to face me. I was gasping for air and pain was lancing up out of my pelvis into my head. It would explode. My head would explode again. "Margot, I won't let him hurt you," Carl's soothing voice reached me. "I want you to come on this side of the desk and sit in my chair. I'll stay right beside you. Do you know who this is?" "Doctor Adams," I whispered. "Is this the man who hurt you?" he asked. "Yes. I felt everything. I heard everything. I felt him open my head. I felt him cut my side. I felt him reach into my vagina and rip at my insides. He hurt me." "Doctor Adams?" Carl said. Trent Adams eyes never left mine. I'd accused him. Rapist! I'd faced him before and he and his so-called team denied everything. Why was he here now? "Ms. Pembroke," Doctor Adams said, "I did all those things. I drilled a hole in your skull to relieve the pressure building from your head injury. I cut into you and removed your spleen, which was crushed in the accident. I put my fingers inside you and pulled your pelvis back into position so that we could continue with your treatment." I swear his eyes were watery, but that could have been my own. In a way, we'd only covered what was in the court record. It was documented in the surgery. I didn't say anything about how they talked about me or about Jim Defoe handling my breasts. "Margot," he continued, "I didn't molest you. What I did was intended to save your life. You died three times. It's all true. It's also true that I didn't know you were awake or could feel what I was doing or hear what I was saying. You were supposed to be anesthetized. You were supposed to be fully unconscious, unable to feel or sense anything. I would never have intentionally hurt you. I am a doctor and all I wanted was to save your life." Yes. Tears. Something else is going on. The bastard wants forgiveness. Well, die! "Margot," Carl said. "Are you with me?" I nodded my head. My anger was still raging and the pain was like putting a bullet into my head, over and over. "There's more and it's very important. Do you need me to help you relax in order to hear the rest? I promised not to hurt you." I shook my head marginally, never taking my eyes off Doctor Adams. Pain is my friend. Pain is my anchor. Pain is my hatred. "You said ... terrible things." I croaked at Adams. "Yes. I did," he said. "You've never heard me confess this. I could never do it. I'm a coward and right now I'm more afraid than I was then." You're afraid? I'm dying in front of you. I'm terrified. "We said things that were never meant for a patient to hear. We shouldn't have said any of those things. I want to tell you that we didn't intend to be insulting to you. We were relieving tension. We were short-handed and working with emergency power. The temperature in the operating room was falling and we were still sweating. We weren't prepared to deal with a case like yours and we had no back-up. We were all terrified. We said things that we would normally only say among ourselves to try to break the tension. We didn't mean to be insulting. I'm so sorry you heard any of that." "Why didn't you speak up in front of the judge? Why did you let me suffer?" I cried. "Why?" I felt Carl's hand on my shoulder. It wasn't comfort, it was solidarity. I took strength from him. "Abby Jones and I have had a long-time relationship. It started during my internship and she's followed me to wherever I worked, even though I'm married and have two children. She's ... not a stalker. I asked her to come with me. Jim Defoe knows about our relationship, though none of the things you heard during surgery were true. We don't invite him into threesomes. Neither Abby nor I have any idea if he has a pencil dick. It was just a dig at him. He ... convinced us that it would be best to hold a united front and deny everything. In fact, that he would expose my relationship with Abby if we didn't. That could end my tenure at the hospital and my marriage. And Jim said that he would claim we did even worse things with you if we didn't back him up." I was stunned. I knew it was Defoe all along. He knew, damn it! "Why now? Why suddenly come to me? Do you want my forgiveness? I don't forgive you! You could have helped me." I was crying, but sitting straight, Carl's hand still on my shoulder. "Three things have happened in the last few weeks. I got a call from Doctor Zed in Las Vegas. He is a highly respected physician and neurological surgeon. I've studied his papers and listened to him at conferences. He told me about your case and that you'd been in pain ever since the surgery. I didn't know. It was my fault. I was supposed to be in charge. I should have been checking on you. I failed." Adams was openly weeping now. But still. He got a tongue-lashing and I got a bitch screaming at me in my head. Tough shit. "The second thing is that I lost a patient. I should never have lost her. The operation was serious, but basically routine. At the most critical point of the operation she went into cardiac arrest. We couldn't resuscitate her. I tried everything. She was a young mother who shouldn't have died on the operating table," he said. He took a long ragged breath before continuing. "I believe that Jim Defoe killed her. I think she was aware the whole time, like you were, and at the critical moment, he let the pain completely overwhelm her and kill her." "That's a serious charge, Doctor Adams," Carl said. He was genuinely shocked. This was a police matter. "And I can't prove it," Adams said. "Abby and I decided to try to find evidence, but then ... Abby disappeared. She's gone. No trace. No messages. No signs of foul play. Her car is in her garage. Her refrigerator has fresh food in it. I think she found something and he took her." "You have to go to the police with this," Carl said. He reached for the phone. "I'm going there to turn myself in as soon as we are finished here. I don't know if I've committed any crimes, but I might be safe in prison. You, though, Ms. Pembroke, are not safe. When I go to the police, they'll uncover your case. If they don't arrest Jim Defoe, he could come after you." "How can I believe you?" I asked. My voice quavered as if I were an old lady. In that moment I felt a hundred years old, having lived every day in pain. "I don't know. But I had to tell you. If the police don't open an investigation, I'm leaving. I won't have my wife and children where he might be able to reach them. I have an offer to return to Cook County Hospital. It's a brutal job where Abby and I worked before we came here. I'll do my best to save as many lives as I can," he said. I nodded. I sat still in Carl's chair. Carl asked a couple of questions, but there was really nothing else. He let Trent Adams leave the office. ------- "He knew," I whispered. Carl had declined to put me under. Instead we sat and talked. I was still in his chair, but he seemed perfectly calm and relaxed to sit in the client chair. "I tried to kill myself a couple of months ago. It was right after the first time I came to see you." I laughed, but it was weak and hollow. "I tried to kill myself with orgasms because they made the pain so intense I couldn't stand it. I didn't know until Las Vegas that I could actually die from it. But I remember a moment of clarity, just before I passed out back then. He knew I was hearing what was said. He was leading the conversation. He pinched my nipples, just to let me know that he knew I was awake." He pinched my nipples. He commented on my wet pussy. The son-of-a-bitch! He knew I was awake! "Carl, the pain is really bad right now. Help me, please?" I'll kill the son-of-a-bitch. I can do it. ------- Chapter 25 Fourth of July weekend, I set up a lounge chair by the pool. Well, the pool hadn't been dug yet. It was staked out. We wouldn't actually dig the pool until next summer. It was a virtual pool. Imaginary. We had half of Phase Two under construction. The other half would all be framed and buttoned up before snow flew so we could work through the winter. I had a new neighbor the first of July and two more ready to move in within the next two weeks. Phil was selling houses like a madman and the crew was keeping up. But the pool stake-out in Phase Three was strictly for promotional purposes. Mostly for the crew. I wore sunglasses and a big floppy hat and a pair of flip-flops when Harry blew his air horn on Friday, July second. The temperature had actually topped ninety degrees on Thursday, but I didn't have my act together to call the crew. It surprised me. I figured we were going to hit ninety sometime in the middle of the month, but the temperature spiked early. I stood in front of the crew welcoming them to the pool. Oh yes. I had a black two-piece swimsuit, not what we'd call a bikini by today's standards. It was demure as far as beach wear today went, unless you were planning to parade around in front of a bunch of construction workers. Over it, I wore a white beach robe that barely covered my butt cheeks. "Guys, you did it again. Ninety degrees and not only are all current houses ahead of schedule, but we've got foundations in for four that aren't even on the schedule yet. And here it is, Independence Day weekend and you're all going to be gone from the site for three days. Will you miss me?" "Hells yah!" one of the guys yelled. We all laughed. "Well, you know what a holiday weekend is to Phil. It just means that I have to get out of my house so he can show it. So I figured I'd just sit out here by the pool this weekend and maybe have a beer." I let my robe fall open and the two-piece show. They hooted and hollered. Shit. I am such a shameless slut. I reached down beside me and picked a box up off my lounge chair, looking around for a likely victim. Timmy just joined the crew after high school graduation. The guys would love this. "Timmy, would you come and help me?" The kid's eyes got as big as saucers. The guys started shoving him forward. "Yes, Miss Pembroke," he said respectfully when he was next to me. I handed him the box and he looked at it, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do. "Would you hold this for me a sec?" I asked. His examination of the box was interrupted as he watched me slip all the way out of my robe to cheers from the gang. I laid it on the porch railing. "Whoo! It's getting hot, isn't it Timmy?" He nodded vigorously. "I can't lie by the pool if it's just a bunch of stakes marking where you're going to dig. Would you mind taking that out and blowing up my little pool for me?" He finally figured out that I'd given him an inflatable wading pool. We all got a good laugh and Timmy took the pool and dutifully went to start blowing it up. "Guys, we're heading into the hot part of summer. Working out here is going to a bitch and there's nothing I can do about it except to tell you that I've got a string bikini if it hits a hundred," I laughed. "But it's going to be hard to keep the pace in this heat. I want you all to know that my garage is going to be open all summer from now until Labor Day. There will be bottles of water on ice, iced tea, and soft drinks whenever you need one. Don't spend your day lazing around my driveway just because I'm being nice, but I don't want anybody getting dehydrated out here. Come up and grab a drink when you need one and remember that if you feel thirsty, you are thirsty." "Thanks, babe!" somebody shouted amidst the applause. "Of course, that's during working hours. Work week's over now," I said as I opened one of the big coolers the guys had been eying. "So have a beer on me. Don't overdo it. Just one and then get out of here to have a great holiday weekend!" The guys mobbed me and I handed out beers. "What happened to your arm, Miss Pembroke?" Timmy asked when he saw my arm. I stopped his hand from reaching for a beer and put a Coke in it. "Drunk driver," I said. He looked at me and then at the Coke. He just nodded and put my little wading pool next to my chair. ------- As far as I was concerned, my workweek was over when the last of the guys left the jobsite. I was surprised at myself. I'd become even more of a hands-on scheduler these days, visiting the site more often now that I had a house right next door to it. I didn't bother to change into street clothes after the crew left, but I did put on socks, my work boots, and the beach robe before taking a stroll to inspect the jobsite. I wanted everything perfect for the weekend event because Phil would be walking people through not only the model, but any unfinished home that the buyer was interested in. I wanted to be sure everything was clean, tools were put away, and that no site had hidden dangers for the visitors. It was going to be a wild weekend and after my appointment with Carl in the morning, I'd probably be playing hostess all weekend. Louise was coming over Saturday night for her first visit since I moved in. Better let Frank know I'll be having company, just in case he planned to pop in. I picked up some spilled nails in number nineteen. Pete's crew was framing that house and I made a mental note to chastise him for not picking up. Everything else looked good, though, including yellow caution tapes surrounding the four open excavations. I turned back home just in time to see Frank's truck pull into my drive. I smiled. The evening just got better. ------- I was still a hundred feet away and Frank hadn't seen me yet. He grabbed two big suitcases out of the back of his truck and marched to the front door where I caught up with him as he fumbled for his key. "It's open," I said from behind him. He jumped like I'd just shot him. "Shit, Margot! You shouldn't sneak up on a guy like that. I could be packing." "I'm sorry, Frank. I won't do it again." I felt no compunction to obey him, but had been rigorously following anything he said that could remotely be considered an order. I wasn't ready to give away my freedom. "Um ... are you staying for a while?" I asked, pointing at the suitcases. "You want me to be here fulltime." I caught my breath and just nodded. "Well, I left Dottie. It was just getting to be too much, baby. I don't want to keep sneaking around to see you." "Really, Frank? You really mean it?" I asked for it. Now what am I going to do. Do I really want a guy under foot in my house all the time? "I mean I'm here to stay, baby." He caught me in his arms and pulled me to his lips. I gave myself over to the sensations. His hands slid beneath my robe and with just my two-piece on, they were warm and soft on my back. It wasn't cooling off this evening, so it was getting a little sticky. "Why don't you bring your clothes to the bedroom and let's take a shower," I said, reaching up to kiss him again. ------- A long cool shower with a naked Margot did nothing to calm Frank, so we spent enough time trying to exhaust each other in bed that we needed another shower afterward. I put on my short beach robe, but left the swimsuit in the bathroom. It felt deliciously naughty to go to my kitchen and make us each a salad with nothing on beneath the robe. Wouldn't the guys love it if I opened the robe now? I felt Frank's hand on my ass when he came up behind me. I automatically rose up on my tiptoes to accent the shape of my legs and firmness of my ass. I bent forward slightly, pushing my ass into his hand. "This is going to make me sweat all summer and keep me warm in the winter," he whispered. His hand slid up off my butt to the small of my back and he pulled me around to face him. I wasn't being compelled anymore. I tested my body's responses. They were mine. But whenever I felt his hand there I had such a sense of being cared for and guided that it made my heart beat more rapidly. I kissed him passionately. His right hand returned to my butt and his left cupped my breast, pushing aside the flimsy robe. "Mmm. I think this was a good decision," he said. "Wine?" "There's a nice Chardonnay in the under-counter 50 Bottle Wine Grotto," I said. "This is one of the many upgrades we offer in our homes and will maintain your wine at a perfect drinking temperature. If you are a connoisseur, we have a full custom wine cellar option for the basement that will hold up to a thousand bottles without sacrificing valuable recreation space." We laughed and he retrieved the wine and opened it as I set salads on the table. "It wouldn't be Friday night without our dinner together," he said. Just as he raised his glass to touch mine, the doorbell rang. Before I could take a sip and set my glass down, the impatient visitor started pounding on the door. I went to the door and opened it to find Dottie, ready to pound on it again. "Where is the bastard?" she demanded, pushing past me into the house. "Mrs. Miller, you can't just barge into my house like that," I protested. "It's my house, you whore. I own this development, remember?" "But you don't own me, Dottie," Frank said calmly, coming into the hall. The two squared off in the entryway. For God's sake, don't get between them! "Perhaps you'd like to join us for a glass of wine, Mrs. Miller," I said calmly. I turned to push Frank back into the living area and out of the narrow entryway. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my head. If she has a gun, you're dead, girl. Frank allowed me to guide him back to the table and Dottie followed. "We were just having a light dinner," I said. "Would you like a salad?" I set another wine glass on the table and poured, motioning her to an empty seat. How could I poison this? "Aren't you the perfect little homemaker," Dottie snapped. "Is that what you wanted, Frank? A little marionette to be your perfect little suburban housewife? I wouldn't play your game, but she will. And here I helped set it all up for you." "The sarcasm doesn't become you, Dottie. It never has," Frank said. "You know as well as I do that we've been through for years. I've just chosen to turn my back on all your money schemes. Want to close down the development? Fire me? You'll be bankrupt in a month." "Perhaps I should give you two room to talk," I said, heading for the stairs. "Sit down, Margot," Frank snapped. It was the hardest struggle I had to keep from running, but I shot my butt into my chair as quickly as I could. "Why now?" Dottie said. "Why now? You'll destroy me." "Why not now? It's summer. It's a good time to move." "But the election." "What election?" I asked involuntarily. "Your lothario has chosen to move in with his mistress a week before his wife announces her candidacy for city council," Dottie said. "This will make a wreck of all the plans I've made. You knew how important this was." Frank sighed. "Damn it," he said softly. "No. The truth of the matter is I had no idea when you were planning to run for office. I thought it might be next year and this would all be over and done by then." "Shit, Frank, you never listen anymore, do you? I swear, ever since you met this bimbo you haven't had a thought in your head for anyone else." Bimbo? You overweight, middle-aged shrew! She turned and looked at me. I scowled back, willing myself not to punch her in the nose. "I'm sorry, Margot," she said. "I don't think you're a bimbo. You are smart and beautiful. Like I was ten years ago. If Frank had decided to run off with some other woman or quit the job, I'd want to keep you on as construction manager. This is the first time since we started this project that I can actually see the possibility that it might make money." What? That's news. She thinks I'm valuable. Maybe I'm worth her husband. "Tell me about your plans for public office, Dottie," I said. "I've been planning to run for office for a couple of years," she said. "First there was the issue of getting support and then there was the problem of tying up all my money in this development. This summer, with some return on my investment finally coming in and Joe Barnes retiring from the council, I decided it was time to make my move. I've managed to get some backing and a great campaign manager." "Sam," Frank said. "Who's Sam?" I asked. "He scratches Dottie's itches," Frank said. "I thought all this campaign talk was just your cover." "Oh Christ!" Dottie exclaimed. "You are such a fuck-up. Sam Whitfield is my campaign manager. He comes to the house often to meet with me. It has nothing to do with intimacy. I've had it with that. If I wanted a fuck, I could have kept servicing you." "Oh for God's sake, Dottie. That's all past. I'm sorry I screwed up all your plans. It's too late now," Frank said. He got up from the table and dumped the remains of his dinner in the garbage under the sink then poured another glass of wine. "It's not too late," Dottie said. "Look. I don't have anything against you two being together. After the election, I'll be happy to file for an amicable divorce. We'll keep being partners in the development. You'll build a beautiful community and have a friend on the council. I'll make lots of money off my investment and even throw some new contracts to you. You just have to wait until November. It's just over four months till election day." "You mean you want him to move back until after the election?" I said. What is she smoking? "He hasn't really moved out," Dottie said. "He brought a couple suitcases full of clothes. Big deal. But living here is asking for trouble. Hell, I'll bet half the construction crew knows about you already." "I'm going to be with Margot," Frank said stubbornly. Baby, don't throw away our development. There must be something we can do. "Fine," Dottie said. "Then bring her with you." "What?" This is going from weird to bizarre. "You want me to live with you?" "Not really, but we could make it work. We have a big house. Frank and I have our own rooms and seldom cross paths in the house. You could come over frequently," Dottie said. "Even spend the night." "How would that be less conspicuous than just having Frank move in here?" I asked. "You'd still have your nice little home, but you'd have somewhere to spend weekends while you're working on my campaign," she smirked. Shit. I'll bet she had this planned from the beginning. "You've had campaign experience," she continued. "It will be the most natural thing in the world for you to be stopping at my house at all hours during your tireless volunteering. I'll even tell people that you've got a room to crash in as my personal assistant on the campaign." "I don't know..." I started. "You'll do fine," Frank said. "We both will." There. I'll do fine. Frank said so. "My big announcement event is scheduled for next Saturday," Dottie said. "You'll need to spend a couple of evenings with me to go over my schedule. I've looked at your resume and I know you coordinated a campaign before. In the meantime," she turned and smiled at me, "enjoy your ninety degree bonus." She glanced quickly at Frank and stood to leave. "And for God's sake pull your fucking truck into the garage, Frank." ------- Chapter 26 "And you're going to do it?" Louise was appalled at the idea that I was sleeping with a married man and that the wife was using that as leverage to get me to help on her campaign. I'm appalled. Nonetheless, I'd agreed to do it. I sighed. "I'm in love, Louise. I fought it and fought it, but I can't help myself. I want to run away with him and never look back," I said. "But that would destroy a lot of what we've built our relationship on. We're more partners in this development than his wife is. We're building houses. We're building a community. And I want to build a home. It's been a year and a half. I deserve this." "She doesn't expect you to—How'd you put it?—scratch her itch, does she?" Louise asked. I laughed. "Hey, if there's any girl whose itch I'd scratch, it's yours," I said. "You did show me that it could be pleasurable again." "I've been getting it scratched pretty well lately," she laughed and I held her hand. We sat on the back deck watching the sun go down and sipping our wine. Louise told me about her new boyfriend and how things were working out. It was wonderful to sit in my little home and just enjoy time with my friend. At ten o'clock, said boyfriend rang my doorbell and I was introduced before he took Louise home. We were both a little tipsy, so I was glad she wasn't driving. ------- I sat in the office looking at the scheduling software. If it was possible to schedule and keep track of a dozen homes under construction at the same time, then certainly it would be possible to plan and run a campaign with specific milestones along the way using the same software. If I started with the announcement of her candidacy next Saturday and then ended with the election, there were certain things that I knew would fall between and if we weren't on track with them, we'd fail in the election. Well, the announcement would be the first milestone, but in order to get there, we'd have to break ground. I'd start the schedule today. I called Dottie. "Can we meet this evening?" I asked. "Horny?" Dottie shot back. "I want to go over your campaign schedule," I said. "If I'm going to volunteer on this election, I'm going to win it. I trust that's acceptable." "You are too much, Margot. Come over at seven and plan to spend the day with us tomorrow. Frank and I are riding the Chamber of Commerce float in the parade and it would be good to start having you seen with us," she said. "Got it," I said. "Phil will have get Liz to come in tomorrow. I'll see you tonight." "I noticed you didn't answer my question," Dottie laughed. "See you later." Me horny? Shit. I turned back to the scheduling software and added my first meeting tonight and the parade tomorrow to the schedule. I called Phil and Liz and told them about the change in plans. Liz complained that she wanted to spend the day with her boyfriend and I told her to bring him with her from noon until six and I'd pay both of them double time for working on a holiday. There was a short conversation in the background and then an agreement. Back to the schedule. First Tuesday of November and then it was all over. I put in other known important events, looking up the filing deadline, fundraising milestones, and Labor Day. I looked at the end date and event again. Change it. I did. ------- "God! Would you look at this, Frank? Sam is running around like a chicken with its head cut off and your little wonder girl has me elected already! This is wonderful," Dottie said as she looked at the CPM schedule. "We should know at each of these milestones whether we are on track. Margot, you are the smartest thing I've done this year." Laugh bitch. I pointed at the end date. Frank started laughing. The entire time we'd been talking, he'd stood or sat beside me and made certain both Dottie and I knew he had a hand on me. Staking your claim? I was pleased with the gesture and happy everyone got the message that I was here for just one reason. "Election on Tuesday," Dottie read. "And file for divorce on Thursday. Well, I'm glad you left a day in there to celebrate," she laughed. "Oh, I make it a practice to end every project ahead of schedule," I said. You get to be a councilwoman. I get Frank. ------- Dottie disappeared after our meeting saying she'd see us at the parade. Frank showed me to his room and flipped on the TV. It was the first time I'd been in any personal space of Frank's other than his office. This must be what it's like to go to a teenage boy's room. That's an experience I'd never had. In high school if I wanted a boy he either came to me or took me somewhere nice. In college, I avoided any man that didn't have an apartment. I didn't want to be interrupted. Frank waited patiently while I looked around. It was a masculine room, but not boyish. There were no model airplanes or transformers, no Star Wars figures or race cars. The room was easily half again as big as my master bedroom—closer to what I had in the house I'd sold. The furniture was functional, but comfortable. He hadn't gone overboard on Jacobean carved oak headboards and tables. The headboard was functional, including a padded leather back so you could sit up and lean comfortably against it. A single shelf above the backrest contained a dozen books and glass teardrop-shaped award that said MAME on it and a date. I tested the mattress and found a nice soft top with a firm mattress beneath. Nice. A wooden desk and chair sat against the opposite wall next to the closet. The room had a bay window with a comfortable chair and lamp next to it. I assumed the chair was a recliner. Frank came up behind me and put his arms around me as I looked his room over. "I don't know, Frank," I said. "I'm not comfortable. I mean your room is as nice as The Venetian, but with her down the hall..." It all sounded good when we were talking around my kitchen table, but being in her house gave me the willies. Maybe that's what she's counting on. "Relax," Frank whispered in my ear. Relax! Oh my God. I always relax when Frank tells me that. How am I supposed to relax on command? What do I do? I took a deep breath and used every trigger Carl had taught me to ease my pain and silence the voice in my head. Another deep breath. I relaxed into his arms. "Now," Frank said calmly, "let's head for your car and go home." I turned in his arms to look up into his eyes. He smiled and I kissed him. He understands. ------- It was non-stop hurry-and-wait at the parade. Frank and Dottie both rode the Chamber float—Frank as one of the small businesses devoted to "Building a Better Community" and Dottie as a member of the Chamber. They didn't look like they were together or related. I was given a job walking beside the float handing out buttons bearing the slogan to people along the parade route. I wore jeans and my work boots with a polo shirt. I had a nail apron with our Sunset logo on it and the pouches full of buttons. I was having fun for about the first half mile and then started getting an uneasy feeling. Two guys were keeping pace with our float, walking down the street behind the crowd. I don't know what it was that made me skittish, but I didn't like it at all. Why are they following us? I decided to switch sides of the float, taking the opportunity to look down the street to see if there were similar "escorts" for the other floats. Not that I can see. I nodded to Lori on the right side of the float and motioned her to the other side. She grinned at me. "Too sunny on that side?" she laughed. "Yeah. My delicate skin burns easily," I laughed. And too creepy. After we crossed the next intersection and turned left down Maple, I spotted one of the guys again. It looked like he'd run ahead and crossed the street. Great. There was a creeper on each side. Of course, they could be watching someone else, right? Right. Maybe Dottie has a security detail. I looked at the other people on the float and the half-dozen people handing out buttons. I suppose I'll have to consider security for her during the campaign. I was so deep in thought that I wasn't looking at who I was handing buttons to until someone took my hand instead of the button. I looked up into the eyes of Jim Defoe. He smiled. Run! For once, my body obeyed my mind. I jerked my hand free and ran to the float, jumping up on it and sprawling in front of Frank. I rolled into him, knocking him off his feet and onto me. I looked back at the crowd and saw our shadow waving frantically across the street and pointing the way we had come. From this high, I could see both sides of the street and both creepers headed back the way we came scanning the crowd. I couldn't see Jim Defoe anyplace. ------- "You were supposed to be seen with us, as a low profile maneuver, not falling all over Frank," Dottie said at the end of the parade. We'd managed to get untangled and I continued my button duties, but kept looking into the crowd each time I approached. He's after me. "A ... uh ... bee started chasing me. I panicked." Dottie rolled her eyes. How lame can you get? "I'm allergic," I explained. Well, at least that's true. "Well, let's try to not draw unwelcome attention, please. Christ! You scared me." She started laughing. "We need a drink. Come on over to the house and explain your campaign plan to Sam." I turned to go to my car and hesitated. Crap! I don't want to walk around scared all the time. But he could be out there. I turned back toward the float. Only the driver was still there, everyone else having headed home. There was nothing left to do but go to my car. I stepped toward the garage and two men surprised me. Run! I'd already taken a step when the first guy spoke. "Miss Pembroke, I'm Detective Sutton. This is Detective Greer." They showed badges. Shit! The good guys. I nearly collapsed from fright, the adrenalin still rushing through my system. Deep breath. "How can I help you, detectives?" What the hell is going on? "You seemed to spot us following your float today. Then something startled you and you ran to the float," Detective Sutton began. "Miss Pembroke, did you see James Defoe?" Detective Greer came right to the point. I nodded. "He grabbed my hand." It still feels slimy. "We thought so, but we couldn't get a positive ID on him." "You thought he'd try to contact me? Why?" As if you didn't know. "We found the body of Abby Jones in a motel in Auburn early this morning," Detective Sutton said. "We've been looking for James Defoe as a person of interest in an investigation for over a week. Now we are looking for him as a suspect in a murder case." "Doctor Adams came to us a little over a week ago to report Miss Jones missing and told us that she had suspected Defoe of intentionally hurting patients. He gave us your name as a survivor and said he'd talked to you. Frankly, the evidence he gave was weak, but we decided to check Miss Jones' home and then to talk to Defoe. We found both missing and began our search. It wasn't until a motel manager called this morning saying he'd found a body in one of his rooms that we escalated to a murder investigation." "So you decided to just use me as bait?" Hysterics, girl. Deep breath. I was pissed. "No. We went to your home this morning and were told by the sales agent that you were marching in the parade. When we got here, you were already in motion. We couldn't contact you without potentially tipping ourselves to Defoe, so we watched." "You were pretty obvious," I snapped. "You probably tipped him anyway." "It's tough trying to stay where we can see and still not attract attention," Greer actually laughed. "We're just two guys." "The threat's real, though," Sutton chimed in. "Do you have a safe place you can stay tonight, other than your home?" I nodded. "I think so. I'm working for the Millers who were on the float this afternoon. If I explain things, I think they'll let me stay there tonight," I said. I'm not telling them why. The bee story will have to do. "That would be good. Can we escort you to your car?" ------- When I pulled into Frank's drive, the garage door opened and Frank waved me in to an empty stall. Who needs a four-car garage? I recognized Frank's red truck and Dottie's Audi. Who drives the Porsche? "Hey baby," Frank said when the garage door was lowered and I stepped out of my car. He wrapped me up in a hug and a kiss that made all my troubles go away. I grabbed my overnight bag from the backseat of my car. "Can I spend the night? I need a drink or twenty and I don't want to drive." "Yeah," Frank said, smiling. "I have a room prepared for you. Let's go up the kitchen stairs so we don't interrupt Sam and Dottie." A servant's stairway? And a room prepared for me? In the servants' quarters? Fuck! "Thank you." "This will give you a measure of privacy and isolation from Dottie. She won't ever come into this section of the house," Frank said. "Why?" I asked as he opened a room and handed me a key for the door lock. What is this? Jane Fucking Eyre? "Sweetheart, Dottie and I weren't always like this. We had the same kind of dreams that other young couples have. When we got married, we were already well on the way to being rich. I should say she was. Her father owned the bank and Dottie was already a Vice President. And don't make the mistake of thinking that's really high up and impressive. In a bank that size, there are dozens of vice presidents. It just means they have signing authority on loans over a million dollars. It has nothing to do with actually managing the bank. Her father, on the other hand, was the only president of the bank. Pretty much, he owned it. But Dottie wanted children, and as soon as we could manage it—with her daddy's help—we bought this place and prepared this wing for our child and his nanny. This is the nanny's room." "But you never had children?" I asked. Do I want children? I'm almost thirty years old. Can I even have children? All I could think of was the probable pain. "Not exactly true. There were complications. Dottie almost died in childbirth. Frank Junior didn't survive. And after the ordeal, Dottie could no longer have children. That's when things started going downhill between us." Frank breathed a long sigh and I could see that he still felt the loss. "Every time we had sex, she was thinking about the fact that she couldn't have children. She started wanting it less and less and then not at all. On the other hand, she was more and more devoted to her job and worked her way up the real hierarchy in the bank to Executive Vice President. When her father retired, she took over. Now she's dead set on moving up the city hierarchy. City council first. Mayor before she's fifty. Governor before she's sixty. I've got to tell you, honey, she's going to want you on her campaign staff from now until she retires." Fucking hell! How do I get myself into this kind of crap? ------- Saturday finally rolled around. I'd stayed in the nanny's quarters all fucking week. I felt like I was Dottie's nanny. She couldn't understand why I needed to be at the construction site at seven-thirty in the morning and wasn't available to her until the crew left at three-thirty. Fucking prima donna. During the day I felt pretty safe. I spent my time either in the office working on both the construction and campaign schedule or on the jobsite surrounded by fifty guys who would do anything for the babe in short-shorts and work boots. I suppose it would have looked comical or obscene to anyone not familiar with the construction industry, but my standard uniform for the day was short-shorts, a halter top, work boots, and a yellow hardhat. I usually wore a reflective yellow vest as well since there were cement trucks, forklifts, delivery trucks, and excavation equipment moving on the site all day long. I was thinking that if it ever hit 100, I'd just strip off the halter and wear only the mesh vest. Wouldn't that charge the guys' batteries. We were on track to have all twenty-four lots excavated, framed, and buttoned up before snowfall. We'd only have until mid-October as a pretty sure thing. I found myself watching weather forecasts and almanacs as the temperature stayed in the 90s. At three-thirty, I joined the exodus with the crew, getting in my little Camry and heading over to the Miller's. They'd given me a garage door opener, so I could drive in, slip up the back stairs to my quarters and shower before I met with Dottie to go over the plans. I ran the schedule. If there were people to be called during the day, that was Sam's job. But I found myself making more and more arrangements for materials and supplies. It was like working two full-time jobs. I talked to printers, tent rental companies, caterers. Sam talked to reporters, council members, and rich people who could support Dottie's campaign. ------- Saturday, everything was set. We'd decided to throw a barbecue for the community in a city park. Everything was set for the big announcement. We had the park permits, the tents, and the food. It was beautiful. I resigned myself to the fact that I couldn't have public a appearance occur ahead of schedule. I'd been so used to managing a construction crew to be ahead of schedule that I was ready for Dottie to make her fucking announcement on Friday. But Saturday was sunny and would be in the low nineties for the afternoon. Dottie had paid admission to the community pool for all comers for the day. We'd reserved the park and had banners stretched across the entrance. The world's best barbecue joint was turning out ribs, pulled pork, hot dogs, hamburgers and even chicken breasts as fast as people could fill their plates. The park has a little amphitheater and at one o'clock when Dottie was ready to announce her candidacy, it was packed. Television crews filmed her. Photographers took pictures of her with Frank at her side. Gag me with a spoon. Frank is sleeping with the nanny. I don't know how Sam got the high school band to play, but I think it had to do with a donation toward their new uniforms. I could check this event off my schedule and start us moving toward the next milestone. Dottie was a bona fide candidate for City Council. I stayed around to direct crews on cleanup and did my stint gathering up huge garbage bags and heading for the dumpster. Damn! Could they make these things any higher? I'd just managed to shove the second bag in when a hand clamped over my mouth. "You were supposed to die." I could smell something in the cloth held in his hand and tried to hold my breath, but he wrapped his other arm around my chest and squeezed, forcing all the air out of my lungs. I gulped in the tainted air. HELP ME! ------- Chapter 27 NOTE: A violent, evil man has captured and plans to torture Margot. I've tried not to be too graphic in this chapter, but be warned: It is not for the squeamish. It is an important chapter for Margot and her on-going battle, however. I woke up screaming. Pain. I expected that. Where am I? My scream sounded more like a squeak. I could breathe, therefore I could scream. I inhaled again but before I could yell I stopped myself. I'd been kidnapped. I knew the voice. Jim Defoe had grabbed me and stuck something in my face that made me pass out. What do they call that shit? Chloroform? It seemed primitive for an anesthesiologist to use. But effective. So where am I now? And where is he? I cracked my eyes open and could see light. I couldn't hear anything, though. No. There's traffic nearby. Someone could hear me scream. I let my eyes open the rest of the way. How much information can you get from a white ceiling? I looked up and down as best I could without turning my head. A plastic drip bag hung above my head, duct taped to the wall, the tube led down toward... My arm! I tried to turn my head but it seemed impossibly heavy. I pulled my arm toward me, but it wouldn't move. My head yielded a quarter turn and I could see along my arm to the needle taped into it and the tube connected to the bag. My wrist was duct taped down to something. I was lying on something soft, but there was a lump or wrinkle under my left hip—just enough to be irritating. I scanned downward with my eyes and saw my nipple. I'm naked! I slammed my legs closed but they barely moved. I could feel tape biting into my ankles. He expected me to wake up—maybe even wanted me to. I continued my survey and either from what I saw or because of what the detectives had told me, I deduced I was in a hotel or motel room. By the traffic noise, I thought motel. I would have no other chance to scream. I filled my lungs and emitted a pathetic yell for help. Again. Louder. The sound seemed to die at the foot of the bed. Why tie me up and leave me? He obviously had drugs. Why not just kill me? Because he wants you conscious and aware. He wants you to feel it. I screamed again. The door opened and the traffic noise got louder. An interstate. While the door was open I did my best to squeak out my plea. Then it closed again. "Ah you're awake," Defoe said, approaching the bed. "Good." He looked at the bag above my head and tested the thumbscrew on it. I couldn't tell if he increased or decreased the drip. It did nothing to calm me. "Help! Let me go!" My voice sounded so soft that even I could barely hear it. The words were slurred as if spoken by a drunk. "Let you go? I don't think so. I've only begun to enjoy myself." He stood over me eating a French fry. "You know, you should have had plastic surgery to repair the scarring on your arm. A shame to have that lovely skin marred. No real marks on your face though. Your hair color is better. Is that Lady Clairol or Loreal?" He seemed to be enjoying just casually examining my body while I shook in front of him. "I like the landing strip. You were shaved bare the last time I saw this cunt." He picked up another French fry and stroked my breast with it, the warmth of the fryer no longer hot enough to burn me. I could feel my nipples growing hard no matter how I willed them to retract. "Why?" I struggled to say. "Mmm? Why not? You're like all the rest. Beautiful and rich and think that entitles you to everything. Men should just fall all over themselves because you were born. You use them and throw them away." He pinched my nipples with both hands. The pain shot through them and straight into my pelvis. "No! Ow!" I cried, my voice hardly more than a whisper. "Look at that! You can't help yourself, can you? Even drugged, hurt, and threatened, your cunt still gets oily when your nipples are pinched. Remind you of old times together?" He laughed. "What have you told the police?" "Nothing." "Nonsense. They were watching you in the parade." "Adams," I said softly. "Oh yeah. The coward. He's left town. I tried to get Abby to tell me where to, but she wasn't cooperative. She didn't last as long as I would have liked. Finally feeling my dick in her ass was too much for her. I didn't notice her heart had stopped until I was finished." "Why me? Why are you doing this to me?" "You were supposed to die on the operating table," he said, getting right up to my face. "You kept coming back. Now you have to die." "They know. They'll catch you. You can't get away with this," I argued. "Yes. Thanks to you, they are going to strap me down to a table and inject me with my own drugs. But they are humane killers. I won't suffer. There is nothing I can do about it, so I'm going to kill you first," he said. "You killed all those women." "No, they were going to die anyway, like you should have. I just let them fully experience their deaths—every painful moment of them." He reached for the valve on the bag. "What are you doing?" I gasped. I panicked. My heart started to accelerate as I saw him reach for the bag again. "I'm shutting you up. I've heard enough of your whining. That's the nice part about what I do. The women never cry. I know just how much pain they are in. I watch their brainwave monitors for tiny blips that tell me they heard what I said or that they felt what I did. Better yet is when they feel the knife being drawn so carefully across their skin by a doctor who is totally oblivious to their pain." I started to speak again, but my lips wouldn't move. My vocal chords didn't vibrate. I couldn't even close my eyes. Help me! He's going to hurt me! "I am such an artist with this stuff," he laughed. "Perfect amount every time. Paralyze all their voluntary functions, but leave them so they can hear and feel everything." He opened my mouth and pushed a tube into it, scraping down my throat and choking me. I could hear the pump and flow as I felt air moving in and out of my lungs. "Can't have you choking on your tongue and dying before I'm finished with you. Now about your eyes. They'll get awfully dry if I leave them open like that. I don't care, but I hate to have them staring at me all the time." He leaned over my face, just far enough away that I could focus on his face. "See me, Margot Pembroke?" he asked. "Remember carefully. This is the last thing you are ever going to see in this world." He closed my eyes with his fingers. I could feel him running his hands all over my body. He was like a blind man trying to see everything with his fingers. He pinched and probed. He violated every opening. Pain accompanied every touch. I was weeping, begging for mercy, but there were no tears and no sound. It's happening again. "Oh. You're tasty. Want a taste? Here." He smeared my juices on my mouth and I could smell my own fluids. "Sorry. I forgot. You can't lick." He shoved his fingers into my mouth far enough to gag me, but there was no gag reflex. How sick can you be? You might as well be fucking a corpse. Is this the only way you can get laid? "I'm going to hurt you, Margot," he sneered. "And I'm going to stimulate you. I've always wondered what would happen if a woman had an orgasm when her body couldn't do anything. She can't moan. She can't gasp. She can't shudder, scream, or pump. And if I keep adding a little pain here and there..." No! It hurts. I know how it hurts. Stop! Please stop! "How much pain and pleasure will you be able to stand before your body shuts down? I do hope it's a lot because I don't have a defibrillator so I can't revive you. Once you're gone, you're gone." He cut me. I screamed. The pain was overwhelming. He hit me. I screamed. He bit me. And I was silent. It went away. Oh, I still knew what he was doing. He'd become too wrapped up in his sadism to even keep speaking. I felt every twist, stab, pinch, and bite. But I am Margot. I. Am. Pain. He had no idea what I'd suffered the past eighteen months. I knew pain beyond what he was able to inflict. And I lost all my reason and simply became the pain, no longer affected by his continuing torture. My inner peace as still as my outer body. Frank, I love you. ------- A loud bang brought me back to the present. I thought that I should take a survey of my wounds and find out how badly damaged I was, but I didn't care any longer. Defoe's weight was swept off my body. "Bastard!" More scuffling. Frank? Is that you? "Get back or I'll kill her!" Defoe screamed. I could hear sirens in the distance. I could feel a needle against my neck. This was it. He was going to inject me with the final death. "There's nothing you can do now. One prick of this and she's gone." "Don't do it," Frank yelled at him. "Harm another hair of her and you'll die the same way. I know what you did to her." You know? How do you know, Frank? "But you don't know what she's on now. Without me you can't possible resuscitate her." "What have you done?" Oh Frank. He's never going to tell you. Pull the needle out of my arm and I'll be fine. "Back away," Defoe snarled. For God's sake, JUST KILL HIM! I felt the needle's prick in my neck for only an instant and another crash beside the bed. Was that really enough? Would that little prick kill me? Heh. That little prick. Hey pencil-dick, is it in yet? Screams beside me and thumps on the floor. It sucks when you can't see what's happening. I could still here sirens and they were close. "Freeze!" another voice. Lots of feet pounding on the floor. Oh well. Too late. ------- I'd been here before. Damn it! Every time the going gets tough, I just die. I floated above my body. This was getting too easy. My body was a bloody mess. Ooh. That's gotta hurt. Two bodies lay on the floor beside the bed where I was trussed out like a butterfly in a case. Air was still whistling through the hose into my mouth. Two detectives were holstering their weapons and EMTs were waved through the door behind them. One rushed to the bed and began disconnecting the hose and the I.V. It looked like he figured he was too late. The other EMT had apparently found life signs in Frank because the detective let him roll my lover off the body of Jim Defoe. A syringe was stuck through Frank's hand and into Defoe's chest. I looked around. Are you here, Frank? I'm here. I saw his eyes flutter open, only they weren't open. It was like he looked at me through his eyelids as the EMT removed the syringe, first lifting Frank's hand, making sure the plunger was fully depressed, and wiping the needle with alcohol. Only then did he pull it from Frank's hand. "Come back to me, baby," he said, only I didn't see his lips move. I really need to obey him, even though I don't want to. I wanted to just float away. I saw the EMT doing chest compressions, my bare boobs staring up at him. An oxygen mask was strapped around my face. Oh shit! This is going to hurt. ------- I screamed again. Choking. Air pushing through my lungs. "You'll be okay," the EMT was saying. "We're going to get you right to the hospital and you'll be all right. Stay with me now." He sounded so nice. He must have been to EMT school where they teach you to talk like that. I'd like to curl up in his arms and go to sleep. He reminded me of Carl so I thought maybe I should practice some self-hypnosis, but really, now that I was over the shock of getting back in my body, I didn't feel so bad. For all he tried to do to me, he really didn't hurt me that much. He couldn't. I am my pain. ------- Chapter 28 I blinked my eyes and looked at the ceiling, wondering for a minute where I was. Things swam into focus slowly. I was in a hospital again. I wondered idly if Jim Defoe was still administering drugs to me, but in the midst of my euphoria I remembered he was dead. At least he'd looked dead to me. I hoped it was painful. Frank. As the image of the hotel room emerged from my subconscious, I remembered seeing Frank on the floor with Defoe. I wondered if he was dead, too. I hoped not. I really liked him. I wished he didn't order me around so much, but when I thought about it, I guess I liked that, too. There was something about letting him control me that relieved me of responsibility. Maybe that was what I really wanted. I could be responsible for big things like construction schedules and campaigns if I didn't have to be responsible for little things like my life. I hoped he would continue to order me around. There was a hand holding mine. I mustered the effort to turn my head and open my eyes a little wider. My dear sweet daddy was sitting by my side, his head bowed—maybe asleep—as he held my hand. How stupid of me to have run off to college and then gotten married when Daddy would have been responsible for me forever. I sighed and he looked up. "Hello, little girl," he whispered. "Daddy's here." As if that would solve everything, just like that. "Thank you, Daddy. How long have I been in the hospital?" I asked. "Two days. It's late Monday night," he said. "You're safe now. The doctors say the drugs have cleared your system and they just have you on a painkiller so you can recover from your ... injuries." Was that what I had? Injuries? "How bad is it?" I asked. "I don't know what to tell you," he said. A tear was flowing down his cheek. "He was torturing you. I think the doctor should tell you what was hurt." "I can figure out most of it. I remember." I looked at my left hand. Three fingers were bandaged and splinted. I remembered having heard popping sounds as they were broken. I couldn't really feel them right now, though. "They must have me on some pretty good drugs," I laughed a little. "I'm feeling no pain." "Good. That's what we want." We were quiet for a few minutes, just listening to the quiet whir of the hospital and machines that were attached to me. "Frank?" I said at last. "Who?" "My ... boss," I said. "Is he all right?" "Oh. Him," Dad said. He sounded disgusted. Didn't he know Frank saved my life? "He's around in here somewhere. Maybe they sent him home or took him to jail. I guess he got some of the venom in him." "Venom? Jail?" "That anesthesiologist was going to inject snake venom in you. Most of it ended up being pumped straight into his heart, but Mr. Miller got stabbed with it, too," Dad said. "Plus, he had a concussion and several abrasions." "Why would they take him to jail?" "The police are trying to figure out how he knew where you were being held and what he was trying to hide by killing Defoe." That was news. But I wondered; how did he know where I was? "Frank saved my life. I'm glad he's okay." "You need to get more rest, baby girl. Daddy will be right here." He was right. I did need more rest. ------- "I'm going to stay with you during the interview," Doctor Cornell said. "You've proven yourself to be incomparably strong to survive this ordeal, but I want to monitor you while the police ask you questions. I don't want to take any chances on something sending you into post-traumatic shock." Doctor Cornell—in a sudden improvement in her bedside manner, she'd asked me to call her Sarah—had gone over the extent of my injuries. As close as anyone could come, I'd been in the hands of Jim Defoe for nearly eight hours before Frank broke in. I had multiple lacerations on my face and torso including a punctured bowel, three broken fingers, uncounted bruises, including re-breaking one of the ribs on my right side. And I'd been raped—orally, anally, and vaginally. I knew all that. I could remember it in detail, but somehow I was being insulated from the horror of it all. Carl was nervously standing beside the two officers, obviously as concerned as Sarah. "Thank you, Sarah. Let's get on with it," I said. The two detectives approached the bed. "Miss Pembroke, I don't know if you remember, but I'm Detective Sutton and this is Detective Greer. We met the day of the parade," Sutton said. "I remember. A little late again, weren't you," I said. I supposed that was a little snarky. "We had some trouble finding you. We have a few questions. How much do you remember of the day you were kidnapped?" he asked. Greer sat back and took notes. Apparently they weren't going to try to tag-team me like they did after the parade. "Everything," I said. "Everything?" he asked. "That's hard to believe. You were conscious the entire time you were with Defoe?" "Oh. No." He nodded smugly. "When he grabbed me he pushed something over my face that knocked me out. When I woke up, I was strapped to a bed in a hotel room. I remember everything else." "You're saying there was only a brief time then that you were unconscious and you were cognizant of what was happening the rest of the time?" "I wouldn't have called it brief," I said. "I don't know where you found me, but I was out long enough for Defoe to get me out of the park, to the motel, and get me stripped and tied spread eagle on the bed. When I woke up I also noticed that he had an I.V. drip in my arm. He was gone from the room, but entered shortly afterward with a sack from MacDonald's and some French fries. Exactly how long it took him to manage all that, I don't know. It wasn't long enough for you to find me." "I can understand that you are bitter," Sutton said. "I wish we had found you sooner. When the call came in reporting that you were missing, you'd been gone only a few minutes and no one had actually witnessed the kidnapping. It wasn't until we saw your name on a yellow alert that Detective Greer and I found out about it. We advanced the alert to red immediately. By then, we're pretty sure you were already at the motel." "You did the best you could," I said. "Do you have a sexual relationship with your boss, Frank Miller?" he asked. "What business is that of yours?" "Please answer the question. Believe me it is important," Sutton pressed. "Yes. He's my lover. And my hero. He found me." "I sincerely hope that is what happened," Sutton said. "Did you have sexual relations with him on the day of your kidnapping?" "Yes. Just before we went to the park for Dottie Miller's announcement," I said. "His wife." I nodded. Sutton looked at Greer and the other detective also nodded. "I'm sorry we had to clarify that," Sutton said. "It might have a bearing on the case. Unless you tell us you went with Defoe willingly, you were raped. We had to eliminate the possibility that Miller had also raped you as the semen remnants in your vagina were his, and not Defoe's." "Pencil-dick had already come twice before he stuck it in my cunt. It was going to take him a while before he dumped the last load. He was interrupted by death before he managed it," I said caustically. These so-called detectives were beginning to irritate me. "Pencil-dick?" "It's what Abby Jones called him when I was in surgery a year-and-a-half ago. You can ask her. Oh no. You can't. He killed her already, didn't he?" Sarah put a hand on my wrist and looked at her watch, counting. Yes, my heart-rate was accelerated. "Of course, no one would believe me when I told them that then. I can't imagine that a simple thing like a rape and a murder would convince you now." "Okay, listen," Greer snapped. He pushed Sutton out of the way. "Frank Miller knew you had been kidnapped when no one saw it happen. Frank Miller found you when we were still trying to track you down. Frank Miller's semen was in your vagina. Everything points to Frank Miller being involved in this. Unless you've got a better explanation, Frank Miller is a suspect and you are a hostile witness." "When did I change from being the victim of a crime to being a hostile witness, you asshole? You want hostility? I'll file so many lawsuits against the incompetent police department that you won't finish filling out paperwork for a year. If you want to know what Defoe said to me about why he was doing this, or what order he broke my fingers in, or when he started cutting me, or whether I choked when he shoved his cock down my throat, then ask some questions that make sense. I remember every single detail. Otherwise, get the fuck out of my room." Greer turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. Sutton stood and looked at me shaking his head. "Sorry," he mouthed at me. Then he followed his partner. ------- "Do you really remember it all?" Carl asked softly as he sat beside me. Sarah had finished checking my vitals and I was calming down. "Yes," I replied weakly. "Just like I remember everything from the surgery." Carl looked a Sarah. She shook her head. "We need an attorney and an official of the court to take a sworn statement," he said. "I don't want to ask you any questions or listen to you recite what happened without an official witness. Are you up to it?" Fuck. Did I want to open this can of worms? I thought I was handling it pretty well until the two dicks showed up. Now, I just wanted Frank and couldn't understand why they wouldn't let him see me. I nodded my head. ------- I slept through the night on Tuesday after the detectives had left. No one asked me questions and that was a relief. When I woke up Wednesday morning I could feel the ache and stabbing pains that told me I was on a lower dose of painkillers. It wasn't that bad. Janna, Louise, and a stenographer from the District Attorney's office showed up at about nine. We took a break every couple of hours so they could go relieve themselves or retch. Carl and Sarah sat in the same room as witnesses, Sarah frequently checking my vitals for signs of stress. I didn't need the breaks that everyone else did as long as I had water to keep my voice from dying completely. I had a catheter, so output was taken care of. I'd had no solid food because of the puncture in my bowel. When I'd told them everything about the day I was kidnapped, I told them everything about my surgery. They could still find Trent Adams, and this time I am sure he would back up my claim. Janna had the forms completed to file suit against the hospital and the malpractice insurance company to re-open the case. This time, there was no doubt in her mind. She was like a hound on the scent and was going for blood. Louise held my hand the entire time, crying as we relived the pain and mental anguish that I'd endured that first year. ------- I was released from the hospital a week later. I hadn't minded the stay so much. All I wanted to do was sleep. They wheeled me in a chair out of the hospital to Louise's car. Sitting was a little harder than I thought it would be with the seatbelt buckled across my tender mid-section. Twice in two years. I hoped I didn't make this an annual habit. I really didn't like having my body in this condition. When I got to the house I looked up the street and could see that my guys were making progress. "Drive through the neighborhood, would you Louise? I want to see how things are going." "You're on sick-leave, you know?" she laughed. But she did drive around and I saw that there were three new holes and it looked like nineteen was ready to button up with the framing on twenty begun. As we drove through, I heard Harry's air horn blast and the guys came streaming out of the houses. He waved them toward my place and by the time Louise pulled into the drive, the car was surrounded by workers. Harry and Pete were at my door and supported me by each arm as I walked unsteadily toward my front door. The crowd parted as I went through. "What is this?" I asked. "Is it over a hundred? I'm sorry guys, but I don't think you want to see me stripped down right now." I tried to laugh a little, but I was already getting pretty tired. "We love you, Margot," one of the guys shouted. "Get well soon!" "We'll stay ahead of schedule for you." "You guys are all so sweet. I love you all," I said. And I did. "You need anything, any time, and you just jingle my phone," Harry said. "I'll detail a crew to help you." "Harry, you guys are the best thing I've seen in more than a week," I said. "I know this is beyond the call of duty, but could you two help me upstairs to my bedroom?" "Shit, I've wanted to get in your bedroom since the day I met you," Harry laughed. "Well, it's no fun, this time, I'm afraid." "When I tell Frank what you said," Pete cackled, "he'll have your skin, Harry." "Well, don't tell Frank," Harry growled. "Oh I won't, but I bet Lori will," Pete said. "You know she'll get it out of me." They got me upstairs and I sat gingerly on my bed. When they were satisfied that Louise could take care of me from there they left. I followed Louise's instructions and took my pain pill and laid down to rest. It was mechanical. Ever since Pete mentioned Frank, my enthusiasm for being home had waned. It had been ten days. Why hadn't Frank come to see me? ------- Chapter 29 "You know you can't stay here." "What the fuck? Are you kicking me out of my home because I was kidnapped? Or are you firing me?" I was getting pissed. When Dottie came over, she unlocked the house and walked right upstairs to my sitting room. I hadn't been downstairs since Harry and Pete helped me to my bedroom the day before. Louise fixed me dinner last night and breakfast this morning and left food upstairs for me so I wouldn't have to negotiate the stairs for lunch. Even after she got there, I thought Dottie was just paying a social visit and then she started pulling this crap about me moving out. "Get your head out of your ass," Dottie snapped. "I don't know why you came back here in the first place. You have a perfectly good room with privacy and people around all day to help at our house. You could even have Louise stay over there if you feel you need her." "But why not be in my own place?" "Because it's a model home. Phil can't show the house with an injured woman who can't even make up her bed in it," Dottie said. Maybe she wasn't being a bitch after all. "Look, you can't negotiate the stairs by yourself. You can't lift more than five pounds. You can't get in and out of the shower by yourself. You can't make your own bed. You can't even get to the kitchen to fix your own meals. And I've got to tell you, Frank is going out of his mind." "Ffttt." I made a fart noise with my tongue. "He can't be that worried. He hasn't visited me once since he rescued me—not here or in the hospital. We're through." "You've really had entirely too much time with yourself. It's obvious that no one has talked any sense into you," Dottie said. I hated to admit it, but I could feel the sting of tears. I thought Frank cared for me and he'd abandoned me. I couldn't even thank him for saving me. "Why hasn't he called or anything?" "Frank hasn't set foot outside the house since he got out of the hospital. He hasn't made a call to anyone on either the home phone or cell phone. Those two detectives had him cowering in his bedroom," Dottie said. "It's taken until this morning for me to get the DA's office and a friendly judge to call them off. I managed to get your lawyer, the judge and the District Attorney in the same room to read your deposition. The DA sent an assistant to the house and took a full deposition from Frank that included when and where he met you, how long you'd been lovers, and if he knew James Defoe. They deposed me. I had to tell a fucking District Attorney that I knew my husband was having an affair and that I didn't mind." "Shit! I'm sorry, Dottie." What else could I say? I'm not the greatest at apologizing to people. I was probably late for a pain pill, too. "Well then fix it," Dottie said. She wasn't going to let up. "When Judge Carter read the depositions, he had them sealed, so there might not be too much impact on the campaign." "He believed everything?" "He remembered you. He felt he hadn't done justice when you were before him last year with your suit." "Oh. That judge," I said. It sounded like he got it right this time. "What should I do?" "Show me what to pack for you and let's get out of here," she said. "If you have too much, we'll call Harry to come and carry it. You'll travel in my car and we'll pull into the garage. We already brought your car over there. No one will see you." "I need to tell Louise. She'll be here in a couple of hours," I said. "Sure. Have her come over for dinner tonight so she can verify that you are safe and being cared for. If she wants to stay, there's the ... the other room next to yours," Dottie said. I caught her stumble. The other room was going to be the child's room. The child that never came. I'd considered Dottie a hard person who was more interested in her business, money, and her career than her family, but maybe I was being too hard on her. "Why are you doing this, Dottie?" I asked. "Why are you inviting me into your home where I have easier access to your husband? Why are you continuing to reward and care for me when I'm ... when I'm fucking Frank?" She looked at me and I saw the hard façade begin to fade. Inside, I began to see ... was it a reflection of myself? Rich, privileged, self-centered until tragedy struck. "I know Frank told you," she said. "Something inside me broke after we lost Frank Junior. I don't work anymore. I lost all my desire along with my ability. It's not that I want something different than what I have. I don't want a woman, if that concerns you. I don't want another man. I don't want anyone. But don't think just because I don't want Frank that I don't love him. I do want him to be happy. He is uncommonly loyal. I cut him off five years ago and he's never once suggested divorce until you put it on your schedule. Even when he moved out, he was just going to go be with you. He wasn't going to divorce me." "Is he that mercenary? Would he lose that much by divorcing you?" I asked. "How much would you pay for freedom and the ability to give yourself fully to the one you love?" she asked. The answer was obviously everything. "Why now?" I asked. "I'd like to make his transition to being a widower an easy one," she said. She knocked me for a loop with that one. What was she talking about? "You're not going to commit suicide or anything, are you?" I asked, alarmed. "No. But I'm going to die. I know that you think I want you to be my campaign assistant on all my future campaigns, but there aren't going to be any in the future. I've got uterine cancer, possibly a long-term result of my birth trauma. I went on vacation last winter for a month and had surgery—a hysterectomy—but it had already metastasized. I've taken radiation and chemotherapy, making me a bit of a bitch and causing me to begin wearing wigs. I know Frank noticed that, but he just shrugged it off as being one of my tangents," she sighed. "Why are you spending your time running for office?" I asked. This was unbelievable. Why would a woman who thought she was dying waste her time in a political campaign? "It's on my bucket list. Frank was right. Originally I intended to run next year, but there might not be a next year," she said. She sounded ... happy. "Let's get you moved. Oh. And so you know, my bucket list says 'win an election, ' not 'run for office.' I plan to be a councilwoman in November." ------- Dottie took me in the house and up the kitchen stairs to "my room." It was after four in the afternoon and I was pretty exhausted by the time she'd helped me up the stairs. She brought in my one suitcase and set it down. "I'll get to that later," I said. "I need to lie down for a while." "Don't worry about it. Autumn will unpack for you and check your wounds before dinner," Dottie said. "You get some rest." "Who is Autumn?" "She's a homecare nurse I hired to look in on you twice a day. She'll be here at six and you can set up the times that you need the most help," Dottie said. "I ... won't be back on this wing again. I don't like it here. There's too much ... Never mind." She left and I lay down on the comfortable bed. I didn't bother to take anything off but my shoes and just stretched out on top of the bedspread. I'd discovered a different woman this afternoon. ------- A light tapping on my door woke me up. I was a bit groggy. The clock said 5:55 p.m. "Who's there?" I called out. "Um ... uh ... Margot? It's ... It's Frank and..." By the time he got to his name I was out of bed and pulling the door open. The rapid movement left me light headed and I swooned into his waiting arms. "You came. You came. Thank you. Thank you." I wasn't making that much sense. He probably couldn't tell if I meant coming to my room or coming to save me. The answer was yes. He was here, holding me gently as he led me back to the bed to sit down. "Margot, honey, you need to meet Autumn. I just brought her here to see you." I looked up into the deep green eyes of a woman about my own age. She didn't dress like a nurse. She wore blue jeans and a t-shirt. "Autumn?" I asked. "Hi, Margot. It's nice to meet you. Let's have a chat and see what you need," she said. I looked longingly at Frank. "I'll see you in half an hour for dinner," he said. ------- "Are you really a nurse?" I asked when she sat down next to me. "Yeah. I'm also Frank's cousin. I used to work at the hospital, but after my kid, I decided to stick around home for a year or two. You get to be my re-introduction to nursing," she laughed. "Really, I'm pretty good." I liked her immediately. She chatted about her two-year-old and how he was always into something, but that her husband enjoyed time with him and she had day care arranged so she could spend a few hours away each day. She helped me put away the clothes in my suitcase and check the bathroom to see if there was anything else I'd need. "I was really surprised when Dottie called me," Autumn said. "She doesn't usually want much to do with Frank's side of the family. She must be sick or something." I didn't say anything. Was Dottie trying to build bridges before she died? This was going to be confusing. Finally, Autumn and I agreed that she'd come by first thing in the morning and make sure I had my correct pills, help me in the shower, change my dressings, and help me get dressed. Then we'd go down for breakfast. Once I was ready and settled back where I wanted to be for the day, she'd take off. She'd be back about eight at night to make sure I was ready for bed, had the pills I needed, and was comfortable. This evening, she'd stay for dinner and we'd start the evening routine afterward. She checked for signs of fever and infection and was pleased that I'd managed okay so far. At six-thirty, Frank showed up at the door again, this time with Louise in tow. "Are you okay, sweetie?" Louise asked. "I got your message and I was pretty worried. I got here as soon as I could." "See? That's why it makes sense for me to be here," I laughed. "Between Autumn helping me for a while in the morning and evening, and the various housekeepers and cooks who work during the daytime, there's always someone around. It was so wonderful to have you come to help me, but you have clients who need you, too. You can't just jump up when my ribs hurt." "I suppose you're right," Louise said. "But I can't help worrying." ------- Dinner was pleasant. I was surprised. I felt like I'd invaded the Miller household with my own coterie. Dottie was a gracious hostess and said that she was hoping I would feel well enough tomorrow to go over her schedule with her as she was certain Sam had messed up something. Well, that was sneaky. All of a sudden she had me during the daytime for her campaign as it was definite that I wouldn't be able to go inspect jobsites for a few days yet. Autumn agreed to take me for my checkup on Monday and I would schedule an appointment with a plastic surgeon sometime next week. My face wasn't going to make it through without some help this time. The bastard had cut deeply enough to split my left nostril and the corner of my mouth. I was lucky he hadn't attacked my eyes, but he'd kept talking about how he was going to cut them out before I died. I was going to have to ponder that memory. Everything told me that I should be quaking in horror when I remembered what he did to me. That's what happened after the post-accident surgery. But now I looked at everything dispassionately. I didn't think I could make it to Carl's office on Saturday, but I would invite him over for a visit. I couldn't identify what had changed about me. Why could I even think about the terrible things that Defoe did to me without being panicked? Louise hung around a little while after dinner, and chatted with Autumn and me while I got ready for bed. It had been a busy day for an invalid and I was exhausted. ------- I knew the door would open in the night. I prayed it would. I was no longer afraid of Frank or worried about him controlling me. I knew I'd broken his spell. I no longer blindly obeyed everything he said. Perhaps tonight he would try to reclaim me. I was almost willing to let him. It would be so much easier. A thin shaft of light fell into the room when the door cracked open. He listened for a moment. "Come on in, Frank," I said. He pushed the door open the rest of the way and closed it behind him before crossing the floor to kneel beside my bed. I turned on the lamp so I could see him. He wore pajamas and a robe that puddled around his knees on the floor where he knelt. He gently took my hand and kissed over the top of my three broken fingers. I saw tears trickling down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry." "What do you have to be sorry for, Frank?" I asked. "You saved my life. You killed the bastard that haunted me for the past eighteen months. You risked your life. Why are you sorry?" "I didn't get there before he hurt you," Frank whispered. "I let you get hurt. I'm so sorry." "Frank, you got there way before the police did. How could you have gotten there any sooner?" I still wondered how he got there at all. Now I understood why the detectives were asking so many questions. Had Frank known all along? "I could have trusted you more," he said. "I knew you needed me, but I called the police. I thought they would take care of it." "I have to ask, Frank. How did you know? How did you know I needed you? How did you know where I was?" I asked. He looked at me like I was crazy to ask. He was a wild man, but I was no longer frightened—not of Frank or anyone. Had he truly been in league with Defoe? Surely that was just something the detectives had made up. "If you need to kill me, Frank, go ahead. I won't fight you, baby. If you need to hurt me, I won't fight that either," I said calmly. "Kill you? Hurt you?" he asked, looking wildly about. "How could I kill or hurt you? I love you! I'll do anything for you. I'll die for you. You are my whole life. If you had died, I'd have killed myself." "Frank?" This was not what I was expecting. Yes, I loved him, but I was ready to accept the fact that he was a controlling man who needed to rule over me. "Tell me, then. How did you find me?" "I followed your voice," he said. "You knew that. Why are you asking me these questions? I heard you yell for help. Here. In my head. It was like you were screaming in my ear. I knew which direction you were. I tried to get the police to go after you. But what could I say about how I knew where you were? They'd lock me up. I've known I was crazy for five months. When that madman was holding the needle at your neck, I didn't know what to do. Then you told me. You said, 'Kill him, ' and that was all I could think of to do. I jumped over the bed to get to him and jammed his own needle into his chest. Unfortunately, through my own hand. I was able to do it because you told me what to do. Nothing like this can really happen." "Nothing like what, Frank? I don't understand what you are talking about? I was paralyzed when you came in. I couldn't make a sound," I said. I was getting nervous. If he'd tried to kill me in my bed, I wouldn't have panicked like I was now. "Talking in my head. You've been talking in my head since the first day I met you. I was coming from the jobsite for our appointment. I saw you stop at the door of the office before you walked in. And right then ... that very moment, I heard your voice in my head." He got a dreamy look in his eye. "You said, 'You are going to love me.' You said it with such certainty and conviction that I knew immediately that it was true. I could feel it in my heart that I was already beginning to love you before the interview was over. I thought I'd scare you away by telling you to dress sexy and making little sexist or condescending remarks, but you were right there telling me to love you. I've been in love with you ever since." "Frank, are you telling me that I ordered you to love me and you've been helpless to resist ever since?" Oh my God! What have I done? ------- Chapter 30 I was healing slowly. There was no way my wrecked body could make love, and I was a little thankful for that. It gave Frank and me a chance to talk. He came to my room every night, but didn't stay the night for fear that in his restless sleeping he would bump me and hurt me. I tried to convince him that I wasn't fragile, but I guess I didn't try very hard. He felt no compulsion to stay with me. Frank insisted that he didn't mind my having made him love me or ordered him to kill Defoe. He justified it by saying it was the right thing to do and that he just needed the nudge to do what he wanted to do anyway. But how could he know that? What if my nudge had created what he wanted to do? I was tormenting myself and for the first time in several days I began to hear the bitch in my mind again. You caused this. You so wanted someone to take control that you ordered him to. You're not just a slut, you are a home-wrecker. Shut the fuck up! ------- "Frank, I think you should focus more energy on Dottie," I said one night as we ate our dinner in my room. Not all meals were taken together in the dining room. Dottie often ate in her office and the cook was as comfortable bringing food to my room as to the dining room. In fact, she often served me lunch in either the office or my room, wherever I happened to be. "Oh, the campaign is doing fine. She only needs me for that when she has to appear in public. Now that I'm going back to work, she's happy to have me out of the house," he laughed. "That's not what I mean," I tried to explain. "You need to pay attention to her." I didn't think I could divulge Dottie's secret, but I'd seen something that she either didn't see or hadn't admitted to. If Frank left her for me and then she died, that would be the end of us. No matter how much Frank thought he loved me, he would never forgive himself for abandoning her just before she died. That would always be a risk, of course. If she weren't under an apparent death sentence, she could still walk out the door the day after the divorce and get killed by a bus. This just seemed like more of a sure thing. Did I want Frank? Hell yes! Now that I admitted giving him control over me to... To satisfy your own perverted need to let someone make your decisions for you. ... to get me out of my shell, because I couldn't trust anyone, I could admit to actually loving him. How did that work? You chose him sight unseen. Then would anyone have done? There must have been something mystical going on. Yes. Like you are a fucking mind-controller. Nothing I said seemed to make a difference. "When you are well, we'll move back to the model," he said. "I mean, after the election. Then we are going to walk out to the Phase Four lots along the woods. There's a lot I want to show you. It actually extends thirty feet deep into the forested land behind and is bounded on that side by a creek. I chose this whole property to develop just for that lot. I surveyed it large, too. That's where we'll build our house. You'll love it." I knew I would love it. He's controlling you. I didn't care. I'd love it. Hypocrite! "Frank, why don't you spend the time during the election while I'm living in the model working on your relationship with Dottie." I was getting frustrated at my inability to sway him. Dottie's sick. Think about her. "You were in love. You built something together. You need to finish it together." "Dottie will be fine. All I want to do now is focus on us." JUST FORGET ABOUT US. "Frank, there's something you don't know. I can't tell you, but you'll hate yourself if you go through with this now. Give it some time," I said. How lame did that sound? ------- Once my stitches were out and I could comfortably walk up and down the stairs, I moved back to my home and started work again. I was a little self-conscious the first time I did a walk-through. And damned pissy. Harry took care of that. "Well, well, well," he said as I walked up the steps to where he was working on a punch-list. "There's the ass I love to kiss. Now don't get mad at me, baby, but number twenty-one is behind. We can catch it up, but we lost an entire crew. There's a new builder in the Boylston Ridge who came through offering any of our crews a twenty percent bonus if they'd move over on a fast job they were doing. The crew will be back in a few days and we'll get caught up." "What? The hell they will!" I shouted. "Find us another crew. I don't care if you have to go to Auburn and pay mileage to get them out here. A crew that jumps our ship never comes back. Blow that goddamned horn of yours and get everyone out here front and center." "Shit! I kiss your ass and you chew mine." He walked into the yard and blew the air horn. Guys came out of all the houses and off the digs to stand in front of Harry and me. There were a few catcalls when they saw me. "Did it reach a hundred?" "What are you wearing under that?" "Shut up," Harry yelled. "The bitch is back." "Thanks, Harry," I said as politely as I could. "It's good to be back, guys. You working hard?" There were various calls and hoots. "Where's the crew who's supposed to be on twenty-one?" There was some mumbling. Finally someone shouted out. "Boylston Ridge." "We aren't building any houses on Boylston Ridge. Why are they there?" "They got a 20% bonus." "Shit!" I said. "Why the hell are you here, Charlie? Twenty percent's a lot of money." Charlie hemmed and hawed a bit. "It wouldn't be right to leave here while you're out of commission. If I decide to quit, it'll be face-to-face," Charlie said. "Thanks, Charlie," I said. "I want you to know that if I ever fire you it will be face-to-face, too." Bitch. There was a lot of laughter over that. "Seriously, guys. I've been gone and I'm not whole yet. I'll be in and out for a few days. Doctors say they're going to be able to fix some of the damage to my face. You all don't have to pretend you don't notice. If I saw this face on the street I'd lose my lunch." "You're still beautiful, babe!" "Thanks. Let me tell you something. As long as I'm managing the schedule, loyalty gets rewarded. Every check written this week to every person active on this jobsite will have a twenty-five percent bonus attached." That got some attention. While they were still cheering, I raised my hand—the one with the three bandaged fingers. I figured that would get attention. Everybody got quiet. "You should all know that the opposite is also true. We're a crew short. The crew that left might not have known it when they took off, but they are permanently off our site. If any of you know where we can get a replacement crew, without robbing another builder, you let Harry or me know. We need to get number twenty-one on schedule because I guaran-damn-tee you that if everything is ahead of schedule by Labor Day, you'll all get a hell of a treat whether the temperature reaches a hundred or not." There was applause. "Now let's get to work, get ourselves some crews who are as loyal as you all are, and build us some goddamned houses!" ------- Margot the Bitch. Maybe. But everybody on my jobsite would sing hallelujah when they took their paychecks home. I walked up to the office slowly and jangled the bells as I went in. Phil looked up at me and jumped out of his chair to come and greet me. "Margot! Welcome back. Are you doing okay? What can I get you?" "Relax, Phil. I'm running a little slow at the moment, but I'm recovering." "Place hasn't been the same without your sexy ass in the office," Lori laughed. "I've actually had to wear short-shorts to keep Phil motivated." She stood up and modeled for me. "They look good on you. You sure you've got a ten-year-old?" "Lots of exercise, honey." "Where's Frank?" "He heard you fired a whole crew and went running out to Boylston Ridge to tell them. He's wanted to go up to that new builder's property ever since they broke ground. This was just what he needed," she said. "We got you a new computer while you were gone. Liz's boyfriend set it all up and transferred all your files. Harry's been bringing in a status report each afternoon and he's been updating the files to keep them current." "Do I still have a job?" I asked. "Ain't no pimply-faced, seventeen-year-old geek going to walk out on that jobsite and give everybody a twenty-five percent bonus. I just love the fact that you can spend Frank's money like that." "Hey, do we get the bonus, too?" Phil asked. I turned and scowled at him. "On what? As far as I can tell you didn't sell anything in the past week, so unless you tie something down with a commission this week, you get twenty-five percent of nothing." "I could have sold the model. It seemed a shame to have it just sitting there empty," he said. "Don't you dare." I went in and surveyed my office and then Frank's. I was tired and it was lunchtime. I left the office and went home. ------- Autumn continued to come and help me each morning, but I was on my own in the evening. Louise came over a couple times, but the neighborhood was pretty quiet in the evening. The neighbors in the Phase One houses mostly had kids, but the kids had so much open space to play in that even their voices seemed faint and faraway. Various surgeries kept me in bandages all through the fall. I worked mornings in the office and then spent time with Dottie on her campaign in the afternoons. She was leading in the local poll, but there were days when she didn't feel well enough to get out and meet the people. On those days, I tried to double up the office work and make sure she had little to do other than sign letters. I found out when she was getting treatments and blacked out those days on the schedule. I seldom stayed for dinner, and never spent the night. Frank and I worked well together, coordinating our tasks so that he always had current information and could make good decisions when he met with various building inspectors, commissioners, utility companies, and crew chiefs. I want to anticipate what you want and be your right hand. I kept the crews on schedule and cleared the way for Frank. Whenever he looked at me he knew that we were on schedule and things were moving smoothly. And that you didn't fire anybody. But as closely as we worked together, he never came to my house—even after our weekly Friday night dinner. He and Dottie were spending a lot of time together. He was by her side at every campaign event and every time she spoke to a group. He handed out buttons and worked hard to make her dream come true. ------- The Friday before Labor Day was September third. It was a little chilly, only in the high seventies, but I promised the guys a treat for Labor Day and when Harry blew his air horn at three o'clock everybody gathered in front of my house. You could smell the burgers and brats all over the neighborhood, but I wasn't on the steps of my house. They milled around for a few minutes and then I blew my air horn. They looked around and then followed the sound over to the staked out pool. You are flat-out crazy. Why would you ever show yourself? Every guy's eyes bugged out when they saw me. I was wearing a yellow crocheted string bikini and was standing there with a platter of brats in one hand and a beer in the other. On the other side of the grill, Lori wore a complementary blue string bikini and held a platter of burgers and a beer. There were a lot of eyes ping ponging between the two sets of tits. Lori was going to get a lot more attention because her body was flawless. Mine was covered with scars and a few bandages. My face was recovering pretty well after the surgeons reattached the flesh of my nose and mouth, but we hadn't started work on my stomach and breasts. "Well, guys, you got back on schedule and I promised you a treat for Labor Day. What do you think?" I asked. There was a little applause, but one guy stepped up and looked at my scars, then looked me straight in the eyes. "I think we want to go kill the guy that did this to you," he said. "Thanks, Tom," I said. "Frank already did that, on your behalf." "Yay, Frank!" hollered one guy. There was more applause this time. "You all need to know that the guy who did this to me was a sicko who enjoyed torturing women," I said loudly. "There's nothing fun or sexy about it. Leave it at that. I want you all to know that every day I come to work, you all make me feel beautiful. Now you can all quit staring at me and take a look at Lori's tits. And have you ever seen such a delectable little ass?" "Hey! That's my wife!" Pete yelled out. "And you're going to take her home and appreciate that gorgeous body of hers all weekend, right?" "You damn betcha!" "You all get yourselves a beer, a brat, and a burger and then get home to show some appreciation to your wives or girlfriends, or hell, I don't care if it's to your boyfriend. You're the best there is and this little girl loves you all!" ------- Dottie died two weeks after she'd won her election. We'd gathered together at her house to watch the election results and when the newscasters projected her to be the winner, we all cheered. "Thank you all for your support through this time," Dottie said. "We ran a hell of a campaign—thanks to Sam and Margot. Sam's a great strategist and Margot manages a schedule like no one I've ever seen. Thanks to my husband Frank, who stood beside me through thick and thin. And just for the record, I want you all to know that this is the second happiest night of my life." "What was the happiest," Sam asked. "The night I married my man," she said. Over a thousand people showed up at her funeral. I was impressed. ------- "So, everything is moving along smoothly," I said. Frank and I were having dinner on Friday after Thanksgiving. We'd given everyone the weekend off, but the two of us were in the office most of the day going over plans for Phase Three. In fact, Frank was in the office a lot since Dottie was gone. I don't think he wanted to be at home. We'd both been invited to have Thanksgiving dinner with Pete, Lori, and Marybeth. "We've got enough work to keep the carpenters, electricians, plumbers, and HVAC people busy for the winter. We need to figure a way to keep our framers and masons busy during the winter. Having them laid off doesn't help anybody." "Well, what are we going to do? We can't work outside in winter," Frank said. Snow had already started and there was was more than two inches in some places. "I don't like laying people off any more than you do, but it's a fact of the business. Lots of the bricklayers head for Houston or Phoenix in the winter. They can keep working there and there's a lot of building going on." "So if we could keep the framers working, we could be ahead a long way in the spring, couldn't we?" I said. "Yeah. Just don't know how to do it." I ate the gnocchi and Italian sausage that Frank had suggested. It's a wonder you don't weigh five hundred pounds with what he makes you eat. I only ate what I wanted to, but I wanted to eat it all. Since I'd mentally broken up with Frank, I'd kept a tight rein on the bitch in my head. Sometimes she was even a good conversationalist. "Did you see Farmington implement went out of business?" I asked. "Yeah. Too bad. Joe Kelly ran a great business out there, but his sons just couldn't keep it going. Times change. There are fewer farms and not enough customers," Frank said. "Wonder what they're going to do with that big building," I sighed. You manipulative little brat! "That is one big building. Probably some manufacturing facility or something. You could probably build half a dozen houses inside that place." He paused and looked at me. I smiled. "Now you're thinking a step ahead of me. You don't think we should do manufactured homes, do you?" he asked. "No. We're stick builders," I said. "But how do we frame them?" "We build wall frames flat on the ground and then we set them up and tie them together." "So why not do the framing in advance? Just the framing. Then when we've got foundations in, we cart the frames out of the warehouse and set them up, just like we would onsite. We could probably manufacture our own roof trusses and save some money as well as keep our guys busy." "That's good. We could take Harry, Pete, and the other framing bosses down to the Homebuilders' Show in January and see how to set up the jigs and whether we need any additional equipment," Frank said. "I already had Lori make hotel reservations for us." Frank reached across our table and took my hand. He'd aged a little during Dottie's illness—a little greyer at the temples—but he looked good—mature. She'd finally broken down and told him about her illness early in October. She'd kept it from him for two years, but it was obvious things weren't right with her. He'd been just where he should be. She didn't die alone. I hope I don't die alone. "You know, Margot," he said. He looked into my eyes and smiled. "I think I'm going to love you." ------- Afterword This has been a riotous month (November 2012) for writing my annual NaNoWriMo novel. NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) challenges authors to write a book of at least 50,000 words in 30 days. I have now completed it eleven times in nine years. This year, I set out to write a publishable-length psychological thriller with erotic overtones. The finished first draft is 84,638 words in length. What you have read here on SOL is that first draft. It might be the strongest first draft that I've ever written, and if so, it is because of the almost daily ratings that readers have given me on chapters and the email comments they have sent. I will spend much of December rewriting and incorporating your feedback. So please keep it coming! My plan (subject to change, of course) is to enter the novel in a couple of competitions after the first of the year and start submitting it to agents and publishers that have expressed an interest in it already. You might be aware of some of the conflict between what is considered published and what isn't and whether or not a publisher will be interested in an author's work if is available online for free. Therefore, I won't be posting the revised/rewritten version of the novel here on SOL, and I will be moving the draft to the Premium only section after the first of the year if I can figure out how to do that. While I've figured out a bunch of stuff that I'd like to change/expand/cut, I'm pleased with this draft and won't be doing more than typo and spelling revisions on it. If you are not a premium member, I suggest you download the story fully before the first of the year. ------- How did I come up with this story? I've been writing and posting here on SOL for almost exactly a year (as of 12/2/2012) but I've been reading for a lot longer than that. I started paying attention to what codes were applied to what stories and that's when I first noticed the sub-genre of "mind control." There is the usual mix of good and bad stories if you search for mind control. What I noticed, though, is that most are written from the POV of the controller, most of the controllers are men, most of the results are mindless bimbos who will literally bend over backwards for their masters and who will come on demand. That makes it pretty easy to please her, or make her believe she's been pleased. Most of these stories, with a very few notable exceptions, leave me cold. I started wondering what it would be like to write a mind control story from the perspective of the person being controlled. What if that person was completely aware that she was being controlled, but was helpless to stop it, no matter how she cried out in her mind? I started investigating this and stumbled upon the concept of unintended intraoperative awareness. This is what happens when the combination of drugs and sedatives used as general anesthesia on a person leaves her unable to respond, but is inadequate to either dull the pain or knock out the senses. These cases are not as rare as the medical complex would have us believe. They estimate that "only" one or two in a thousand cases occur. Unfortunately, that puts the number in the United States at between 20,000 and 40,000 a year! According to American Association of Nurse Anesthetists, the percentage of those who experience anesthetic awareness during major trauma surgery may be as high as 11–43%. Normally, cases of anesthetic awareness are detected quickly and are not as severe as the one described in this novel. But these cases do occur in the U.S. and can be devastating. They are documented to often result in severe post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), long-lasting pain, paranoia, and other psychological problems. Anesthesiologists are abhorred by the concept and do everything in their ability to ensure that it doesn't happen. Many safeguards have been instituted in the operating room to prevent and detect anesthesia awareness. Some of these include brainwave monitoring, video and audio taping, people in the operating room dedicated to watching the patient for any signs of awareness. I chose to place Margot in a situation that has a high risk of anesthetic awareness, including acute trauma with hypovolemia, known heavy alcohol intake, surgery occurring at night, total paralysis with muscle relaxants, difficult or prolonged intubation, and breakdown or malfunction of machinery. Let's face it; I really stacked the deck against her. To put the surgical team under more stress, they were forced to do surgery in the middle of the night during a blizzard while understaffed, unable to transport the patient to a better equipped facility, and in a power failure that left all but essential systems off-line. I further complicated matters by introducing an anesthetist who delighted in torturing women he believed would die in surgery anyway. The result of Margot's experience was the introduction of a second personality and an irregular ability to influence other people through her thoughts. Neither required a great stretch of my fertile imagination. That is the entirety of the factual information that I based this story on. Everything else is fiction, including all the people involved, the storyline, and even the intentionally undesignated northern location. This story has not had the benefit of an editorial review and all errors of both fact and grammar are my own. Thank you for being a reader, and thank you in advance for your feedback. ------- The End ------- Posted: 2012-11-01 Last Modified: 2012-12-01 / 09:48:40 am ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------