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Disclaimer: All characters and events in this story are fictitious, and any similarity to a real person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintended by the author. "The Pretender" is a protected trademark of MTM Television and NBC and the characters of that series are used herein with no mean intent or desire for remuneration. It is, instead, a tribute to innovative television, that rare and welcome phenomenon.
The Third Highway Series Part 05:
St. Jarod
Chapter 1
Witch1
Solebury Township, Pennsylvania
Nancy Halsted drove slowly up the long, gently curving driveway in her new Mercedes, pointing out the beautiful shade trees still carrying their autumn leaves, the lush lawn and of course the imposing iron fence. "You'll notice the gate, Mr. Crater--all remote controlled, of course. You mentioned you knew quite a bit about security systems--wait 'til you see some of the features the system here offers. All state of the art. I think you'll be impressed."
"I already am, " her prospective buyer replied, taking in the landscape.
"It's not often, as a Realtor, that I get to show a property as special as this one," she added, pulling the big black car to a stop in front of the stone farmhouse with it's steep, cedar-shingled roofs.
"You'll notice the discreetly placed security cameras as we enter. If you wish, there isn't a square inch of the exterior or the fence that can't be watched. And much of the interior can be monitored as well, as you'll see."
"I notice the seller has left a great deal of furniture in the house . . . I thought you said she had already moved out?" he asked as they walked through the first big room.
"Yes, she has--but all of the pieces you see, including a great many fine antiques, are also available, either with the house or without. We have a separate company that handles estate sales, so if you see anything you like, I can just make a note of it, and Bob Varney will get back to you with price information. That's a particularly nice chest on chest in the great room--and if you look behind you there's a truly remarkable secretary--a signed Philadelphia maker--quite unique. Very special. There's also a wonderful Philadelphia tall clock in the hallway to your right--"
"I'd like to see the upstairs, now," Crater interrupted.
"Of course, of course! But the security room is just in front of you-- OK, if you like we can go upstairs right now, " she added hastily, following him as he quickly climbed the oak stairs two at a time to the second floor. She found him standing in the master bedroom. "Isn't that just a wonderful pencil post bed, Mr. Crater? All original--just a real find."
He stood quite still in front of the bed, seemingly lost in thought. He saw Laura vividly, suddenly, dancing in front of him, pulling off her clothes and teasing him--pushing him roughly down on that same bed when he didn't have a clue what to do next, and climbing on top of him. His first time. His vision blurred for a moment.
"Are you all right, Mr. Crater?" the Realtor asked, concerned as he stood there silently.
"Yes, I'm fine thanks," he replied after a moment. "I'll definitely buy the bed--I don't care what it costs. I'll give you an address to ship it to. And please just call me Jarod."
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Later that afternoon he sat alone in the over-priced motel room he'd taken and took up the search where he'd left it. All very precisely done--he was impressed in spite of himself--bank accounts closed out, money transferred offshore, investments either liquidated or transferred into the name of an ever growing list of shell corporations--subsidiaries of subsidiaries, just a seemingly endless chain of companies and holdings, a maze that hid the money trail he pursued. He'd been at it a full three months before he'd even come to Pennsylvania to see her house and the deeper he delved the more amazed he was. Laura was smart about money, but she'd clearly hired a real pro to set this up for her. It was almost like she'd disappeared off the face of the earth, and taken all her money with her. The computer monitor flickered before him as he tried once again to hack into the main frame of a giant New York bank--he knew with persistence all things were possible, but as the hours ticked by he felt a growing sense of alienation and lose. She'd left him in the middle of the night-- without a word, without leaving so much as a note--and he seemed unable to move on.
He'd found a mission almost immediately, of course--certainly it wasn't hard to uncover an injustice if you started looking. What was it Laura had said: "You can't swing a dead cat without hitting some greedy bastard or another"? He'd joined a crew following the wheat harvest in the Midwest, driving the behemoth combines all day and sometimes all night, as well, learning to respect the vast, flat expanses of the country's middle and the hard-working people he met there. And eventually trapping one particular greedy bastard, whose tearful confession, for once, did not satisfy him. It was all he could do not to crush the miscreant like the bug he was--he'd wondered a lot, since, what might have happened if the sting had not had witnesses and he'd been alone with the man at that moment. He'd felt his rage and the instant of it's gratification burn across his skin as a literal, physical sensation--like sex, he'd thought at the time, but even better. Laura had described that, too: "the gotcha orgasm," she said, calling him, "the guy who puts the Big O in law and order." He'd always slightly laughed about her analogies--he didn't believe he took actual pleasure--even a kind of sexual high--in catching a bad guy. Lately he wasn't so sure.
Since that one experience he'd been reluctant to take on any further missions--he was frightened that in his present state of mind he truly might harm someone--anything could set him off. And without that his life seemed suddenly purposeless.
He missed her in ways he could never have anticipated--in a women's laughter overheard on the street, in every flash of red he saw, oddly enough--red like her hair, but red like her anger, he guessed, as well. So that he'd be driving and a traffic light would turn red and he'd be filled with absolute, over-whelming pain and anger and frustration. And then there was the ache in his loins when he awoke in the morning without her--an ache untouched by masturbation, untouchable, he'd decided: just a permanent, chronic ache. And he'd felt the shift in his emotions, as well--standing outside himself as he'd been taught and analyzing it all so impassively. What he mostly felt now was sheer hate. His freedom had meant everything to him. He'd taken joy in every sunrise, every minute, every second since he'd escaped from the Centre. Now every instant was contaminated by this new betrayal and the anger that accompanied it. She'd robbed him of joy and delight and he wanted to hurt her back in some particularly nasty way.
He thought back over all the miscreants he'd turned the tables on-- "poor guilty sons of bitches," Laura had called them, "Jarod's trophy heads." Her casual cynicism had seemed charming once--blunt, honest, without any pretense at all. Now it all just infuriated him: she hadn't respected him, his mission or his moral code. In the end she'd left him and put him in danger--if the Centre ever got a hold of her they'd do whatever it would take to force her to use the psychic connection she had with him to find him. She'd once told him she "wouldn't want to be lined up in your cross-hairs." She'd seen his form of justice up close and personal, but hadn't gotten the full implications. Now she was indeed in his cross-hairs, and, as he tried some more code, patiently working his way backwards through the money trail she'd tried so desperately to hide, he smiled just slightly. He was close, and he was getting closer by the minute.
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Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania
He'd gone about setting it up just as carefully as he had any of his stings--research, attention to detail, confidence. As he stood in line at the grocery store he stole a quick glance at the woman in line behind him. Elegant, fashionably thin, very well groomed and dressed, but wearing casual clothes--a knit tunic and leggings. He guessed her age at somewhere between forty and forty-five. Blond hair in a conservative cut, a nice but not overwhelming tan. The diamond in her ring was huge, the rest of her jewelry understated, expensive. Every item she put on the check-out belt was top-quality--lots of frozen entrees, pricey cuts of meat, a plastic box from the salad bar- -her lunch, he surmised. His own small pile of purchases inched it's way toward the checker as the woman in front of him began bagging her order.
He looked closely at the newspaper on the rack in front of him and laughed out loud. He glanced at the woman behind him again, making eye contact for just the correct, non-threatening amount of time. He shook his head, still chuckling, and she couldn't help but look at the paper's headline.
"Man Cuts Off Own Head With Chainsaw!!" it said in huge type. "And Lives!!"
She laughed, too, looking away for a moment. Then she did exactly what he'd hoped she would. A quick smile directed at him. A small laugh. "The tabloids--aren't they amazing?" she asked.
He smiled back--his best, practiced, charming smile. "Well, the real news is sometimes just as unbelievable," he said.
The checker began scanning his items--shaving cream, razor blades, a plastic container from the salad-bar. "Excuse me," he continued, addressing the blond behind him, "but do you know how best to get to Route 476 from here? I'm a consultant in town about some new developments and my map--well, let's just say it's not the best map I've ever seen."
She smiled back and started giving the directions--he'd made sure it would be a difficult, complex routing, nearly impossible to explain. She kept having to start over, getting increasingly confused. And he saw her quick appraisal of him. Once up and down. He was wearing a very expensive custom tailored suit, a Brooks Brothers shirt (monogram JCR on the cuff, not the pocket), a Rolex--and a heavy gold band on his ring finger. He was fully into the identity--married man, stable, good income, kids, big mortgage, away from home on business. She caught the glint of gold and looked directly into his eyes again. He let her have the full blast of a charming smile mixed with a little-boy-lost helpless shrug.
"Look," she finally said, "I'm going right past the entrance ramp for Route 476 on my way home. If you don't mind waiting for me to get checked out here you're welcome to follow me to the intersection." He watched her carefully, trying to learn from her body language, and when she flipped her hair casually back from her face he remembered Laura's advise--that woman who flip their hair like that want to get laid--and he knew he had her.
"That would be great," he answered, "but I'll only accept if you let me buy you lunch first."
She was understandably reluctant at first, but he applied charm mixed with boyish innocence, plus assurances that it would be better than the stuff they both had gotten from the salad bar--and she finally agreed. The big red Mercedes he'd driven all the way across the country probably helped, too, once they walked out to the parking lot together. And he'd made sure there was a cozy little Italian restaurant right next door. He knew she'd buy his story about his wife and kids, his little bittersweet hints that he saw something so special in her that he simply had to give in to temptation. He smiled to himself, quite pleased. She was beautiful and desirable and safe. He'd set out to forget about Laura and that was just what he planned to do. Lots of other women in the world, he'd decided--many, like this one, safely married, well-kept, bored--beautiful, desirable women who would appreciate him, even if Laura didn't.
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It was six o'clock before she left his motel room--he walked her to her car and kissed her one last time, trying to file away details: her perfume, the softness of her hair against his face, her smile. She had tears in her eyes; told him she'd never forget him. He knew that this was for her a fabulously romantic event in her life: that they would both now bravely go back to their separate lives , their imperfect marriages, but they would always have their memories of that one wonderful day together. He'd set out just to forget about Laura and ended up finding out a lot about the romantic fantasies of-- he suspected--a great many other, very different, woman. In spite of himself he couldn't help but wonder just what sort of cynical and vulgar comment Laura would have made about that.
He went back to his room and stood looking at the rumpled bed for a long moment. He sat down on it's edge and ran his fingers through his hair, lost in thought. He remembered the delicate tracery of marks across her tummy--stretch marks, she'd told him, slightly embarrassed by them, and had then explained what they were from. He'd kissed her and reassured her--she had a beautiful body and the spidery marks didn't bother him at all--they were wonderful, really, 'battle scars, " he said.
Two kids--a boy and a girl. What a perfect life it sounded like! Her husband an oral surgeon; nice, big house in the country. Everything he could imagine a perfect family would have. And yet she'd ended up here with him, grappling in a motel, whispering for him to stop, insisting he use a condom--which thankfully he'd bought--but then having to show him how to put it on, giggling the whole time. Two kids and fifteen years of marriage and--except for the condom--it had turned out she knew less about sex than he did.
He sighed again, remembering how she'd at first tried to push him away when he'd begun kissing those tiny scars and then moved down to lick her into wetness. Clearly this was something that had happened before, but just as clearly not very often. And she certainly didn't expect him to want to give her an orgasm before he'd even had one himself. 'What a mystery other people's lives are,' he thought, suddenly--maybe the only real mystery after all. When she'd finally come he thought at first she was going to go on thanking him for hours--as if this were some rare event in her life--which he then discovered it was. He'd brought her to orgasm again and again, even showing her exactly and precisely how to get her husband to do the same--being firm with her, insisting she tell her husband what she needed--that she deserved it. By the end of the evening she was scratching and biting him passionately and enthusiastically--he almost pitied her husband, in a way--the poor guy had no clue what was in store for him. And he thought of course, inevitably, of Laura, who consumed sex in great big gulps and always just assumed they'd simply fuck until one or both of them couldn't walk, as though that were perfectly normal--the usual way ordinary people have sex. She'd taught him everything, really. Nia had been shier, much less experienced--but still, she'd wanted to enjoy herself with him and been able to tell him how to give her pleasure. He'd assumed that was how sex always was, that is was sharing, until that afternoon.
Janet had been a very nice women. He breathed deeply and could still smell her perfume in the room--mixed with the earthier smell of sex. But she'd only made him miss Laura more. And certainly appreciate her more. What were people out there doing, anyway, he wondered? What the hell was her husband thinking of, the idiot? How could they not be just as passionate and uninhibited and free as Laura and he had always been? The word 'free' choked him for a moment, however--Laura was free all right, now: free of him. And destroying his own precious, dearly bought freedom. All that time being locked up, only so that when he finally got out he lived days filled with bitterness and anger--so that Laura could feel free.
He booted up his lap top. Back to the money chase. Somewhere out there Laura was blithely going about her own business, thinking she had left him far behind, thinking he would never find her. He'd been damned close the night before--he'd found the offshore bank in the Cayman Islands where she'd been moving cash. And he'd even found that one of the many shell corporations had recently bought a secluded house on a tiny private island north of Seattle--a very possible lead. And there was something else, as well. Trivial at first--a sizable contribution she had made to the Democratic National Committee. He had never guessed she cared about politics, but she had always been full of mysteries. He'd been thinking about that one big check she'd written all day. One of the phony companies--the one that owned the small island retreat--was registered in Taiwan. He thought about all the recent flak about campaign contributions from Asian nationals and a plan had begun to form. He was curious--how hard would it be for him to route Laura's contribution through that Taiwanese front? If he could open her account files he knew he could do it. It would only then take an anonymous tip to trigger an investigation. The money would have to be returned and put back into one of the accounts Laura was bleeding dry as she took her funds offshore. And the sudden, unexplained deposit would at the least trigger an IRS audit, possibly do much, much more damage to her. 'Don't get mad,' he thought, 'get the IRS mad.' He needed to do just a bit more tweaking before he could pull it all together, but just the thought gave him slight, vengeful buzz. He couldn't wait until he could pull the trigger. He smiled, thinking Laura had a big surprise coming.
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Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
The club wasn't quite as big as Xenopolis, the place in New York that Laura had taken him--and where they had almost trapped a killer--but it was just as numbingly loud. He sat at the bar nursing a scotch and appraised the women around him. He wasn't sure exactly how to pick a girl up if no one could be heard above the pulsing music, but he was ready to try.
He felt someone nudge against him and turned--a very young, stunningly beautiful girl in a tight cropped white tee shirt and low- slung, baggy jeans had wedged herself between him and the fellow on the next bar stool and was trying without success to get the bartender's attention. She had a five dollar bill in her hand and waved it in his direction, but he either didn't see her or was too busy to respond. Jarod reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick roll of bills. He laid a hundred dollar bill on the bar in front of him and the bartender was before him instantly, miraculously. Jarod turned to the young woman: "What do you want?"
She looked up at him with large, limpid brown eyes and smiled. "Coors Light," she shouted.
"Here," Jarod said, standing, "take the stool." She hopped up on it lightly and he looked at her more closely. She was even younger than he'd at first thought--she still had that half-formed, dewy look. The makeup helped her pass as older, but he seriously doubted the bartender should give her a beer.
He did, though, and Jarod quickly finished his Chivas and ordered another. He'd met girls this young many times and even helped some of them on his missions, but he'd never seriously considered having sex with one of them. She smiled at him again and flipped her coppery hair out of her eyes and it struck him: she looked like a young version of Laura, of course. "Thanks," she said, "for the beer and the stool." He had to lean right up against her to hear--she shouted directly in his ear--and he caught her scent: perfume, something herbal in her hair, and just a sort of clean, attractive odor. Youth, he thought, looking at her firm, soft skin.
He felt himself growing aroused and leaned in to shout into her ear: "You have the most beautiful, translucent skin."
She looked at him like he was crazy, at first, but he tried the big goofy smile and he could see her apprehension vanish right in front of his eyes. Suddenly he knew what life was like for Laura, because this girl was so transparent that he felt he could literally read her mind. She was looking him over, guessing how old he was, making a decision. And clearly he passed. She flipped her hair again, this time clearly directing the gesture at him.
"Come on!" she shouted urgently, pulling at his hand to lead him away from the bar. He gulped his drink down as quickly as he could, not sure where exactly she was taking him, but absolutely sure he was going with her.
She led him to the dance floor and at first tried to gyrate in front of him, but he pulled her into an embrace from behind, running his hands over her taut body and grinding his hips into hers as he had learned to do at Xenopolis. She moved immediately, surely with him, swaying against him, caressing him with her arms behind her, finding the slow groove inside the music. He noticed glances in their direction and remembered what Laura told him about the people who came to these places: exhibitionist to voyeurs, and every possibility in between. He moved his hands slowly over her large, pert breasts, feeling her nipples popping to attention instantly, breathing in the scent of her hair and feeling her hands massaging his flanks. He knew he was, at that moment, the envy of every man in the place and he enjoyed the awareness. He recalled Laura laughing about his 'dry humping' her on the dance floor that night and felt his erection pressed against the girl's round fanny. He wanted her intensely and immediately. s if reading his thoughts, she turned around lightly in his arms and reached to pull his mouth down to hers. He felt her agile tongue part his lips and tasted her sweet breath and then realized with a slight shock he had no idea what her name was.
"Jennifer," she said before he had actually asked. "But you can call me Jenn."
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He'd been in an incredible hurry to get her clothes off but now he simply stared at her: naked in his motel room, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. Her big, round breasts jutted proudly from her chest and her stomach and hips were sleek and firm--every inch of her skin seemed just-made--soft, resilient to his touch, almost unbelievably, breathtakingly beautiful, glowing with vibrancy, firmly packed with girl. He wanted just to look at her and touch her- -so young and perfectly, quintessentially female. She was exactly as Laura must have been at that age: 'All tits and legs,' he thought. And he thought that if only they had been allowed to have had normal lives he might have seen Laura like this once--his high school sweetheart, both of them just kids. He tried to imagine how it would have been to be that young, to this get lucky and be confronted with this veritable goddess--overwhelming, he thought. Actually, he still felt a bit overwhelmed by Jenn. She was so beautiful he almost felt reluctant to touch her. But not so reluctant that he didn't plan to very, very soon. She reminded him so much of Laura too in the challenging, haughty way she stood there naked and unashamed.
"How old are you, really?" he asked, pulling his tee shirt over his head. He undid his belt buckle and pulled off the rest of his clothes knowing that whatever she answered, he had to have her anyway.
"I told you, I'm twenty-two," she answered, a bit miffed at the question. He grabbed her and pulled her to him and kissed her hard and long and she reached down and put her hand directly on his erection. "God, you have, like, the biggest cock I have ever seen," she said in a slightly wondering tone. But she clearly wasn't afraid of it, since she immediately dropped to her knees to take it rather worshipfully into her pouty mouth. Jarod gasped and looked up at the ceiling, trying to get a grip on himself.
"I don't believe twenty-two, Jenn. I won't kick you out or anything, " he continued, knowing very well that was the truth. "Just tell me to satisfy--oh, that's feels wonderful--my, um, curiosity."
"Is this, like, a way cool thing for a girl to do to a guy?" she asked, trying with completely charming enthusiasm to somehow get all of his penis inside her mouth.
Jarod took a deep breath. "That's just--yes, Jenn, it certainly is. Absolutely, way, way cool. Oh--ah, I really do want to know how old you are."
"How about nineteen?" she asked. "I look at least nineteen, right?" She'd discovered the ridge at the base of his hard knob and was running her tongue around it in an exploratory way.
He struggled to form words: "How about the truth, Jenn?"
She caressed his balls with little cat licks and laughed. "You won't like, go ballistic and start lecturing me or do something totally uncool if I do, will you? Because I really like you and I, like, totally want you to screw me."
"I don't think I could do much of anything right now accept fuck you until I pass out, Jenn," he replied in all honesty.
"Well, try sixteen, OK?" she laughed and took him into her mouth again. Jarod had to brace himself against the edge of the bed because of how good what she was doing felt, but he still felt a bolt of shock at that information. He'd pretended to be a substitute teacher and had had girls older than her in his classes. She worked her way up his chest with licks and kisses. "You have really cool hair on your chest, do you know that? It's like, totally a manly thing, you know? Hey, if it helps I've never done it with a guy as old as you. So we're, like, even, right?"
She pushed back against him and he fell back on the bed. She was in his arms, giggling, and then rolled onto her back, pulling him with her and wrapping her long, strong legs right around his waist in a grip so tight it bordered on painful. "You are a total babe," she laughed, "and I want you to show me everything you know how to do in bed, OK? I've been with two guys and they were just little boys, you know? My age. I want to do it with a man--hey, you know what, I don't even know your name--is that wild, or what?"
Jarod felt the incredible lushness and youthful springiness of her body beneath him and had to take several deep breaths before he mastered his own instincts--he'd been parting the smooth wet lips of her labia almost without being aware of it, giving it to his very pressing need, wondering just how tight she'd be.
"OK," he answered, getting himself back in control and laughing, "it's a deal, little Jenn. I'll pretend to be your teacher and you can call me Jarod. And the first thing I'll teach you about is our friend, Mr. Condom."
She laughed the whole time he showed her how to roll it down over his hardness--a completely wonderful laugh that jiggled her soft breasts endearingly against him. But then she seemed a bit shy, suddenly, and began: "Jarod, ah--suppose I said--you know--that those two guys I mentioned . . . well, suppose we, like, hadn't really gone--you know-- all the way . . . "
He took yet another in a long series of deep breaths. It was one thing to have sex with a girl this young, quite another to deflower her. But he remembered Laura, of course--he'd been blessed to have found a teacher like her. He remembered how simple and natural and wonderful it had been his first time and wanted to kick himself because he'd almost forgotten Laura completely for a moment, and now she was all he could think about--well, not quite ALL he could think of: after all, Jenn knelt pouting beside him, her delicate hand still wrapped around his undiminished erection, her body still ripe and lush . . .
He reached for her, pulling her mouth to his, kissing her and laughing and telling her it was going to be great, all she need to do was trust him and relax. And Laura's phrase rang in his head--who could say it better?--"listen to your body."
He worked his way down her body with his mouth, exploring her wonderful freshness with his tongue, loving her little moans and gasps. He found the familiar wetness and warmth between her legs, opening her with his tongue and then his fingers, amazed by the silky stretchiness of her virginity. She helped and encouraged him with constant little moans, listening absolutely to her body by that point. When he felt she was as ready to take him inside her as she'd ever be he showed her how to hold his penis at the right angle and slowly take him inside while he lay on his back under her, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to thrust himself up inside her incredibly tight vagina in one fantastic instant. He massaged her large breasts as they bounced above him and listened to her words of absolute delight at all the new sensations--after just a brief instant of pain.
There was a moment he certainly hoped he'd never forget, when she'd finally worked her way all the way down to his balls and started to discover just how great it felt to ride him, when she leaned over him, her nipples rubbing against the hair on his chest, bouncing up and down on him enthusiastically and then got caught off guard as her orgasm rippled through her body and she collapsed into his arms-- there was a moment there when he could say in all honesty he had truly forgotten all about Laura. And if he'd gone on to try valiantly to repeat that moment again and again with Jenn, who could really blame him, especially since as soon as she'd gotten her breath back she said, "That was so cool, Jarod--let's go again!"
St. Jarod
Chapter 1
Witch1
Solebury Township, Pennsylvania
Nancy Halsted drove slowly up the long, gently curving driveway in her new Mercedes, pointing out the beautiful shade trees still carrying their autumn leaves, the lush lawn and of course the imposing iron fence. "You'll notice the gate, Mr. Crater--all remote controlled, of course. You mentioned you knew quite a bit about security systems--wait 'til you see some of the features the system here offers. All state of the art. I think you'll be impressed."
"I already am, " her prospective buyer replied, taking in the landscape.
"It's not often, as a Realtor, that I get to show a property as special as this one," she added, pulling the big black car to a stop in front of the stone farmhouse with it's steep, cedar-shingled roofs.
"You'll notice the discreetly placed security cameras as we enter. If you wish, there isn't a square inch of the exterior or the fence that can't be watched. And much of the interior can be monitored as well, as you'll see."
"I notice the seller has left a great deal of furniture in the house . . . I thought you said she had already moved out?" he asked as they walked through the first big room.
"Yes, she has--but all of the pieces you see, including a great many fine antiques, are also available, either with the house or without. We have a separate company that handles estate sales, so if you see anything you like, I can just make a note of it, and Bob Varney will get back to you with price information. That's a particularly nice chest on chest in the great room--and if you look behind you there's a truly remarkable secretary--a signed Philadelphia maker--quite unique. Very special. There's also a wonderful Philadelphia tall clock in the hallway to your right--"
"I'd like to see the upstairs, now," Crater interrupted.
"Of course, of course! But the security room is just in front of you-- OK, if you like we can go upstairs right now, " she added hastily, following him as he quickly climbed the oak stairs two at a time to the second floor. She found him standing in the master bedroom. "Isn't that just a wonderful pencil post bed, Mr. Crater? All original--just a real find."
He stood quite still in front of the bed, seemingly lost in thought. He saw Laura vividly, suddenly, dancing in front of him, pulling off her clothes and teasing him--pushing him roughly down on that same bed when he didn't have a clue what to do next, and climbing on top of him. His first time. His vision blurred for a moment.
"Are you all right, Mr. Crater?" the Realtor asked, concerned as he stood there silently.
"Yes, I'm fine thanks," he replied after a moment. "I'll definitely buy the bed--I don't care what it costs. I'll give you an address to ship it to. And please just call me Jarod."
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Later that afternoon he sat alone in the over-priced motel room he'd taken and took up the search where he'd left it. All very precisely done--he was impressed in spite of himself--bank accounts closed out, money transferred offshore, investments either liquidated or transferred into the name of an ever growing list of shell corporations--subsidiaries of subsidiaries, just a seemingly endless chain of companies and holdings, a maze that hid the money trail he pursued. He'd been at it a full three months before he'd even come to Pennsylvania to see her house and the deeper he delved the more amazed he was. Laura was smart about money, but she'd clearly hired a real pro to set this up for her. It was almost like she'd disappeared off the face of the earth, and taken all her money with her. The computer monitor flickered before him as he tried once again to hack into the main frame of a giant New York bank--he knew with persistence all things were possible, but as the hours ticked by he felt a growing sense of alienation and lose. She'd left him in the middle of the night-- without a word, without leaving so much as a note--and he seemed unable to move on.
He'd found a mission almost immediately, of course--certainly it wasn't hard to uncover an injustice if you started looking. What was it Laura had said: "You can't swing a dead cat without hitting some greedy bastard or another"? He'd joined a crew following the wheat harvest in the Midwest, driving the behemoth combines all day and sometimes all night, as well, learning to respect the vast, flat expanses of the country's middle and the hard-working people he met there. And eventually trapping one particular greedy bastard, whose tearful confession, for once, did not satisfy him. It was all he could do not to crush the miscreant like the bug he was--he'd wondered a lot, since, what might have happened if the sting had not had witnesses and he'd been alone with the man at that moment. He'd felt his rage and the instant of it's gratification burn across his skin as a literal, physical sensation--like sex, he'd thought at the time, but even better. Laura had described that, too: "the gotcha orgasm," she said, calling him, "the guy who puts the Big O in law and order." He'd always slightly laughed about her analogies--he didn't believe he took actual pleasure--even a kind of sexual high--in catching a bad guy. Lately he wasn't so sure.
Since that one experience he'd been reluctant to take on any further missions--he was frightened that in his present state of mind he truly might harm someone--anything could set him off. And without that his life seemed suddenly purposeless.
He missed her in ways he could never have anticipated--in a women's laughter overheard on the street, in every flash of red he saw, oddly enough--red like her hair, but red like her anger, he guessed, as well. So that he'd be driving and a traffic light would turn red and he'd be filled with absolute, over-whelming pain and anger and frustration. And then there was the ache in his loins when he awoke in the morning without her--an ache untouched by masturbation, untouchable, he'd decided: just a permanent, chronic ache. And he'd felt the shift in his emotions, as well--standing outside himself as he'd been taught and analyzing it all so impassively. What he mostly felt now was sheer hate. His freedom had meant everything to him. He'd taken joy in every sunrise, every minute, every second since he'd escaped from the Centre. Now every instant was contaminated by this new betrayal and the anger that accompanied it. She'd robbed him of joy and delight and he wanted to hurt her back in some particularly nasty way.
He thought back over all the miscreants he'd turned the tables on-- "poor guilty sons of bitches," Laura had called them, "Jarod's trophy heads." Her casual cynicism had seemed charming once--blunt, honest, without any pretense at all. Now it all just infuriated him: she hadn't respected him, his mission or his moral code. In the end she'd left him and put him in danger--if the Centre ever got a hold of her they'd do whatever it would take to force her to use the psychic connection she had with him to find him. She'd once told him she "wouldn't want to be lined up in your cross-hairs." She'd seen his form of justice up close and personal, but hadn't gotten the full implications. Now she was indeed in his cross-hairs, and, as he tried some more code, patiently working his way backwards through the money trail she'd tried so desperately to hide, he smiled just slightly. He was close, and he was getting closer by the minute.
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Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania
He'd gone about setting it up just as carefully as he had any of his stings--research, attention to detail, confidence. As he stood in line at the grocery store he stole a quick glance at the woman in line behind him. Elegant, fashionably thin, very well groomed and dressed, but wearing casual clothes--a knit tunic and leggings. He guessed her age at somewhere between forty and forty-five. Blond hair in a conservative cut, a nice but not overwhelming tan. The diamond in her ring was huge, the rest of her jewelry understated, expensive. Every item she put on the check-out belt was top-quality--lots of frozen entrees, pricey cuts of meat, a plastic box from the salad bar- -her lunch, he surmised. His own small pile of purchases inched it's way toward the checker as the woman in front of him began bagging her order.
He looked closely at the newspaper on the rack in front of him and laughed out loud. He glanced at the woman behind him again, making eye contact for just the correct, non-threatening amount of time. He shook his head, still chuckling, and she couldn't help but look at the paper's headline.
"Man Cuts Off Own Head With Chainsaw!!" it said in huge type. "And Lives!!"
She laughed, too, looking away for a moment. Then she did exactly what he'd hoped she would. A quick smile directed at him. A small laugh. "The tabloids--aren't they amazing?" she asked.
He smiled back--his best, practiced, charming smile. "Well, the real news is sometimes just as unbelievable," he said.
The checker began scanning his items--shaving cream, razor blades, a plastic container from the salad-bar. "Excuse me," he continued, addressing the blond behind him, "but do you know how best to get to Route 476 from here? I'm a consultant in town about some new developments and my map--well, let's just say it's not the best map I've ever seen."
She smiled back and started giving the directions--he'd made sure it would be a difficult, complex routing, nearly impossible to explain. She kept having to start over, getting increasingly confused. And he saw her quick appraisal of him. Once up and down. He was wearing a very expensive custom tailored suit, a Brooks Brothers shirt (monogram JCR on the cuff, not the pocket), a Rolex--and a heavy gold band on his ring finger. He was fully into the identity--married man, stable, good income, kids, big mortgage, away from home on business. She caught the glint of gold and looked directly into his eyes again. He let her have the full blast of a charming smile mixed with a little-boy-lost helpless shrug.
"Look," she finally said, "I'm going right past the entrance ramp for Route 476 on my way home. If you don't mind waiting for me to get checked out here you're welcome to follow me to the intersection." He watched her carefully, trying to learn from her body language, and when she flipped her hair casually back from her face he remembered Laura's advise--that woman who flip their hair like that want to get laid--and he knew he had her.
"That would be great," he answered, "but I'll only accept if you let me buy you lunch first."
She was understandably reluctant at first, but he applied charm mixed with boyish innocence, plus assurances that it would be better than the stuff they both had gotten from the salad bar--and she finally agreed. The big red Mercedes he'd driven all the way across the country probably helped, too, once they walked out to the parking lot together. And he'd made sure there was a cozy little Italian restaurant right next door. He knew she'd buy his story about his wife and kids, his little bittersweet hints that he saw something so special in her that he simply had to give in to temptation. He smiled to himself, quite pleased. She was beautiful and desirable and safe. He'd set out to forget about Laura and that was just what he planned to do. Lots of other women in the world, he'd decided--many, like this one, safely married, well-kept, bored--beautiful, desirable women who would appreciate him, even if Laura didn't.
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It was six o'clock before she left his motel room--he walked her to her car and kissed her one last time, trying to file away details: her perfume, the softness of her hair against his face, her smile. She had tears in her eyes; told him she'd never forget him. He knew that this was for her a fabulously romantic event in her life: that they would both now bravely go back to their separate lives , their imperfect marriages, but they would always have their memories of that one wonderful day together. He'd set out just to forget about Laura and ended up finding out a lot about the romantic fantasies of-- he suspected--a great many other, very different, woman. In spite of himself he couldn't help but wonder just what sort of cynical and vulgar comment Laura would have made about that.
He went back to his room and stood looking at the rumpled bed for a long moment. He sat down on it's edge and ran his fingers through his hair, lost in thought. He remembered the delicate tracery of marks across her tummy--stretch marks, she'd told him, slightly embarrassed by them, and had then explained what they were from. He'd kissed her and reassured her--she had a beautiful body and the spidery marks didn't bother him at all--they were wonderful, really, 'battle scars, " he said.
Two kids--a boy and a girl. What a perfect life it sounded like! Her husband an oral surgeon; nice, big house in the country. Everything he could imagine a perfect family would have. And yet she'd ended up here with him, grappling in a motel, whispering for him to stop, insisting he use a condom--which thankfully he'd bought--but then having to show him how to put it on, giggling the whole time. Two kids and fifteen years of marriage and--except for the condom--it had turned out she knew less about sex than he did.
He sighed again, remembering how she'd at first tried to push him away when he'd begun kissing those tiny scars and then moved down to lick her into wetness. Clearly this was something that had happened before, but just as clearly not very often. And she certainly didn't expect him to want to give her an orgasm before he'd even had one himself. 'What a mystery other people's lives are,' he thought, suddenly--maybe the only real mystery after all. When she'd finally come he thought at first she was going to go on thanking him for hours--as if this were some rare event in her life--which he then discovered it was. He'd brought her to orgasm again and again, even showing her exactly and precisely how to get her husband to do the same--being firm with her, insisting she tell her husband what she needed--that she deserved it. By the end of the evening she was scratching and biting him passionately and enthusiastically--he almost pitied her husband, in a way--the poor guy had no clue what was in store for him. And he thought of course, inevitably, of Laura, who consumed sex in great big gulps and always just assumed they'd simply fuck until one or both of them couldn't walk, as though that were perfectly normal--the usual way ordinary people have sex. She'd taught him everything, really. Nia had been shier, much less experienced--but still, she'd wanted to enjoy herself with him and been able to tell him how to give her pleasure. He'd assumed that was how sex always was, that is was sharing, until that afternoon.
Janet had been a very nice women. He breathed deeply and could still smell her perfume in the room--mixed with the earthier smell of sex. But she'd only made him miss Laura more. And certainly appreciate her more. What were people out there doing, anyway, he wondered? What the hell was her husband thinking of, the idiot? How could they not be just as passionate and uninhibited and free as Laura and he had always been? The word 'free' choked him for a moment, however--Laura was free all right, now: free of him. And destroying his own precious, dearly bought freedom. All that time being locked up, only so that when he finally got out he lived days filled with bitterness and anger--so that Laura could feel free.
He booted up his lap top. Back to the money chase. Somewhere out there Laura was blithely going about her own business, thinking she had left him far behind, thinking he would never find her. He'd been damned close the night before--he'd found the offshore bank in the Cayman Islands where she'd been moving cash. And he'd even found that one of the many shell corporations had recently bought a secluded house on a tiny private island north of Seattle--a very possible lead. And there was something else, as well. Trivial at first--a sizable contribution she had made to the Democratic National Committee. He had never guessed she cared about politics, but she had always been full of mysteries. He'd been thinking about that one big check she'd written all day. One of the phony companies--the one that owned the small island retreat--was registered in Taiwan. He thought about all the recent flak about campaign contributions from Asian nationals and a plan had begun to form. He was curious--how hard would it be for him to route Laura's contribution through that Taiwanese front? If he could open her account files he knew he could do it. It would only then take an anonymous tip to trigger an investigation. The money would have to be returned and put back into one of the accounts Laura was bleeding dry as she took her funds offshore. And the sudden, unexplained deposit would at the least trigger an IRS audit, possibly do much, much more damage to her. 'Don't get mad,' he thought, 'get the IRS mad.' He needed to do just a bit more tweaking before he could pull it all together, but just the thought gave him slight, vengeful buzz. He couldn't wait until he could pull the trigger. He smiled, thinking Laura had a big surprise coming.
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Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
The club wasn't quite as big as Xenopolis, the place in New York that Laura had taken him--and where they had almost trapped a killer--but it was just as numbingly loud. He sat at the bar nursing a scotch and appraised the women around him. He wasn't sure exactly how to pick a girl up if no one could be heard above the pulsing music, but he was ready to try.
He felt someone nudge against him and turned--a very young, stunningly beautiful girl in a tight cropped white tee shirt and low- slung, baggy jeans had wedged herself between him and the fellow on the next bar stool and was trying without success to get the bartender's attention. She had a five dollar bill in her hand and waved it in his direction, but he either didn't see her or was too busy to respond. Jarod reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick roll of bills. He laid a hundred dollar bill on the bar in front of him and the bartender was before him instantly, miraculously. Jarod turned to the young woman: "What do you want?"
She looked up at him with large, limpid brown eyes and smiled. "Coors Light," she shouted.
"Here," Jarod said, standing, "take the stool." She hopped up on it lightly and he looked at her more closely. She was even younger than he'd at first thought--she still had that half-formed, dewy look. The makeup helped her pass as older, but he seriously doubted the bartender should give her a beer.
He did, though, and Jarod quickly finished his Chivas and ordered another. He'd met girls this young many times and even helped some of them on his missions, but he'd never seriously considered having sex with one of them. She smiled at him again and flipped her coppery hair out of her eyes and it struck him: she looked like a young version of Laura, of course. "Thanks," she said, "for the beer and the stool." He had to lean right up against her to hear--she shouted directly in his ear--and he caught her scent: perfume, something herbal in her hair, and just a sort of clean, attractive odor. Youth, he thought, looking at her firm, soft skin.
He felt himself growing aroused and leaned in to shout into her ear: "You have the most beautiful, translucent skin."
She looked at him like he was crazy, at first, but he tried the big goofy smile and he could see her apprehension vanish right in front of his eyes. Suddenly he knew what life was like for Laura, because this girl was so transparent that he felt he could literally read her mind. She was looking him over, guessing how old he was, making a decision. And clearly he passed. She flipped her hair again, this time clearly directing the gesture at him.
"Come on!" she shouted urgently, pulling at his hand to lead him away from the bar. He gulped his drink down as quickly as he could, not sure where exactly she was taking him, but absolutely sure he was going with her.
She led him to the dance floor and at first tried to gyrate in front of him, but he pulled her into an embrace from behind, running his hands over her taut body and grinding his hips into hers as he had learned to do at Xenopolis. She moved immediately, surely with him, swaying against him, caressing him with her arms behind her, finding the slow groove inside the music. He noticed glances in their direction and remembered what Laura told him about the people who came to these places: exhibitionist to voyeurs, and every possibility in between. He moved his hands slowly over her large, pert breasts, feeling her nipples popping to attention instantly, breathing in the scent of her hair and feeling her hands massaging his flanks. He knew he was, at that moment, the envy of every man in the place and he enjoyed the awareness. He recalled Laura laughing about his 'dry humping' her on the dance floor that night and felt his erection pressed against the girl's round fanny. He wanted her intensely and immediately. s if reading his thoughts, she turned around lightly in his arms and reached to pull his mouth down to hers. He felt her agile tongue part his lips and tasted her sweet breath and then realized with a slight shock he had no idea what her name was.
"Jennifer," she said before he had actually asked. "But you can call me Jenn."
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He'd been in an incredible hurry to get her clothes off but now he simply stared at her: naked in his motel room, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. Her big, round breasts jutted proudly from her chest and her stomach and hips were sleek and firm--every inch of her skin seemed just-made--soft, resilient to his touch, almost unbelievably, breathtakingly beautiful, glowing with vibrancy, firmly packed with girl. He wanted just to look at her and touch her- -so young and perfectly, quintessentially female. She was exactly as Laura must have been at that age: 'All tits and legs,' he thought. And he thought that if only they had been allowed to have had normal lives he might have seen Laura like this once--his high school sweetheart, both of them just kids. He tried to imagine how it would have been to be that young, to this get lucky and be confronted with this veritable goddess--overwhelming, he thought. Actually, he still felt a bit overwhelmed by Jenn. She was so beautiful he almost felt reluctant to touch her. But not so reluctant that he didn't plan to very, very soon. She reminded him so much of Laura too in the challenging, haughty way she stood there naked and unashamed.
"How old are you, really?" he asked, pulling his tee shirt over his head. He undid his belt buckle and pulled off the rest of his clothes knowing that whatever she answered, he had to have her anyway.
"I told you, I'm twenty-two," she answered, a bit miffed at the question. He grabbed her and pulled her to him and kissed her hard and long and she reached down and put her hand directly on his erection. "God, you have, like, the biggest cock I have ever seen," she said in a slightly wondering tone. But she clearly wasn't afraid of it, since she immediately dropped to her knees to take it rather worshipfully into her pouty mouth. Jarod gasped and looked up at the ceiling, trying to get a grip on himself.
"I don't believe twenty-two, Jenn. I won't kick you out or anything, " he continued, knowing very well that was the truth. "Just tell me to satisfy--oh, that's feels wonderful--my, um, curiosity."
"Is this, like, a way cool thing for a girl to do to a guy?" she asked, trying with completely charming enthusiasm to somehow get all of his penis inside her mouth.
Jarod took a deep breath. "That's just--yes, Jenn, it certainly is. Absolutely, way, way cool. Oh--ah, I really do want to know how old you are."
"How about nineteen?" she asked. "I look at least nineteen, right?" She'd discovered the ridge at the base of his hard knob and was running her tongue around it in an exploratory way.
He struggled to form words: "How about the truth, Jenn?"
She caressed his balls with little cat licks and laughed. "You won't like, go ballistic and start lecturing me or do something totally uncool if I do, will you? Because I really like you and I, like, totally want you to screw me."
"I don't think I could do much of anything right now accept fuck you until I pass out, Jenn," he replied in all honesty.
"Well, try sixteen, OK?" she laughed and took him into her mouth again. Jarod had to brace himself against the edge of the bed because of how good what she was doing felt, but he still felt a bolt of shock at that information. He'd pretended to be a substitute teacher and had had girls older than her in his classes. She worked her way up his chest with licks and kisses. "You have really cool hair on your chest, do you know that? It's like, totally a manly thing, you know? Hey, if it helps I've never done it with a guy as old as you. So we're, like, even, right?"
She pushed back against him and he fell back on the bed. She was in his arms, giggling, and then rolled onto her back, pulling him with her and wrapping her long, strong legs right around his waist in a grip so tight it bordered on painful. "You are a total babe," she laughed, "and I want you to show me everything you know how to do in bed, OK? I've been with two guys and they were just little boys, you know? My age. I want to do it with a man--hey, you know what, I don't even know your name--is that wild, or what?"
Jarod felt the incredible lushness and youthful springiness of her body beneath him and had to take several deep breaths before he mastered his own instincts--he'd been parting the smooth wet lips of her labia almost without being aware of it, giving it to his very pressing need, wondering just how tight she'd be.
"OK," he answered, getting himself back in control and laughing, "it's a deal, little Jenn. I'll pretend to be your teacher and you can call me Jarod. And the first thing I'll teach you about is our friend, Mr. Condom."
She laughed the whole time he showed her how to roll it down over his hardness--a completely wonderful laugh that jiggled her soft breasts endearingly against him. But then she seemed a bit shy, suddenly, and began: "Jarod, ah--suppose I said--you know--that those two guys I mentioned . . . well, suppose we, like, hadn't really gone--you know-- all the way . . . "
He took yet another in a long series of deep breaths. It was one thing to have sex with a girl this young, quite another to deflower her. But he remembered Laura, of course--he'd been blessed to have found a teacher like her. He remembered how simple and natural and wonderful it had been his first time and wanted to kick himself because he'd almost forgotten Laura completely for a moment, and now she was all he could think about--well, not quite ALL he could think of: after all, Jenn knelt pouting beside him, her delicate hand still wrapped around his undiminished erection, her body still ripe and lush . . .
He reached for her, pulling her mouth to his, kissing her and laughing and telling her it was going to be great, all she need to do was trust him and relax. And Laura's phrase rang in his head--who could say it better?--"listen to your body."
He worked his way down her body with his mouth, exploring her wonderful freshness with his tongue, loving her little moans and gasps. He found the familiar wetness and warmth between her legs, opening her with his tongue and then his fingers, amazed by the silky stretchiness of her virginity. She helped and encouraged him with constant little moans, listening absolutely to her body by that point. When he felt she was as ready to take him inside her as she'd ever be he showed her how to hold his penis at the right angle and slowly take him inside while he lay on his back under her, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to thrust himself up inside her incredibly tight vagina in one fantastic instant. He massaged her large breasts as they bounced above him and listened to her words of absolute delight at all the new sensations--after just a brief instant of pain.
There was a moment he certainly hoped he'd never forget, when she'd finally worked her way all the way down to his balls and started to discover just how great it felt to ride him, when she leaned over him, her nipples rubbing against the hair on his chest, bouncing up and down on him enthusiastically and then got caught off guard as her orgasm rippled through her body and she collapsed into his arms-- there was a moment there when he could say in all honesty he had truly forgotten all about Laura. And if he'd gone on to try valiantly to repeat that moment again and again with Jenn, who could really blame him, especially since as soon as she'd gotten her breath back she said, "That was so cool, Jarod--let's go again!"
