BLOOD RED
By James A. Moore

Chapter One

I

There are those who have and those who do not. The majority of Black Stone Bay, Rhode Island had it in abundance. Along the shoreline that looked out over the Atlantic Ocean, a long run of mansions stood at attention or sprawled across their massive lawns, regarding the world with blind glass eyes that hid treasures most people would have thought excessive in the extreme. In the summertime the bay ran thick with yachts and luxury sailboats, with a few smaller speedboats just to add a little balance.

The land could easily have accommodated a hundred times as many houses, but most of the people in town would never allow that to happen. A few had tried to change the minds of the people in power. They had all failed.

Of course, not everyone in the town was disgustingly wealthy; it just looked that way to the uninitiated. Someone had to serve those who ruled and it would hardly be convenient if the hired help had to drive for several hours to get to work. The flow of tourists that poured into Black Stone Bay to see the sights, eat at the numerous restaurants, and blow their money was as large as would be anticipated in any town that had ample seaside views and spacious hotels. That was to be expected, during the summer at least, and sometimes even in the fall, when the leaves changed.

And they needed servants, too; local help that could be hired at a reasonable rate. The town had a lot of blue collar laborers; it just knew how to hide them from plain sight.

All in all, Black Stone Bay was relaxed and tended to stay that way. The people-whether inordinately wealthy or merely well off-lived their lives from day to day with the usual numbers of problems and solutions. Certainly the people attending the two universities have their own concerns.

Neither the Winslow Harper University of Arts and Sciences nor the Sacred Dominion University were known for allowing anyone to stay in their programs without being exceptional. The student bodies paid dearly for the privilege of attending and they worked hard or they lost their money. Both of the schools were Ivy League and both were acknowledged for their excellence on a yearly basis. All in all, however, the people were comfortable with their positions in life; maybe not always happy, but comfortable.

Mary Margaret Preston, or Maggie if she knew a person well enough, could have told anyone who asked all about the people of Black Stone Bay; she'd lived there all her life. The young lady in question actually attended Winslow Harper and was in the top five percent of her class. Like most of the students, she worked her ass off to keep those grades. Unlike the vast majority, she also worked a job to pay her way. Maggie had more sense than to work at restaurant, a bank, or in any number of jobs that would have left her financially strapped and worried about paying the outrageous tuition fees. She had managed to find employment that let her choose her hours and paid well enough that she seldom felt financially desperate.

Maggie was a prostitute. Not a hooker. Hookers don't make that sort of money. She had no illusions about the work. It was a job, and it paid well. There were risks, to be sure, but most forms of employment have risks. And in the long run it was a means to an end.

Maggie had always been careful. She came from a large family-was the baby, in fact-and was the first member of the clan to ever actually make it to college. She might want children in the future, but they weren't on her current agenda and she didn't intend to add them to her roster of things she had to do. Also, the list of diseases she wanted nothing to do with was large, and a good number of them were sexually transmitted.

Protection was worn or nothing happened. She had Tom to make sure of that. A ridiculous portion of her money went to Thomas Alexander Pardue-Monkey Boy to Maggie, but never to his face-to ensure that he picked the right sort of clients for her. Failure to pay his exorbitant rates could also result in a few tragic encounters with Tom's fists or even a knife blade. Maggie tried not to dwell on that part of their arrangement. He'd done things to a few of the girls over the years and she knew he'd do it again if he didn't get his way.

In exchange for his fees, he got her a clientele that could afford to pay handsomely for her services and worried about getting caught with her as surely as she worried about her career choice being exposed. The thing about getting a good education from a superior school was that the university had an ethics committee. If she was busted and they found out, she could lose her place at the school, and her standing in the society she wanted to join.

Of course she'd been of professional use to most of the committee, so that wasn't really too much of a problem, but she liked to keep up appearances.

Maggie knew the score. She was a good student and she was a call girl. The two worked well for her. Both were temporary. She liked sex, but she wasn't a raving nymphomaniac. She also looked at actual relationships as something entirely different from the work she did. For the present time she did not date, had no desire to date, and would not let herself fall for any one. Not even the dozen or so very powerful men who'd offered to make her life incredibly comfortable. She was doing just fine without their help, and saw no reason to give up her chosen lifestyle.

Monkey Boy knew the score too, though he kept trying to break the rules. Sometimes she had to let him succeed. She was still recovering from his latest need to show her who was the boss.

She could always tell when he was in that mood. He'd start by offering her drugs that she refused. Sometimes he'd insist, and she would take them, but not nearly as often as he wanted. In most cases she was able to handle the matter with a fake out. Sleight of hand was a useful skill and one she'd learned from her uncle, who was an amateur magician. Uncle Albert was a sweet old man, and not nearly as warped as most of her family thought he was. He was just…eccentric in the extreme.

Now and then, as with earlier tonight, Tom insisted on "sampling the wares." That was his way of saying he wanted to get laid. The thing about it was that Tom only felt it proper that the girls protest first, the better to have an excuse for knocking them around a little. He was smart enough not to leave marks, but it hurt when he decided to do his thing. She was also pretty sure the only way the creep could get off was if the girl he was using struggled and complained.

The good news was that he didn't make demands too often, at least not of her. Maggie made too much money for him to slap her around a lot, and he wasn't as horny as he was greedy. She was also smart enough not to get hooked on the shit he served to some of the girls. They were the ones that he took advantage of whenever he wanted. Once they wanted another fix, they would do whatever he told them to do. She didn't play that game. He knew it, she knew it. He just needed to feel big from time to time and that meant doing what he insisted was his right.

Some day she was going to pay someone to kill the bastard, but for now he served a necessary purpose for getting her what she needed. It was all about the future, you see. Maggie focused on what she wanted in the future to the exclusion of almost everything else. It helped smooth out the rough spots, like Monkey Boy.

So she was a little sore, yes, but that was all right. She had a new client tonight, one that was promising to be very lucrative, too. He was also a rarity, because he wanted her to come to his house.

His house, as if the black stone mansion on the Point could be called a house. Maggie drove her Ford Focus up to the gates of the palatial estate and didn't even have to wait for long. The automated iron barrier slid out of her way smoothly as she reached it and she moved further into the place.

She let a low whistle out past her full lips and admired the architecture. "Damn. I want one of these." Most of the houses on the cliff walk were accessible; meaning that people could, if they were polite about it, actually move over the lawns and see the exteriors of the homes without any difficulty.

This place was not like most of the homes; it had more in common with a medieval fortress, with its heavy black stone walls around the actual perimeter and a main building made of the same dark granite that earned the town its name. The house had been there for as long as she could remember, but this was the first time she had ever seen it close up. It was stunning, to say the least. From what she'd heard when she was younger, there were something like 80 rooms in the place if you counted the extensions for the servants' quarters. That the lawns were flawless was a given, the hedges just so, and the ancient trees on the property were at least as old as the United States of America in most cases.

She didn't have much time to actually look the entire place over before the door to the massive structure opened. Not one to ignore an obvious hint, she shut down her car and climbed out, ready to meet her new client.

He stepped through the door and smiled at her, a man of average height, reasonable build and dark hair. There was nothing overly impressive about his features, but he carried himself like a king, with confidence and a casual acceptance of his authority over all around him.

He wasn't like most of the guys she dealt with. Half of them came off as cocky; the others came off as nervous or just plain horny. Very few of them ever seemed relaxed about the situation.

"You would be Maggie, yes?" His voice was deep, but the words were softly spoken.

"That's me." She smiled as she spoke, not bothering with false-pretenses or putting any seductive tones in her way of talking. For all she knew the man she was looking at was the butler.

He did not move to greet her, but stood within the threshold of the front door and waited for her to come to him. Even that was a bit of a change from the norm. Half the time the men she dealt with practically rolled out the carpet for her. She didn't mind, but she noticed. It was important to understand what was expected of a client, especially one who was still an unknown quantity.

"Come in, please." He stepped back and left her room to get past him without trouble. She looked around, letting herself take in the décor and the furnishing with a quick glance. It was all very nice. Most of the furnishings were museum quality and laid out with a meticulous eye for design and there were around a hundred places were people could be hiding. She didn't like that part at all. Just because the man was supposed to be safe didn't mean she was willing to assume the situation was what it was supposed to be. Tom had made mistakes before and girls had been hurt. Maggie had no desire to become a statistic.

The furnishings had obviously been laid out some time ago. Everything was spotless, but the rugs over the hardwood floors hadn't been set down recently and the furniture on top of the expensive rugs pressed down on areas that had become accustomed to bearing their weight.

Maggie waited until the door was closed before she looked the man over more carefully. His age could have been late thirties to early sixties. He had that sort of face; lots of character lines, but not a lot of wrinkles. Nice clothes, but obviously not meant for power lunches or the like. This was him being casual. That was okay. She preferred that.

She took her time studying him, knowing full well that she was being studied in return. She looked in the mirror every day and knew what he was seeing. Her hair was dark and naturally curly, but she made sure to add a touch of gel to keep it in control. Her face was almost heart-shaped-wide high cheekbones and large dark eyes above a nose that was straight with slight upward tilt. Her mouth was generous but just missed being pouty, and her chin was strong. She had an athletic figure from several years of gymnastics and dance that her father insisted would make her a better woman in her adult years, and she'd made it a point to keep herself in shape. She was also, to use Monkey Boy's favorite term, built like a brick shit house. Today she was dressed in a white cream blouse and dark blue jeans. She looked good. She knew it. It came with the territory. After half a minute of looking her over from head to toe, he moved closer and took her hand.

"I hope you don't mind if we eat first. I like to get to know people." He had an accent, and she was normally very good with deciphering the way people spoke, but she couldn't for the life of her decide where he came from.

"We do whatever you want to do. And thank you, you have a lovely home." The words were calculated. First she made sure he understood that this was business and then she complimented his choice in domiciles. It was business, after all. She wanted him to understand that. If he wanted to pay her rates and have dinner, that was fine. If he wanted her to perform her services, that was okay too. If he wanted her to move in tomorrow and marry him the week after, that was no longer an option. This way he at least understood where she was coming from.

She walked with her host into the dining hall-she couldn't justifiably call it a room-and took the seat he offered her. The food laid out before her was the sort normally found only in the finest restaurants. That was okay. To her way of reckoning she'd certainly earned a nice meal.

Before she could settle in comfortably, he was next to her, sitting to her right, and he watched as she took small bites of the food placed before her. The lobster was fresh and cooked to perfection. So was everything else.

He did not speak as she ate, but merely watched her. A lot of people might have been nervous, but not Maggie. She'd been in far stranger situations and if the man got off by observing her eating habits that was his prerogative.

When the meal was finished he poured two brandies and they sat in what she assumed was his study. The books along the walls were not, as she had seen in several places, set there for decoration. It was obvious that either the man in front of her or someone else in the house, read and often.

"Now then, on to business." He spoke calmly, not seeming the least bit in a rush to get anything done. Considering what he was paying, that was perfectly fair. He had paid for the night, which meant that until she left the house in the morning, she was his to do with as he pleased, barring anything that she disagreed to.

He rose from his seat and walked behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. Maggie held her breath, wanting to hear exactly what the man had to say. "I have a few unusual requests to make of you, Maggie…"

She listened. Half an hour later she left his home puzzled, but glad to accommodate the man who was paying her so well.

II

It only took Kelli Entwhistle a few moments to realize she'd been duped. The silence in the house was enough to make her know that Teddy was up to something. And who would get the blame if he did something stupid? Why, that would be her, of course. They almost always blamed the babysitter when a kid managed to get himself into grief.

She put down the dishrag and walked out of the kitchen, looking around quickly with practiced eyes. Teddy Lister was a master at Hide and Seek. The problem seemed to be he never wanted to tell her when he was in the mood to play. At ten years of age the little shit was practically an accomplished escape artist. She would have been pissed about it, too, but he was a damned cute little munchkin.

Bedrooms were empty. So were the rest of the rooms. One quick look at the attic door-where she had planted a very small piece of tape on the carpet to let her know if anyone went up the flight of wooden stairs-told her that Teddy had not gone that way either. That only left one other option worth considering.

Kelli grabbed her coat from off the chair where she'd draped it when she got the to Lister house, and slipped it on even as she reached for the back door's crystal knob.

Before actually leaving the building she listened and, sure enough, she heard Teddy's voice and that of his best friend and number one accomplice in all things annoying, the equally cute and infuriating Avery Tripp.

She opened the door very, very carefully, letting the light spill out onto the back patio. It was well after sunset and the two boys were not supposed to be outside. One of the two was not even supposed to be at the house at all, but she had grown accustomed to that part of the equation. Avery Tripp was like a cabbage soup dinner: he kept coming back and stinking the place up when you least expected it. Mostly she meant the comparison in a good way.

The two of them were halfway down the stairs, and whatever they were doing, it had them far too engrossed to notice their babysitter sneaking closer. She made it all the way to the top step before a creaking board gave her away.

"Just what are you doing out here?" Kelli put as much venom as she could into the words, just to see how far they would jump. Avery flinched. Teddy let out a yelp and tried desperately to hide the magazine in his hands. Both boys had wide eyes and terrified expressions.

Rather than waiting for an explanation, Kelli walked down the four steps to where they were and grabbed the magazine from the trembling hands of her charge.

They managed to blush, even in the near darkness. Avery dropped a flashlight from his hand and all three of them watched it bounce and roll into the yard.

"Ohgodshe'sgonnafreak." It was one word, and came from Avery's lips in a high speed whisper.

Teddy said what he always said when he got busted. "Avery made me do it."

Kelli looked at the cover of the Penthouse Magazine the boys had been looking through and smiled. She knew they had to be up to something, especially when it was too quiet in the house.

"Penthouse? Where did you guys get a dirty magazine?" Kelli looked at Avery as she spoke, knowing full well he'd have brought it with him.

Avery shrugged and looked at the ground for several seconds before he finally looked back at her. "I brought it."

"How much trouble are you going to be in if I tell your mom about this, Avery?"

She couldn't have gotten a better reaction if she'd pumped a million volts into his rear end. "Oh, jeez, Kelli…Please don't tell on me." He was sweating now, worried, and that meant she had him exactly where she wanted him.

"You get your little butt home right now, Avery, and maybe I won't have to."

Teddy was the one who started to protest, but one look from her while she waved the magazine was enough to make him shut up. After a few moments of hemming and hawing, she gathered the two boys together and walked Avery back to his house three blocks over.

Three blocks doesn't sound like a long walk, but when it came to handling Avery and Teddy, it was closer to three miles. They were boys, and they were energetic boys at that.

Avery looked pale and worried the entire time, and for the first time in the months she had known the kid, he was quiet. When they reached the walkway leading to his front door, Kelli put a hand on his shoulder.

"You okay, Avery?"

He swallowed hard and nodded his response.

"Are you sure?" He looked like he was going to faint dead away and that made her a little worried. He looked at her with brown eyes that threatened tears and nodded again, his throat bobbing up and down.

Finally, she reached into her jacket and pulled out the Penthouse, wrapped in a bag from the comic store she knew the two boys frequented. "Well, you go put this back where it belongs, Avery, okay?" She hadn't been sure about whether or not to let him have the magazine back until just that moment.

"You-You're not gonna tell?" She shook her head. He looked like an angel in that moment; relieved, happy, and much more relaxed.

"But you know what?"

Avery shook his head.

"You don't pull that sort of stuff; you can't get in trouble for it."

He rolled his eyes and nodded. The kid's whole body got into the aww, shucks, ma'am expression whenever he made it.

"Get inside before you get yourself in serious trouble, Avery, and stay home for the rest of the night, okay?"

"Thanks, Kelli. You're the best." He probably would have yelled it to the world like he normally did, but it was dark out and he was supposed to be inside. Sometimes Kelli wanted to swat him, but mostly he was okay.

"Just be good, Avery. Good night." She and Teddy stood there and waited until the boy had gone inside, carefully opening the front door and closing it silently. Then they turned around and headed back to Teddy's house.

"So you're not telling?" Teddy's voice held a mild note of terror blended with hope.

"Nope."

"Why not?" He let himself smile. Teddy was a cute kid, especially when he smiled. "I mean, thanks, but, why not?"
"Well, I could tell if you really want me to…"

"No! No, that's okay."
Kelli ran her fingers through her hair and readjusted her glasses. The night was getting cold fast and she wanted them back at the house before Teddy's parents came home.

"I was your age once, Teddy." A shiver ran down her neck and between her shoulder blades. Kelli looked around to see if she could figure out why. It wasn't the cold night, there was something else. The road was well lit and she could see all of the houses along the Cliffside Drive with ease. There were no menacing figures lurking in the shadows that she could see, and even the dog that normally went into fits whenever they walked this part of the neighborhood was silent. But there was something, damn it, and it wouldn't let her relax. She kept looking around, hoping her instincts were just confused.

"So, no punishment? I'm just making sure I have this right."

She smiled and patted the top of his blond haired head. "No punishment, this time."

"This time?"

"Yeah. Next time I might take it out twice as hard on you, so you learn to behave and we can be friends."

"We are friends, Kelli." He frowned and looked up at her. "Aren't we?"

"Of course we are, silly." She stopped moving and looked up at a faint hint of movement.

And saw them looking back down. The telephone wires above them crossed the street at an angle, and as she looked up, Kelli saw dozens of black shapes resting on the thick cables.

Crows. They covered every inch of the telephone line, all of them silent and watching from above. Now and then one of them would shuffle a foot in one direction or the other, but aside from that motion, there was nothing.

"Whoa." Kelli liked crows. She thought they were beautiful birds, but at the moment they were messing with her mind. Crows were noisy birds, always noisy as far as she could tell. There had seldom been a time when she saw them gathered together that they weren't cawing away at each other or filling the air with that mocking laughter of theirs, but right now they were silent.

Kelli took two more steps, her eyes locked on the black shapes above her, and watched in turn as they tracked her, their heads lowered between their shoulders.

"Let's get home, Teddy. I have to finish the dishes."

Teddy looked up and saw where she was staring. "Yeah, Kelli. Okay." He sounded almost as nervous as she felt.

The birds never moved from their perches. But she felt them staring at her the entire way back to the house. She could tell they were there, because even though the first group never moved, she saw the rest of them on her way home. Hundreds of them nestled on nearly every available branch and rooftop.

III

Brian Freemont watched the little red Tercel rip past his hiding spot and checked the speed. Half a second later he was pulling out onto the main road and hit the flashers. Nailing the occasional college student in the act was what made his life good.

The car pulled over after only a few yards, and he pulled to the side of the road almost immediately behind it. The dashboard computer was active and he typed in the license plate numbers while he kept the driver waiting. Danielle Hopkins, twenty-two years of age and a college student.

He climbed out of his patrol car and walked over to the driver's side door, one hand resting on the butt of his revolver. The girl in the driver's seat looked his way, her pretty face a study in ruined nerves.

"Going a bit fast, weren't you?" He kept his voice casual.

"I'm sorry. I was in a hurry. I have finals tomorrow." She was chewing on her bottom lip. She had every reason to be worried. He had given her record a quick once over and she was very, very close to losing her license. Like, one or two tickets away from having to take a cab instead of driving.

"Finals? Those are a few weeks off yet, aren't they?" She looked around nervously. "Tell you what, why don't you give me your license, registration and proof of insurance?"

Her hands were shaking as she reached into her purse and then into her glove compartment. They were shaking more than he would have expected from someone who was just getting another speeding ticket. He kept his eyes on the contents of her purse, looking for telltale signs that there was more going on than just a case of the jitters.

He saw the edge of a bag filled with white powder and allowed him self a very small smile. "You wouldn't be carrying any illegal substances, would you, Ms Hopkins?"

"What?" She was positively twitchy. "No, I don't do drugs, officer."

"Why don't you step out of the car for me?" He was enjoying this already. The girl was sweating, and it was in the low fifties temperature-wise. Just to add to her discomfort, he reached into the car and cut off the engine, removing the keys.

She was on the verge of tears by the time she climbed out of her vehicle. He held out his hand for the purse, and she actually started crying by the time he pulled out the baggie with the cocaine inside it. Not enough to make a felony, but definitely enough to cause her a world of grief.

She didn't cry quietly. She let out soft, high pitched whines from her throat. Freemont looked down at her and shook his head like a teacher who'd found someone passing notes.

"You do know this is an illegal substance, don't you?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. I forgot it was in there."

"Oh, no reason to apologize to me," he smiled as he spoke. "You should be saving all of that for your parents. I bet they're going to be very disappointed in their little girl." He found a second bag; this one with a decent amount of what he guessed was marijuana inside it. He dug in again, pulling out a pocket knife that was just past the legal length.

Brian held the bag up and watched the girl break down even more, savoring every noise she made. He gave her a few minutes to soak in the full impact of how fucked up her life had become with the simple act of speeding, and then he gave her back her purse.

"Are you taking me to jail?" Oh, her voice was so tiny, smaller than the squeak of a mouse. He looked her over for the first time, taking in the details of her tear-streaked face and her body. She was short, moderately heavy set with long blond hair and the sort of face that looked good when she cried.

"Well, now, it is my job. I'm supposed to arrest the bad people who break all the laws…" he made his voice stern, just for her, but couldn't quite keep the smile off his face.

She broke down again and this time he put a hand on her shoulder, patting lightly.

"My dad's gonna kill me. My dad's gonna skin me alive." Her voice broke and the words were slurred by tears.

"Well, you knew the risks when you started carrying illegal drugs and walking around with concealed weapons." A little sterner now, more edge to the tones he spoke with because, of course, she had to understand the full gravity of the situation. "Long as you don't have a record, they'll probably let you off with a warning, but I do have to carry out my duties." Her arm trembled beneath his hand.

"You do have a clean record, don't you?" Oh that one did it. She was crying into her hands, her whole body shaking. He made his face a neutral as he could.

Then he reached for the handcuffs. "Come on then, we'll get this taken care of. You'll be with your folks in no time."

"No! Wait, please?"

He kept silent. It had to be her idea.

"Could we work something out?" Her voice was still shaking and ruined, but she had a little edge of strength coming back. No, not strength; resolve.

"Work something out? What did you have in mind?" he sounded doubtful himself now. It was important to make sure they thought it up all on their own.

Danielle Hopkins, her pretty face still red from crying, reached out with her hand and stroked the front of his pants. The contact got his attention as quickly as it always did.

"Say it. Tell me what you want to work out." His voice was still stern, his demeanor as professional as possible when he considered where her fingers were massaging.

"We could…you know…and you could forget this happened?" Oh, and she sounded so desperately hopeful when she said it.

Brian reached for the front pocket of his shirt, his fingers patting the package of condoms he kept there. He wasn't stupid enough to get caught in the act. And he wasn't going to leave around any DNA evidence that could cause him grief later.

"I think maybe we could work something out, Danielle."

And was that hope he saw in her eyes? Yes, yes it was. Because, really, it had to be better rolling in the back seat of a squad car with him than it would be riding in the back alone and heading for a holding cell.

It worked damned near every time.

Sometimes it was good to be a cop. He let his hand slide under her jacket, under her blouse, to feel one of her full breasts. Her hand started tugging at his zipper as he guided her away from the road and into a small copse of trees. It was dark, no one would see what they did, but they would both remember for very different reasons.

IV

Benjamin Kirby watched through his window as the sun stated to rise. It was his morning ritual. The girl from his Lit class would be coming home any minute, and he wanted to see her. He always wanted to see her, because, of course, she was beautiful.

Mary Margaret Preston; even thinking her name made his insides feel electrified. She'd been stuck in his mind ever since freshman year, when he tutored her in Calculus. She'd been funny, intelligent, and friendly. She'd also treated him like a human being, instead of like a door mat. So, naturally, he'd fallen for her in a big way. He'd fallen bad enough that he moved into the same apartment complex as her, just so he could see her from time to time.

Coffee. Coffee was his friend, and one that he abused regularly. He was abusing it right now, actually. Or he would be as soon as he refilled his cup.

He didn't always wait up to see her. He wasn't completely obsessed; just mostly.

Ben poured another cup of coffee and set his term paper aside. He turned off the lights in his apartment and waited near the window. He wanted to see the look on her face when she saw the package.

It wasn't much. Just a poem he knew she liked, done on velum with his best calligraphy and a few small illustrations that suited the piece.

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Lord Byron

Lord Byron. Ben sighed and waited, and at last was rewarded for his patience. Even after a full night out, she looked like heaven to him. He held his breath as she came into view, afraid to even exhale for fear she would somehow see him in his darkened living room.

Margaret walked over to her door and had it opened before she saw the small rolled paper tube. She looked around; her pretty face set in a puzzled frown and then unrolled the poem.

It was nothing overly elegant. He'd kept it simple in design because, frankly, he didn't know if she liked the extra scroll work and decorations. Better to err on the side of caution than to give her something she couldn't use or would have no desire to look at.

He studied her, memorized the minutiae of her features, her dark curls, every aspect of her expression. And he smiled with her when she looked at the poem.

It was stupid to be in love with a woman who probably didn't even remember his name. He hated himself for it.

But he was in love. He had no doubt of that at all in his mind.

He would do anything for her. Anything.

And one day, he would get up the nerve to tell her that.

But for now, he watched and he savored the few moments a day when he could see her outside of the classroom.

Ben watched Margaret walk through her front door, a tired, happy expression on her face. He left the coffee on the window sill and got ready to take his shower. Classes started all too soon and he had to be ready.

The night was ending in Black Stone Bay. The day to come would be far more eventful than Ben Hopkins could ever have imagined. Before it was done, his entire life would be changed radically.

Available from Earthling Publications and Shocklines