'Really? I'm glad you think so, dear. Now I have a confession to make: I'm sorry I'm married. For if I were a single man, I'd ask you out.'
With her back to him, riding just a few feet in front, Lana said, 'What does married have to do with anything?'
Falcon smiled. It never varies, he mused. The dialogue is as old as time. From the grunting of the cave people to the causerie of modern humankind. The language varies from country to country, but the nuances remain the same. 'Take the trail to your left, Lana. There is something I want to show you.' Other than what is between my legs.
'Where are we going?' she asked, no alarm in her voice.
'A private place of mine. I had it built some years ago. It's a place I use to get away from it all; to be alone.'
'I'll bet it's lovely and lonely.'
'And very private.'
'Good. It's getting crowded back at the house.'
Not nearly as crowded as your cunt will soon be. 'I felt the same, Lana. One of the reasons I asked you to come with me.' Which you will soon be doing.
A mile farther and the cabin came into view: a picture-postcard dwelling; an idyllic setting for romance.
A perfect locale for evil.
'Oh, Falcon, it's so lovely!' She twisted and smiled at him, the push of her full breasts against the buckskin jacket he had found for her arousing him, bringing almost to the surface the brute heat and endless depravity that constantly lay smoldering within him, just beneath the surface.
'Yes.' His words were soft. 'It is. But not nearly as lovely as you.' How many times have I said that?
'You're just saying that.'
'No, dear. I mean it. I like to be with you.' He dismounted, loosening the cinch and looping the reins around a hitch post. He helped her from the saddle, and she deliberately rubbed against him, her hands lingering on his shoulders just a bit longer than necessary, her loins pushing against his crotch.
With her hands on his narrow waist, she asked, 'Why do you like to be with me, Falcon? I mean, you have everything: wealth, charm . . . everything anyone could ask for.'
'Everything except a loving wife.'
'Oh, Falcon. But … Roma seems so … how do I say it? So … sexy.'
'Outwardly, my dear. All that is but a show.' He inwardly grimaced. This dialogue is maddeningly droll. Soap stuff. 'She has not been a wife to me in years.'
'That's so sad.'
He pulled away from her and loosened the cinch on her horse, securing the reins.
'Why did you just pull away from me?'
'Because I did not wish you to get the wrong impression of me. I did not bring you up here to pour out my troubles or to seduce you. I like your company, and thought you might like to see my private hiding place. You're so lovely … I'm … afraid of my emotions.'
Someday, Falcon thought, I must ask the Master to allow me to pursue a career in writing. Then he remembered he already had: back in the eighteenth century.
She walked to him, putting a small, soft hand on his arm. 'There's no need to be afraid, Falcon. I know what it's like to want somebody; what it's like to be lonely.'
He looked down at her, his smile sad and seemingly so very bittersweet. Falcon, he thought, you are a perfect son of a bitch. The tragic look on his face hid the evil that lay behind his obsidian eyes. 'I have some truly excellent brandy inside, Lana. Shall we have a drink before we start back?'
She smiled. 'We don't have to start back anytime soon, do we? After all, Falcon, we have all afternoon to … do whatever we choose.'
'That's so true,' he replied, and pushed open the door to Hell.
Somewhere in the depths of the great house, a thin wailing began. It could not be heard constantly, but rather only the high peaks of agony and fear, the thinnest shriekings at the zenith of pain.
'Can't you do something?' Nydia asked.
They were in Sam's room, Linda napping just across the hall, the door to her room slightly ajar.
'What would you have me do?' Sam asked. 'I don't even know where the kids are being held. I can't go prowling, I'd be stopped before I got started. That's what your mother wants, honey. Me to start trouble.'
'She isn't my mother,' Nydia said. 'And I will never again think of her as such. And don't you.'
The awful wailing ceased abruptly, ending on a note of pain and terror.
'Maybe it's over?' Nydia suggested, a hopeful tone to her question.
'It's just begun,' Sam said, shattering any illusions she might have had.
