The Lake

Whatever goddamn motherfucker it was, they wanted to come up with one more thing like that and then go blow their fuckin’ brains out.

But all of that was a long time ago. Those lousy schooldays; her lousy childhood. Only thing kept her going was beating the hell outa them kids on the sports field. Yeah. She was the greatest at sports in those days.

THE BEST.

Was then, is now.

Pumping iron in the gym, judo, karate, kickboxing, you name it. She’d done it all—and better than most men, too. She knew all about the pain barrier. Going through it, stretching her muscles to the max. Almost passing out. She’d been there. Done that.

And when she figured her body could take no more—there were plenty of other ways to feel pain.

Oh yeah, other ways.

Sheena’s lips curved in a triumphant smile.

In the early days, only one other person understood her. Really knew what made her tick.

Kat Tod, her partner.

Kat knew about pain; she’d had a cartload of it herself. Bad childhood. Bad marriage at thirteen years of age.

All of them, painful experiences.

Kat had gotten herself killed last October. Memory of it still hurt Sheena. It’d had been a bad business. S & M, the cops called it. Okay. That’s what they called it. But she knew Kat was following her own path of redemption.

Redemption?

Self-destruction, more like.

Yeah.

Ended up a mess a’ bloody ribbons in some shitty back alley…

Jesus. What a gal. She’d gotten mixed up with a real bad crowd. Rented herself out. An’ paid for it in full that one last time…

Sheena turned away from the window. Contemplating her “insight.” Her gift for premonition, whatever. She hated it, yet loved it, all at the same time.

It was part of her.

What she was.

Love it or loathe it, that gift was an important part of Sheena Hastings. Life as a kid hadn’t been a whole lotta fun, but she sure knew that her special talent—and her sporting prowess—set her way above the rest.

In the bad times, she held on to this.

Mom and Dad had tut-tutted her claims that she “knew about things before they happened.” They’d chastised her. Called in the local priest. Encouraged her interest in sports.

Finally, there’d been the psychiatrist.

He’d prescribed Prozac. Why the hell Prozac, for godsake? She was happy the way she was. Only person who understood that was Warren. They trained together. They talked together. She was a few years older, but she hung around with him most of the time.

Warren understood her. Like now. He knew she was happy at Pacey’s Place. Among her own kind. Problem people. Misfits. Weirdos. They got together, understood each other. No questions asked.

Now there was this “midnight runner.” Who in hell was she? Whomever, whatever, she turned out to be, she was involved with Warren.

Without knowing why, but trusting her instincts, Sheena felt a squirm of apprehension.

FORTY-TWO

It was Thursday evening. Night of the get-together with Mom and Warren.

Mom wasn’t home yet.

Warren wasn’t due for a couple of hours.

In her bedroom, Deana stripped to her bra and panties.

“Hope everything works out okay,” she murmured to herself. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Two nice people. Civilized guys who know the score. They’ll get along fine.”

She peered into the dresser mirror. Inspecting herself. Practicing how she’d look. A dry run for later.

She went over to her bed. Laid out were two outfits—her final final selection. A maroon cotton pantsuit, and a blue jersey crossover blouse and short denim skirt.

Smart casual, she’d told Warren.

No way was the black dress an option. Far too formal for a muggy evening.

It’s gotta be the crossover blouse and denim skirt, she decided. The blouse would be great, if…

If what?

If Warren wanted a closer inspection?

She hugged herself.

I know he likes me.

She could tell by the way his eyes swept over her in an approving, but not suggestive, way. Maybe he’d guessed she wasn’t interested in sex at the moment. Understood it was too soon…

Her relationship with Warren would grow, gradually and at her own pace, she decided.

She swung around. Looked into her dresser mirror again, posing, admiring her body. She eased up her breasts till the tops bulged out from her bra. She posed, hand on hip, drawing in her midriff so that her waist looked really small and neat.

Her flimsy panties stretched across her hipbones. She sure was glad she’d kept up with those abdominal workouts. They’d been a bore, but they made one helluva difference to her figure.

“Not bad!” she told the mirror. “Warren’s eyes are gonna stand out on stalks when he sees me tonight…”

Thick black hair tumbled around her shoulders.

Full, firm breasts brimmed out of their cups. Her nipples almost showing…

What would Warren think if he saw me now?

She imagined his eyes, watching her, longing to touch her, take her in his arms—but then, not wanting to, not after the bad experiences she’d hinted at.

What if Warren wanted to… wanted to see more of me? Anything’s possible— especially if I kinda give him the go-ahead. Maybe I should go over myself with the LadyShave. Just in case.

She ogled her reflection in the mirror.

Then teased both breasts out of their cups, pushing them up, just a little more, till she could see the dark pink aureole of her nipples.

That’s better!

She literally flowed out of her underwear now.

Almost too much…

Tossing a seductive smile at her reflection, she slowly stroked her breasts, her waist, her hips. She pushed her panties down ever so slightly, revealing her taut flat belly—and dark curly wisps of pubic hair.

She groaned, hating the wiry growth peeking out of her panties.

She paused.

What was that?

A movement. A step, disturbing the quiet beyond the open door of her room…