Serpent's kiss

His groping hand found her buttock. Began gliding gently over its curve. Then he started squeezing so hard it hurt.

'Maybe I'll do you back door. Maybe that's the way you'll like it,' he said.

He had an erection again. He pushed it between the mounds of her buttocks.

Her hand started to tighten on the handle of the gun.

His hand shot out, grabbed hers. 'What the hell you think you're doing?'

My God. Has he found the gun? If I don't have the gun then there's no hope-

'You put your hand down here when I need it.'

He twisted her entire arm, yanking her hand behind her back. He set her fingers on his erection. He had somehow managed to unzip himself.

Her fingers recoiled at the touch but when he jerked on her arm, making it feel as if he'd snap it in two, she had no choice but to let him guide her hand back to him.

'You and I are going to be friends,' he said as he stroked her hand up and down the shaft of his erection. 'Very good friends.'

Abruptly he let go of her arm and pushed himself down between her legs, his penis brushing against her vagina for the first time.

'You make any noise, cunt, and I'll kill your mother first. You hear me?'

Unable to speak, she only nodded.

'Good. Then we'll get along fine.'

He jammed himself up inside her.

Her entire insides caught fire with a pain that brought swimming darkness to her eyes and a dying cry to her throat.

Any sound, and he'll kill Mom.

He started moving around inside her, finding his rhythm, taking his pleasure.

She was still completely dry. Each thrust only made her feel the drier. Each thrust only made her clench her fists and bite down on her tongue the harder.

'Oh, God, cunt, you really feel good.'

The tremulous sounds of his domination were almost as bad as the actual feel of him inside.

His strokes got longer now. His breathing was obscenely loud.

She knew he'd be finished in moments. And then he'd kill her. He had no other reason to keep her alive.

She had to move now.

Sliding her hand under the blanket, she wriggled her fingers like snakes up the couch until she felt the handle of the gun.

His hand clamped her wrist!

So he'd found out about the gun after all. So now there was no hope whatsoever.

But it had only been a move of passion, his grabbing her arm. He was thrusting faster and deeper; faster and deeper. Despite herself, she was getting wet down there.

Faster and deeper.

She grabbed it then and pulled it quickly into her chest, hidden away from his sight. The gun felt huge and wonderful in her palm.

When he came, he bit her so hard on the neck that he drew blood. She started to whimper-apparently he was afraid she was going to scream-and he picked up the knife and pushed it hard against the back of her neck.

'Don't say a fucking word, bitch. Not a fucking word.'

She would have to do it quickly, she knew he was much faster and stronger. There was a good chance he would see the gun before she had time to use it, and take it from her.

He withdrew from her and started to stand up. She could hear the couch springs squeak from the pressure of his knees.

She could hear his trousers rustle as he began to pull them up.

And then she rolled over and pushed the gun up, holding it tight in both hands.

His face reflected both astonishment and fear.

The first place she shot him was in the groin.

She shot his penis off. Limp, it dropped off like a piece of brittle statuary. Blood began pouring from the hole in his crotch. For good measure, she put another bullet in the bloody cleft the first bullet had left behind.

The second place she shot him was in the chest.

By this time, however, he had tapped into his rage so he was coming for her.

She scrambled backward off the couch, getting tangled up in the blankets and screaming.

He reached down and slapped her so hard that she didn't have time to get a shot off.

He grabbed the gun from her and tossed it behind him on the living room floor.

Then he picked up his knife from the couch, leaned down and grabbed her hair, and pulled her face up to his.

'I'm going to enjoy this, cunt. I'm really going to enjoy this.'

Please, Dad. Please pray for me. Please help me.

Even with the gun, she had not killed him. And now he was going to kill her.

He put the cold, clean edge of the knife against her jugular and was about to draw it across her throat when the gunfire broke out.

At first, Marie had no idea what was happening.

But as the killer's knife fell from her throat, and as the killer began to pitch forward dead as the bullets slammed into his back, she saw standing there the best friend she'd ever had, her mother.

Even in the frenzy and horror of this moment, Marie took time to note wryly that Kathleen, after escaping her bonds, had first done the proper thing. She'd put on a robe before coming out into the living room and saving her daughter's life.

By now neighbours were in the hallway, thundering with words and excited exclamations.

Kathleen, composing herself, setting the empty gun on the coffee table as if she'd just finished a perfunctory round of target practice, went to the door.

Marie found her own robe and rose dazedly to her feet. The killer was sprawled face down across the couch. The peppermint stripes of the sheets were soaked red with his blood.

His face was turned in profile and he shocked her by speaking. He reached out a hand and touched her robe, streaking blood down the light blue cotton.

His face angled up toward hers. He had changed somehow-the rage was gone and in his eyes there was the sense of a different man.

He said, 'I don't know what they'll do to you. Your name was on the wall. You were supposed to die. They'll punish you for this.'

And then his face fell again to the couch, and he died.

Marie, shuddering, wondered what he'd meant. I don't know what they'll do to you. Your name was on the wall. You were supposed to die. They'll punish you for this.

But then neighbours were pouring through the door. And sirens were exploding on the night nearby. And best of all her mother, Kathleen, was hugging her.

The long night had ended at last.

TWO MONTHS LATER

She hardly ever left her room. The others frightened her. She was not sure why but she did not trust them.

So long into the night she stood at the window, watching, watching, not sure for what, just knowing that at some point she would understand the compulsion to stand here until her legs grew sore and tired.

And then one night it happened and for long weeks afterward, she wondered if it hadn't all been a dream.

But no, she knew better than that. It hadn't been a dream. She had indeed visited the tower that stood at midnight in the silver rain like a beckoning finger.