Seeds of Fear

down as he walks in her direction. Soon, soon.

Jane stands still, letting oncoming pedestrians stream around her, knowing they won't notice the mousy little woman in their midst. Nobody will notice her but Dorian, and that is just as she wishes it.

The moment has arrived. As Dorian surges toward her, Jane shifts to her left and positions herself directly in his path.

He stops, looking down at her with blue velvet eyes.

'Hello,' Jane says breathlessly, smiling.

'Hi there,' Dorian returns, studying her with a quizzical smile as if straining to remember something. His smile deepens, a flicker of recognition. 'You're Erik's teacher, aren't you?'

'I'm your whole world,' Jane whispers.

He leans toward Jane. 'I beg your par —»

Jane does not give Dorian time to finish the thought. With a quicksilver movement, she plunges a glistening knitting needle deep into the tender tissue of Dorian's brain with one deft thrust into his right nostril. Just as quickly, she withdraws the instrument and replaces it in her handbag.

Dorian sways slightly on the pavement before her, still standing, a thin trickle of blood coursing down his chin, blue velvet eyes wide in a silent shriek that consumes Jane entirely, body and soul.

Jane has become Dorian's whole world.

Dorian staggers forward a step, placing a hand on Jane's shoulder to steady his failing legs. And then he falls, crumpling down onto the sidewalk, his eyes never leaving hers.

As she watches Dorian's final spasms, a volcanic orgasm wracks Jane's body, coming in a shock wave that roots her to the pavement, paralyzing her for the full count.

One, two, three, four, five.

And then it's over.

Jane turns away from her lover's lifeless body and passes through the gathering crowd of spectators like a ghost, transparent and unnoticed. As she wends her way across the street toward her rented car, she hears the first shouts of comprehension. A shrill scream. Someone is calling for an ambulance.

Jane eases the car out into traffic and drives away. She glances at her watch and smiles, realizing she'll have time to stop at the bakery for cupcakes on her way back to school.

Won't the children be surprised?

SYMPATHY CALL Michael Garrett

The impoverished appearance of his hometown came as no surprise to Mark Morgan. It had been years since his last visit, and hell, the whole fuckin' world was going down the toilet, so why should his boyhood stomping grounds be spared? Scanning the streets he'd roamed as a child, he found even long standing landmarks barely recognizable. The neighborhood school looked like an abandoned prison, deserted and vandalized, scarred by broken windows and graffiti. Several houses along the encircling block had been condemned. But just ahead, with bright curtained windows, unretrieved mail spilling from the mailbox, and unopened newspapers scattered across the porch, was her house, or at least the house where she'd lived as a kid. An inhabitable house seemed oddly out of place despite its own deteriorated condition. The roof needed patching, the shutters were rotten, and the lawn and shrubbery were ragged and neglected. It was the same place, though, he was sure. Mark sighed. Tracking Beth over the years hadn't been easy. She'd married, changed her name, divorced, then remarried, changed her name again. Though he and Beth had been apart for almost twenty-five years, Mark had constantly monitored her from a distance, watching the latest developments in her life from afar in hope that still another divorce might create an opportunity for reunion between the two of them. That's why he'd checked the new telephone directory year after year to make sure her parents were still listed. Through them, he'd be able to locate Beth if her name changed again, or if she moved away without his knowledge.

Mark exhaled and slowly shook his head, surprised that her folks had never moved to the suburbs. Couldn't Beth have offered them financial help? Of course, she would have — if she hadn't married an asshole.

Make that two assholes.

Mark, I'm so happy. I've never gone steady before.

Mark sat in silence, her voice drifting through his mind. He cut the ignition of his Jeep Cherokee, the engine ticking as it cooled, while he stared blankly at the house. A youthful image of Beth's face was branded in his memory, and Mark sat in frozen silence until the wind swept a wave of dead leaves across the pavement.

A feverish tingle seared his veins. Having repeated ly parked in this exact spot so long ago, Mark envisioned sitting behind the wheel of his '66 Mustang, his fingers tapping to the rhythm of the Beatles on the AM radio, his high school graduation tassel dangling from the rearview mirror. In his mind he saw her seated in the worn bucket seat beside him, her lips protruding in a playful pout in an attempt to have her way.

A nearby police siren jarred him back to reality.

Glancing around, Mark noted a rusted Chevy parked in the driveway against a ragged row of shrubbery that lined the side of the house. Despite the unretrieved mail and newspapers, there was still a chance that Beth's parents were at home.

As he exited the Jeep, Mark noted the sound of speeding automobiles on a nearby freeway that hadn't even existed when he and Beth dated. A squirrel scampered along the power lines overhead; a dog howled down the street. Mark shook his head, his stomach quivering as he tracked mud up the cracked walkway to the front porch. Anxiety grew with every step.

At the door he hesitated. He'd endured almost a quarter of a century of pain and loneliness since he'd last stood in this very spot and held her in his arms. He rubbed his eyes, recalling the soft texture of her lips, how thick and creamy they felt, and the smell of her freshly shampooed hair. He could almost feel the fur collar of her coat tickle his neck as they kissed good night, the memories so intense, it was as if it had been only yesterday. Though they'd lived separate lives, she had always been with him in spirit.

Always.

Not tonight, Mark. It's… my time of the month.

Mark finally punched the doorbell, imagining the scent of her perfume as he scrubbed his shoes across the welcome mat. He shifted nervously on his feet and swallowed hard as the glass panes of the front door vibrated from movement inside. What if her parents didn't understand? What if they sent him away?

Two dusty white blades of the Venetian blinds separated and an elderly bloodshot eye peeked through, rolling from side to side in a cautious examination of the surroundings. When the blinds were finally released, the door creaked open a couple of inches and the wrinkled face of Beth's mother peered out over a dime-store security chain.

'Yes?' she said, her voice weak and suspicious.

Mark cleared his throat. 'Mrs. Arvin, you may not remember me, but I'm Mark Morgan. I was one of Beth's first boyfriends.'

The old woman stared at him questioningly until her grim expression finally softened. 'Mark? Hmmm. I'm sorry, but it's been a long time.' She glanced over her shoulder and called out into the darkened recesses of the house, 'Ralph, come in here. One of Beth's friends stopped by.' She unlatched the chain and swung the door open. 'Come on in,' she invited Mark.

We can't do it if you don't wear protection.

The living room was gloomy and not at all as he remembered. But then, he and Beth had spent as little time here as possible, preferring the privacy of his parents' home when they were away or the seclusion of a remote lovers' lane for their many lovemaking sessions.

'Please sit down,' Mrs. Arvin offered, motioning toward the sofa. Mark hesitated, then finally sat. Floral arrangements decorated the mantel, clashing with the drab atmosphere of the otherwise dismal room. Unopened envelopes lay scattered on the coffee table before him.

Mr. Arvin hobbled into the room, impaired by a bad limp, and made no effort to shake hands or acknowledge Mark's presence. A faraway look con trolled the elderly man's eyes.