Текст книги "The Black Pathway"

Автор книги: Mark C. Sutton

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Mary followed Barney into the room. He walked over to the window sill, and began running his hand across its wooden surface.

“Well?” Asked Mary.

“No, it looks fine. I’m guessing Mr Bedford’s mould problem is just an isolated incident.” Barney speculated.

“Good. Then are you done?” Mary wanted to know. Barney stood close to the window, sweat dribbling down his forehead. He smiled.

“Yes, yes, I’m done.” He told her. Mary gave him a false smile back. Barney didn’t move from his spot by the window.

“Barney, I need to get on with…”

“Has anyone ever told you what an attractive young woman you are, Mary?” The landlord suddenly asked.

“No.” Mary lied, with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Oh Christ, he’s gonna make a pass at me, she thought to herself; this sort of thing had happened quite a few times before, with other men. It was rarely flattering, just embarrassing, not to mention cringe-inducing.

“You remind me of that actress… now what was her name? She was French. You’ve probably never heard of her, because you’re too young. Ah, I remember… Anouk Aimee…”

“You’re right, Barney, I’ve never heard of her. Now, are you finished, or what?” Butted-in Mary, with increasing irritation. Just go away, you ugly, pot-bellied slime-ball. Go on, just fuck off… thought Mary, but Barney continued to stand by the window, rooted to the spot.

A bead of sweat run from Barney Robbins forehead, into his eye, stinging it. He removed his spectacles, rubbing at the eye for a moment, before replacing his glasses.

“You look tired, Barney. You should go back to your flat and get some rest.” Commented Mary, who was desperate to get the landlord out of her flat.

“Oh, me, I’m fine, Mary, I’m fine.” He stared at her, and slowly shook his head from side to side. “You’re such a pretty young thing, aren’t you?” He said.

“If you say so, Barney. Now, can you go, please?” Mary replied. Instead of leaving the bedroom, Barney Robbins sat down on Mary’s unmade bed. “Er, what do you think you’re doing, Barney?” She asked, with mild outrage. Barney looked up at her and smiled.

“I’d like to help you, Mary. I’d really like to help.” Barney said to her.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Barney?” Mary asked.

“What I say. I’d like to help. You know, with your rent and stuff. I mean, it must be hard, making the monthly payments on this place.” Pondered Barney. “Your job couldn’t pay very much, and…”

“I get by just fine, thanks.” Mary responded, coldly. “Can you go now, please?”

“Hear me out, Mary, just… just hear me out.” Replied Barney. He gazed at the outline of Mary’s breasts again. In response, Mary folded her arms.

“Barney, I really need to get on with stuff.” She repeated, but Barney wasn’t going anywhere.

Barney leaned forward, and began stroking his beard.

“At the moment, you’re paying me, how much is it? A hundred and twenty pounds a week in rent.” He said.

“Yeah? So?” Responded Mary, who already knew where this was going.

“Well, how would you like it if I said to you that I could halve your rent… reduce it to sixty quid a week?” Barney asked.

“In other words, how would I like to be your prostitute, for the price of sixty pounds, on a regular, weekly basis?” Mary corrected him.

“Oh, come on now Mary, I didn’t mean…”

“Yes you did, Barney, yes you did. You’re offering me a reduction in the rent on this place, in exchange for sex, aren’t you?” Scowled Mary.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be full-on sex. Just a hand-job every now and then would do.” Suggested Barney.

“Get out of my flat, Barney.” Mary snapped.

“No, no… don’t be hasty, Mary. Just think about it. You could save yourself two hundred and forty pounds a month. Imagine what you could do with that extra money.” Said the landlord.

“I don’t want to imagine anything, Barney. Now, will you get out of my flat and leave me alone?” Replied Mary, half-shouting.

“Aw, come on, Mary.” Barney gently pleaded, and he reached out with his hand, towards her thigh. Mary jumped backwards.

“Get out of my fucking flat, Barney.” She said, her body tensing, anger about to spill over.

“But…”

“Get out, or I swear to God, Barney, I’ll claw your fucking eyes out, you sleazy little shit-bag.” Mary seethed. Barney got up from off the bed, and scurried past Mary. When he reached the bedroom door, he turned back to the young woman.

“It might be an idea if you started looking for alternative accommodation.” He suggested.

“You can’t do that!” Shouted Mary.

“I think that you’ll find I can. These flats belong to me.” Argued Barney, and with that, he was gone.

***

Mary walked past a row of shops that had seen better days. She was lost in thought, recalling Barney the pervy landlord, and how he had tried it on with her, when a voice came from somewhere behind.

“Hey, Mary… it’s Mary, right?” Said the male voice. Mary turned around. A young man, about nineteen or twenty years of age, with blonde hair, brown eyes, and lengthy stubble that was turning into a full-on beard, stood in one of the shop doorways, smoking a cigarette. Mary didn't recognise the young man at all. She retraced a few steps, walking towards him.

“Sorry, do I know you?” Mary asked.

“No, I don’t think that we’ve actually met before… but I’ve seen you around Coldsleet a few times. You’re Kay Trenton’s sister, right?” Asked the young man.

“Yes, that’s right. How do you know that?” Mary was intrigued to know. The man walked out from the shop doorway. Blimey, he’s really good-looking, Mary thought to herself.

“Oh, you walked past me and my friend, Gary, a few days ago, down by the harbour. I asked Gary if he knew who you were, and he…”

“Gary Ackley? Gary with the blue mohican?” Interrupted Mary.

“Yeah, Gary Ackley. With the blue mohican. He told me you were Kay Trenton’s sister, and that your name was Mary.” Replied the young man.

“Oh, I know Gary Ackley. Everybody knows Gary in this neck of the woods. He comes up to my hometown, Hoffen, every now and again. He’s a bit scary looking, but he’s a really sweet guy.” Said Mary.

“Scary looking? Gary? He looks like a knob!” Replied the young man, laughing. “Nah, he’s one of my best mates, even if he is a pain in the arse sometimes… Gary’s a good ‘un.” The man said, smiling.

Mary looked up and down the street before turning back to the man.

“So, what’s your name then?” She wanted to know.

“Alex. Alex Crennell.” He replied.

“And what, exactly, are you doing just hanging around an empty row of shops, all on your own, and at this time of night?” Asked Mary.

“Aw, you know what it’s like here in Coldsleet, Mary… there’s bugger all else to do.” Alex grinned. “Anyway, I could ask the same of you. What’s a nice young lady doing wondering the darkened, lonely, streets of this town at half past nine on a cold, Sunday evening?” He joked.

“Now that’s a very long story.” Responded Mary.

“I’m listening.” Said Alex.

“Well, Mister Crennell, I’m not telling.” Mary teased.

“Not even over a drink? Down at ‘The Stagecoach’?” Asked Alex cheekily.

“What’s ‘The Stagecoach’?” Mary was interested to know.

“Oh, I forgot… you’re one of those yokel inbreds from that weird mountain town called Hoffen… you wouldn’t know what ‘The Stagecoach’ is, would you?” Laughed Alex. “Is it true that you all live in trailer parks up there? Hey, your neck’s looking a bit red.” Mary gave Alex Crennell a playful push.

“Yeah, don’t you like my mullet?” She said.

“It’s lovely… it complements all of those missing teeth of yours.” Alex replied. Mary laughed out loud at this. “So, do you fancy coming for a quick drink then? ‘The Stagecoach’ is a pub, by the way, just up by the park.”

“Well… I should really be getting back home.” Said Mary. “I’ve got work in the morning and… oh, sod it. Okay, I’ll come for a drink with you, Alex. But just a quick one.” She smiled.

“Nice one.” Alex responded. “Come on, let me show you what it’s like living in a civilised town, rather than some back-of-beyond assortment of wooden shacks and trailers.” He joked. And that was how Mary Broderick met Alex Crennell.

Chapter Ten

Alfie Whitehouse had been lying in bed, thinking, or rather pining, for his lost cat, Buttons, when a familiar sound, coming from the kitchen downstairs, cut through the silence of the night. It was the sound of the plastic cat-flap opening, and then shutting. Buttons! It must be Buttons! Thought Alfie, climbing out of bed as fast as he could. Steady on, it might be a stray… that little bugger, ‘Horace’, the flipping grey tom belonging to Mrs Poyner down the road… he’s come waltzing in through the cat-flap before, sneaking into my house and fucking spraying everywhere, the dirty little so and so… but he hasn’t done that in a long time… Buttons scared him off… maybe Horace senses somehow that my cat isn’t around anymore. Alfie put on his slippers that lay by the side of the bed, and left the bedroom. He switched on the landing light; nothing happened, and the stairs in front of Alfie remained in complete darkness.

“Bloody great. Sodding lightbulbs these days… they don’t last five minutes.” Said Alfie to himself, as he carefully made his way down the stairs in the pitch black. He was halfway down them when he heard another familiar sound coming from the kitchen area; the sound of Button’s small metal food bowl scraping slightly across the floor. It’s got to be him! It’s got to be Buttons! He must have come home! I know what Buttons is like when he’s hungry, he goes at that bowl like a bleeding torpedo, and pushes it halfway across the kitchen… except… it’s empty, because I didn’t think that he’d ever be coming back. Thought Alfie. He shrugged his shoulders; Buttons was probably half-starved, Alfie reasoned, and just desperate for something to eat.

“Buttons! It’s okay, old pal. I’m coming, I’m coming!” Shouted Alfie, hurrying to the bottom of the stairs, his heart racing with excitement at being reunited with his best friend.

When Alfie Whitehouse got to the bottom of the stairs, he shuffled through the darkened hallway, towards the kitchen. A little slither of natural light, from the moon outside, shone through one of the glass panels of the kitchen door, slightly illuminating the tiled floor. Alfie could just about make out the metal food bowl, which indeed had been pushed from its usual resting place, close to the oven. It had travelled halfway across the kitchen, and was now near to the back door, and yet there was no sign of Buttons. Alfie made a whistling noise, the one that would usually cause Buttons to come running towards him, but the cat, if indeed it was his cat, was unresponsive. God knows what Buttons might have been through, being away from home for so long… the poor old thing is probably half-scared to death, reasoned Alfie, as he finally reached the kitchen. Alfie felt around for the kitchen light switch, and pushed it down with his finger; the room remained in darkness. Alfie flicked the switch again, then again, but nothing happened. I don’t bloody believe it… this bulb has gone as well… or maybe not. When the other bulb blew upstairs, it probably threw the trip switch… except that isn’t on the same circuit-board as this light down here…

Alfie Whitehouse walked into the kitchen, slowly, cautiously, feeling ahead of himself with his arms outstretched. He didn't want to crash into anything in the dark, and certainly didn’t want to frighten Buttons, or possibly tread on him.

“Psssst…. psssst… Buttons… come on, come here. There’s no need to hide. It’s me. It’s your best friend. Come on, Buttons… psssst.” Said Alfie, in a soft voice. He whistled again. Nothing. “Come on, old soldier, come to me, come on. There’s no need to hide, you’re home now, boy. It’s…” suddenly, there was an almighty crash coming from somewhere beyond the kitchen, which caused Alfie Whitehouse to half jump out of his own skin. For a few seconds, it felt like his heart, which was pounding furiously, had somehow dislodged itself and found its way into Alfie’s throat. He swayed slightly in the dark.

“Steady on, steady on.” He said to himself, taking several deep, long breaths. Alfie’s heartbeat began to normalise. “It’s okay, it’s okay now.” He reassured himself. That crash… it came from the downstairs bathroom… I bet it’s Buttons. He’ll have climbed up onto the window sill at the back of the lavatory, where I keep all of my toiletries. That must have been the crashing sound I heard; he’s gone and jumped up on the bloody window sill and knocked a couple of tins of deodorant over, Alfie speculated. He edged deeper into the kitchen, towards the direction of the bathroom. Alfie took another deep breath; his heartbeat had calmed right down, and was no longer racing. “Psssst, psssst, come on, Buttons. Come on.” He said once more. This time, Alfie’s efforts were rewarded; somewhere close by, he could hear the soft, rhythmic sound of a cat purring.

Alfie Whitehouse crept slowly forwards, in the direction of the purring, which, as he correctly suspected, was coming from the downstairs bathroom that adjoined the kitchen.

“It’s okay, Buttons, there’s nothing to be frightened of. It’s okay. Daddy’s here.” Whispered Alfie. He reached the bathroom, then stopped in his tracks; the door was shut. How could that be? How could Buttons shut the sodding bathroom door behind him? Alfie wondered, completely baffled. Maybe that’s what the crashing sound was… the door slamming shut… except the doors in this house don’t just close themselves like that… and that noise was definitely not a slamming door. Alfie’s heart began to pound again. He clutched at the bathroom door handle, but then let go of it. He took a step backwards, away from the bathroom. Something wasn't right, and fear was beginning to creep over Alfie. Then, he heard the purring again, coming from inside the bathroom, and it reassured the old man. Stop being a silly bugger… that’s Buttons in there alright, thought Alfie, and he reached to the bathroom door handle again. He brought the handle down, and then pushed the door open. The sound of the purring was no longer slightly muffled, but strong, clear. Alfie felt for the light switch that was just inside the bathroom, next to the door. He found it, and flicked at the switch, but, once again, the light bulb failed to come on.

Alfie stood just inside the bathroom, but he couldn’t see a thing; it was pitch-black.

“Buttons, I’m here. You don’t have to hide from me. Come on, come to dad.” Said Alfie. The purring grew stronger. Alfie tried to focus on where, exactly, in the bathroom the purr was coming from. It was to his left; the bathtub. Howard edged towards the tub, with one hand outstretched. “Buttons! Buttons! Come to me. You’re safe now. It’s going to be okay. You’re home. It’s going to…” Alfie’s voice trailed off. In front of him, in the darkness, a single, small, elliptical glowing light appeared, a dirty yellow in colour. For a second, Alfie didn’t know what it was. He squinted at the object; it was an eye. A small, yellow eye. Suddenly, another eye appeared, glaring at him. At the same time, the loud purring ceased, almost as if it were a sound that had been mechanically switched off. “Buttons? Is that you, Bu…” the pair of yellow eyes began to rise upwards in the darkness. Alfie Whitehouse was momentarily mesmerised by them, frozen to the spot. When the eyes were level to Alfie’s, they began to edge forward, closer and closer to the old man. Alfie’s heart thumped and pounded, and his head began to buzz with dizziness. He stepped backwards, away from the dirty yellow eyes, but they continued to move towards him. The sound of deep, heavy breathing, human, filled the air, and Alfie felt the warmth of the intruder’s breath lick at his face. Alfie took another step backwards, and then another. Then, he turned, and ran out of the bathroom as fast as he could.

Alfie Whitehouse didn’t get very far; from behind, two boney, but incredibly powerful arms snapped around him, pinning Alfie’s own arms to his sides. Alfie felt somebody draw right up close to him, and once again that unknown person’s warm breath tickled and licked against the old man’s skin, this time on the back of his neck. Alfie felt his heart flutter lightly, before resuming its incessant pounding.

“Please… please don’t hurt me.” Croaked Alfie. There was no response, other than a slight tightening of the arms that were locked around him. “Please, let go, you’re hurting me. I’m an old man.” Pleaded Alfie. The arms of the stranger tightened a little bit more. Alfie’s chest tightened, and a brief, sharp, stabbing pain shot down the length of his left arm. “Please let me go.” Repeated Alfie Whitehouse, a plea that was met again with silence. Alfie sensed movement behind him, and then felt the mystery assailant’s warm breath, right up close, on his ear. The stranger inhaled deeply, and let the breath out. Alfie felt the force of it push at the hair on the side of his head. Another stabbing pain shot down his arm.

“You were right about me, Alfie. I did take your cat.” Whispered Howard Trenton. “Don’t worry though. He’s long dead, completely at peace now.” He continued. This revelation caused Alfie to begin to struggle violently.

“You little bastard… I’ll fucking kill you…” gasped the old man. Howard squeezed Alfie even harder.

“No, you won’t, Alfie. That’s not going to happen, I’m afraid.” Replied Howard, soft, calmly. The stabbing pain coursed down Alfie Whitehouse’s arm for a third time. He tried to breath in, and found that he couldn’t. Alfie tried again, but it was as if he were suddenly inside a large vacuum, devoid of oxygen. Alfie attempted to speak, but he was unable to mutter a word. His heartbeat pounded, faster, faster, thumping at his chest. Alfie tried desperately to suck in the air around him, but his lungs wouldn’t work. The beating of his heart increased, and Alfie felt as if his head was filling with a rushing river of blood. Then the pounding fell away, stopped, and at that very moment, Alfie Whitehouse lost consciousness. A few seconds later, he was dead.

***

Howard Trenton sat on the edge of Alfie Whitehouse’s bed. The old man lay inside the blankets, still, motionless.

“It’s a good job for you that you went when you did, Mister Whitehouse. It would’ve been a lot worse… much more painful… if you hadn’t.” Said Howard. “I didn't think that you’d last for very long, but I thought you’d have a little bit more stamina inside you… I’m a little bit disappointed that we didn’t get to party properly, but I suppose that it’s better this way, in the long run. For me.” He smiled. “I remember, last summer, watching the paramedics pulling up outside of here… Lucas told me that you’d suffered a pretty bad heart attack. If I remember correctly, they actually thought that you might not pull through, for the first day or two afterwards. Still, you did, and look where we are now.” Howard grinned. “They’ll just think that your heart’s finally packed up, for good. One day, Alfie, I’ll get caught, but at least this time, it won’t be on account of some wrinkled, miserable old fucker like you.”

Howard Trenton looked around the old man’s bedroom. “I’m impressed with the way that you kept this place looking so nice… should have been a bit more on top of the house maintenance though, what with all of those faulty light bulbs… which reminds me…” Howard got up from the bed, turned off the bedside lamp, and took one last look at Alfie Whitehouse, before leaving the bedroom. He gently closed the door behind him, and walked, in the darkness, down the stairs. Howard pulled out a small torch from the back of his jeans, and shone it around the hallway. Underneath the stairs was a small cupboard, a place that he had already visited that evening. Inside, was an electrical board. He shone the torch on it, and then flipped up two red trip-switches. His work done, Howard Trenton quietly slipped out of Alfie Whitehouse’s home, and back to his own house, where he slept soundly for the rest of that night.

***

The next morning, Howard encountered Mary in the kitchen. She was sat at the table, eating cereal from a bowl. She looked up briefly at Howard, but didn’t acknowledge him. Mary turned away from Howard, before pushing the bowl of cereal to one side. Howard leaned, awkwardly, against one of the kitchen units, staring down at his feet.

“My behaviour yesterday was unforgivable.” He said. Mary turned and gazed out of the kitchen window.

“You’re right. It was.” She said, her voice cold, distant.

“I don’t know what came over me. That wasn't me, on that beach, Mary. It was completely out of character.” Howard tried to explain.

“That’s funny, Howard, because it looked like you, and talked like you… hey, it must have just been some imposter, eh? Maybe it was an alien bodysnatcher…” Mary commented, cruelly. Howard stopped looking at his feet and glared at her. “I’m sorry. That was out of order.” She immediately apologised. Howard’s glare softened.

“I deserve it.” He said. Mary shrugged her shoulders.

“Maybe… but I still shouldn't have said it.” She conceded. A brief silence fell across the kitchen. Howard twiddled with a loose knob on the nearby oven.

“How did you get home? You know… from Hingley?” He eventually asked.

Mary leaned back on the chair and gave Howard a withering look, before answering his question.

The oven knob that Howard had been twisting and turning suddenly fell off, and onto the floor. It landed on the tiles, and spun for a few seconds, like a miniature spinning-top, before wobbling and falling to one side.

“Oops.” Said Howard. He knelt down and picked the knob up. Howard tried to put it back onto the oven, but it just fell off again.

“I had to catch a bus back to Coldsleet.” Said Mary.

“I’m sorry.” Apologised Howard.

“And so you fucking should be.” Mary snapped. Then her voice softened a little. “I’m sorry too… if I gave you the wrong impression about us. I never meant to, Howard.” She said.

“I know that you didn’t.” Replied Howard. He knelt down and picked up the oven knob again. “I’m gonna have to try and fix this, or Lucas will have a fit.” He added, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere between them a little. “So… are we friends again, Mary?” He wanted to know.

“I suppose… but I meant what I said yesterday, Howard. Don’t ever get abusive with…”

“I won’t, I won’t. It’ll never happen again, I promise.” Interrupted Howard.

“It had better not… and as long as you understand, Howard, that we’ll only ever be just friends.” Mary reminded him. Howard felt a horrible sinking feeling at the words ‘just friends’, but he smiled on, regardless.

“Of course.” He nodded. Mary stood up from the kitchen table.

“Good. Then we’ll say no more about it. Now, I’ve got to be getting ready for work.” She said.

“Yes. I need to be off to college soon, too.” Howard responded.

“Have a good day. I’ll see you later.” Said Mary. She picked up the cereal dish and walked over to the sink, depositing it into some murky water floating in the washing-up bowl. “Bye, Howard.” Mary left the kitchen. Howard listened to Mary’s footsteps as she climbed the stairs.

“Bitch.” Howard muttered, under his breath. “Dirty fucking bitch.”

***

Howard Trenton sat on an uncomfortable wooden chair, facing Kate Williams. He wiped a tear from his eye.

“Oh, Howard, I really don’t enjoy seeing you like this.” She said, passing him a tissue. Howard smiled at Elman College’s career advisor, and blew his nose.

“I’m sorry, Miss Williams. I’m really grateful for you taking time out from your lunch, you know, letting me get all of this Mary business off my chest.” Smiled Howard.

“That’s okay, Howard. I like to think that we’re friends.” Said Kate, and she put her hand on Howard’s. He looked down at her long, slim fingers, for just a split second. An image flashed through Howard’s head, of those slender fingers slowly rubbing up and down the length of his cock. Immediately, Howard felt his prick throb hard inside his jeans. An involuntary smirk appeared on Howard’s face. “Are you alright, Howard?” Asked Kate.

“Yes, yes. I was just thinking about Mary, and what she said to me this morning.” Answered Howard.

“And what was that?” Kate was interested to know.

“She said that I was a creep. A slimy little creep.” Lied Howard. “Mary told me that no woman would ever be interested in me.” He continued, laying on the bull-shit. Kate Williams squeezed Howard’s hand.

“That’s not true, Howard. You’re a very attractive young man.” Kate assured him. Howard gazed up, into Kate’s eyes, and there was something in the way that he looked at her that gave the middle-aged woman a sudden, tingling feeling down below, between her legs. Kate wriggled discretely on the wooden chair that she was sitting on, a warm dampness spreading inside her knickers.

Kate Williams suddenly felt incredibly flustered, but there was something else welling up inside her, too; lust. Lust for the young eighteen year old man that sat opposite her, his heart broken. I can’t go down this road again, thought Kate, not again. She recalled another young man’s face, this one a little older than Howard, nineteen. He had been slim, like Howard, but slightly taller. Kate remembered what they'd done together, his young, eager cock, swollen, stiff, frantically pushing backwards, forwards, deep inside her. Fuck, that felt good, so good. I was the first real woman that he’d ever had, and that young man… John… he loved every single minute of it, couldn't get enough of me, the randy little fucker… Kate squeezed Howard’s hand again.

“Howard, I think that we should discuss this further. Are you going straight home once you’ve finished your lessons?” Kate asked. Howard nodded.

“Yep.” He replied.

“Well, would you like to come back to my house so that we can carry on with this chat? I could make you dinner or something.” Suggested Kate.

“That’d be really nice, Miss Williams. I’d appreciate that a lot.” Smiled Howard Trenton. Kate took a deep breath. I’m going to do it. I’m going to do it again. I can’t help myself. I don’t WANT to help myself.

“Good. Then meet me back here at four.” Instructed Kate. “Oh, and obviously, Howard… if you could be discrete…”

“Absolutely, Miss Williams, absolutely.” Replied Howard. He stood up. “I’ll see you at four then.”

“Have a good day, Howard.” Smiled Kate.

“Oh, I think that I will, Miss Williams.” Beamed Howard Trenton. “I think that I definitely will.”

Chapter Eleven

Howard lay behind Kate Williams on the bed. They were both naked. Howard rested the side of his head on Kate’s shoulder. His one arm was wrapped around her front, and he stroked his fingertips backwards and forwards over Kate’s large, hardened nipple. Howard’s other hand was further down, resting on the top of her thigh. Kate breathed deeply, rhythmically.

“Are you asleep, Miss Williams?” Whispered Howard. Kate didn't reply. Howard pulled his head back from off Kate’s shoulder. He looked down, towards his cock, that was gently pressed up against Kate’s backside. It had gone soft, and felt numb. Howard stared down at his dick in fascination. It’s still glistening, thought Howard, it’s still glistening with her juices, from where we made love. “Are you asleep, Miss Williams?” Howard repeated his question. Once again, Kate didn’t answer him. Howard Trenton took his hand from off Kate’s leg. He moved it towards his cock. Howard clutched at himself, easing his foreskin back, completely exposing the small pink dome underneath, which was sticky with semen. Howard wrapped his whole hand around the length of his dick, and began working the foreskin backwards and forwards, slowly. He felt his shaft begin to stiffen. Howard’s other hand squeezed at Kate’s breast. He closed his eyes, drifting back in time, to just under an hour ago, remembering what it was like to have Kate Williams fuck with him. Then Howard’s mind slipped much further back, recalling another occasion that was similar to the one he was sharing with Kate now. Sort of.

The woman couldn’t move. She tried, but the strange young man who lay behind her had his arms and legs wrapped around her body like tentacles. She felt him breath into her ear.

“Cold.” He whispered.

“Please don’t hurt me.” Sobbed the woman.

“Cold.” Repeated Howard Trenton, ignoring her plea.

“I don’t… I don’t understand…”

“Cold.” Said Howard. He tightened his grip on the woman, bony, but powerful arms squeezing across her chest. The woman began to struggle to breath.

“I can feel it now. I can feel the cold. It’s coming from you.” Said Howard. The woman winced in sudden pain; it felt like a large block of ice was being slowly dragged across the entire length of her naked body, working its way upwards. “It feels so good.” Howard continued. “This is how it should be. This is how it needs to be.” The woman’s body began to shiver. Her skin began to burn from the intense cold that was seemingly all around her.

“Please… you’re killing me.” The woman managed to utter, before drifting into the sanctuary of unconsciousness.’’

“I’m not killing you… this isn’t about death… it’s about life.” Said Howard. He put his head against the woman’s back, and listened to her take a long, deep breath, which suddenly turned into a stuttering rattle. Oh shit, thought Howard, and he pulled right away from the woman, alarmed.

Howard Trenton watched in horror as the woman who lay next to him began to convulse.

‘No! You’re not supposed to do that!” Said Howard. The woman’s whole body jerked violently. Howard rolled the woman onto her back. Her eyes were open, glazing over, and the woman’s mouth was agape, a thin line of spittle, mixed with blood, trickling from the corner of it. “No! You can’t die! This isn’t about dying, you silly fucking bitch!” Cursed Howard, panicking. He slapped the woman up the face, trying to bring her out of her unconsciousness. “Do you hear me?” Howard said, slapping the woman again. “You don’t die when we do this! People don’t die when they do this! It’s a good thing, it’s not bad!” He shouted. Howard grabbed the woman by her shoulders, and began to shake her. He felt tears welling in his eyes, and before he knew it, they were coursing down his sallow, bony cheeks. “Wake up!” Howard commanded. “Wake up! You mustn’t die!” He continued. The woman let out one, final, gurgled breath, and then the convulsing stopped. Howard realised straight away that she was dead. “No. NO!” Screamed Howard. He got to his feet, whilst all of the time staring back down at the middle-aged woman who he had just managed to kill. “What did I say? This isn’t about death! It’s about life! You’re not supposed to do this!” Cried Howard. He stumbled backwards, away from the woman, his bare feet sinking into the muddy soil of Wildbridge Hill. “You’re not supposed to do this…” Howard whispered, as he remembered the words of his late mother.