Chapter 7

Rough? I could give her rough. I might even enjoy it this time.

“The role-playing thing? It starts now. First, grab my hair and pull me to your chair.”

“I'm not going to do that.”

“Then your wife will die.”

I gritted my teeth but said nothing.

“Next, you'll fuck me in my throat until I choke.”

"You’re insane.”

"Why do you think I had sought help from a psychiatrist? By the way, are you supposed to tell your patients they're insane?"

“I don't feel obliged to follow any rules with you."

"As if you ever did. One more thing. You aren't allowed to climax. Age isn't on your side, and I expect your erection to last. My disappointment is not an option."

“Jesus…”

“Him? Seriously? Anyway, we’ll see how it goes later. You can grab my boobs or turn me over and fuck me from behind. Use your imagination.”

She was insane. She prepared an entire plan. A complete scenario about how she would want me to have sex with her. Step by step. That was sick.

“That’s it. For now.” She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Unless, as a bonus, you want anal."

My face grew hot.

"After all, aren't we supposed to do everything your wife and my husband did together?”

“Shut up. And… Let’s get it over with. The sooner I can get rid of you, the better.”

“If you say so…. You may begin now.”

I had doubts. What if she'd use it to get at me later? She could accuse me of rape. Even if I defended myself claiming she blackmailed me, officially—she came to me seeking psychotherapeutic help. I have to keep the photos. I could use them in my defense.

And Maria…. What choice did I have?

Pushing my doubts aside, I seized her hair with my left hand, causing her to let out a scream. Was it just an act, or did I actually inflict pain? Yet, she didn't resist when I pulled her towards my armchair. Sick bitch. Holding her hair with one hand, I unzipped my pants with another and pulled them down. She shrieked and squirmed, but her talent for drama wasn't lost on me.

This time, I welcomed my hard-on. I pried her mouth open, and following her instructions, shoved my dick inside. Then, I gripped her head as she had done to me before and began thrusting in and out.

At one point, she was gasping for air, choking on my erection, but since she wanted it that way, I didn't hold back. After a moment, I let her breathe, surprised I hadn't climaxed. Then I forced her back onto the armchair.

She fought me, the bitch! She even gouged my neck with her bloody talons.

I seized her throat and planted my lips on her ear. "Want me to fuck you or what?"

“Can’t make it too easy. Grab my boobs.”

I reached inside her dress.

“Tear it, you fucking moron!”

“You’re mad.”

“You’re a shrink. You should know how to treat mad people.”

With shaking hands, I tore at her dress, exposing her tits. I grabbed them and squeezed. Hard.

She tried to claw my face, but I yanked her towards me. With her hands pinned behind my back, she struck me, her nails sinking into my skin even through my shirt.

I pressed my lips to her ear. “You love it, you sick bitch. You love the pain.”

"You love inflicting pain. That's who you are."

She couldn’t be right.

Our rapid breaths mingled.

I grabbed her buttocks.

She pushed me away. “Suck my nipples.”

I did.

“Now fuck me.”

She battled me when I forced her legs apart, yet when I pinned her wrists above her head and penetrated her, her struggles… ceased. I channeled my fury into my thrusts, slamming into her with increasing force.

I clutched her neck, my skin tingling with the ecstasy it brought me. Her face flushed, breath growing ragged. If I didn't loosen my grip, I could strangle her.

Perhaps I should have.

But I let her go.

By the time I came, she must have climaxed at least twice.

My anger faded slowly, transforming into pain.

Maria had betrayed me. It was the simple truth.

I felt torn between setting her loose and letting her succumb to the chill of the freezer.

Looking exhausted, Justine sank into the armchair. The torn dress barely covered her body. She pulled her legs to her chest and laid her head on her knees. The mix of sweat and mascara streaked her face, making it look as if she had been crying. A sense of déjà vu reminded me of another girl who once assumed the same posture.

"I did what you wanted." I pulled up my shorts. “Now, tell me where's my wife? Where did you lock her?"

She raised her head, her expression blank, as if she didn't know what I was talking about. “What? Oh, your wife? I… lied.”

Chapter 8

“You lied?”

"I'm not a murderer. I stole her phone and disabled her car."

"She's not in the freezer?"

"I didn’t put her in one."

My mind raced, demanding answers. "So… all this… was just an act?"

"Fucking awesome act."

I raised my fist.

“Go on, hit me. I know you’ll enjoy it.”

Would I?

I dropped my hand and searched for my pants. The bitch made me furious. "So, Maria's safe?"

"How should I know? She's your wife, not mine."

I located my pants and slipped them on. I checked my pockets—my phone was missing.

Justine rose to her feet, securing the remnants of her torn dress. The ripped sections hung loosely, exposing her breasts.

“You’re not going outside like this.”

“You care?”

“I don’t want anyone to see you coming out of my office in this state.”

"Worried what people might say? Relax, I have a coat." She moved towards my desk and grabbed her purse. "Did you get a kick out of it? Silly question. You're a control freak—you keep your emotions in check. Never let them out, not even during sex."

“Shut up.”

“But this time was different, wasn't it? You felt something. And you loved it.”

"I said shut up." I slammed my fist into the armchair, knocking it over. My phone was under it—must have slipped out when I took off my pants. I grabbed it and called home.

Justine was kneeling on the floor, collecting the discarded photos, and stuffing them into her bag.

I walked closer. “Just what do you think you're doing?”

“Taking what's mine.”

“Not anymore.”

She looked up. "Still want them examined?"

"That's none of your fucking business."

“Does it matter if she betrayed you? It’s not like you’ll change anything in your life.”

I ignored her. I was more worried about Maria, who wasn't picking up. If Justine disabled her car, she could still…

“Yes?”

I almost dropped the phone when I heard Maria's hurried voice. She was safe!

“David? Is that you?”

"Yes, honey, it's me. Hold on." I looked up.

With her hand gripping the doorknob, Justine was at the door, a self-satisfied smirk spreading across her face. “How much do I owe you, Doctor Ross?”

I mouthed a silent 'fuck off', then said into the handset, “Maria? I tried your cell, but you didn’t answer. What happened?”

Before she closed the door, Justine held a hand to her ear, a mocking imitation of a phone call. Damn her.

"I’m sorry. Just got in. I had a huge fuck-up today. First, a client stood me up, and I couldn’t find my phone. I must have left it at… never mind."

I caught sight of Maria's phone resting on my desk. I'd have to devise a clever plan to give it back to her.

"Then my car broke down, leaving me stranded in an isolated area. Are you heading home soon? I'm in dire need of a reassuring embrace. Do tell me if you've wrapped up for today. "

“I'll transfer my session notes to my laptop and leave.”

“Good. I love you. See you soon.”

“Love you, too,” I answered automatically and hang up.

Was she lying when she said she loved me?

Was I?

But then, she didn’t betray me, right? Justine lied, must have. Bitch. Not only did she manipulate me into sex, but she also stirred doubts in my relationship.

I slid my phone into my pocket and lifted the armchair from the ground, placing it back where it belonged. Talking to Maria felt reassuring, but it didn't change my mind about having the photos analyzed. 'Trust but verify' was my mantra for the night.

But when I scanned the floor for the photos, they vanished. That damned woman took advantage of my conversation with Maria and stole the pictures. Now I couldn't verify their authenticity. That was Justine's ultimate goal: to instill doubt about my wife.

Fuck it. Even if Maria had an affair, would I really want to know? I'd never confront her, anyway.

I headed to the bathroom to wash off Justine's scent under a hot shower. When I came back, I brewed myself a cup of coffee and settled into my armchair. I needed space to digest everything. Time to gather my thoughts and analyze the day's events.

I could pretend nothing had happened, but I couldn't deny one thing: sex with Justine was… different. That "call me" gesture as she left… Did it mean anything, or was she just messing with me?

My cell buzzed. Maria? No, private number. I pressed the phone to my ear. "Yes?"

"Missed me?"

Chapter 9

“I said I’d call you. I’m home, in case you’re worried. How do you feel?”

“I told you to fuck off.” My pulse quickened. It was rage, of course. What else?

“I forgot to tell you something.”

“You stole the photos.”

“They were mine.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Then listen.”

A frustrated growl rumbled in my throat. I gripped the phone tighter, resigned to listen to her twisted words.

“I was curious. Heard a lot about you. From my sister.”

“Your sister?”

“She was in love with you. Completely mad about you. When you dumped her, she tried to kill herself.”

“I don’t know your sister.”

“Two years ago. She used to be your patient. You fucked her—quite regularly, from what I heard. Then you abandoned her.”

Faith… She meant Faith. My gaze settled on the armchair she used to occupy after our lovemaking sessions, her head resting on her knees, her wide eyes fixated on me. Just like Justine today. That's why she looked so familiar.

“Faith is your sister?”

“You remember.”

“But… Did you say she wanted to kill herself? Is she all right?”

“I saved her.”

A lump formed in my throat. “I… didn’t know.”

"Didn't care, most likely."

"That's not true. If only I knew—"

"You should've thought of it before you ended the relationship."

"I'm sorry."

"You will be. Do you remember that Scandinavian movie—I forgot the title—when a woman filmed a guy raping her? She hid a camera inside her bag. You should reconsider your profession. You could do well as a porn star."

Fuck! I knew it.

“Remember how you snatched my hair, hauling me toward your armchair? The way you ripped my dress and raped me?”

“You forced me to do it!”

“It looks different in the video. I was trying to defend myself. Fighting you. Crying. And don’t forget that I was your patient.”

Cold…. Why was it so cold in here? Almost freezing.

"Hey, doc. Still there? You’re not having another panic attack, are you?"

“What do you want?”

“One million dollars. Half for me and half for Faith."

“I don’t have that much money,” I lied.

“A doctor? A psychiatrist? With a private practice and working in a hospital? For… how many years? I did my research. Faith helped. You shouldn’t have boasted about it.”

“They’ll know it’s a setup the moment they hear your voice. Blackmailing me. Telling me about that role-playing bullshit.”

“Oh, that? There was a problem with the sound. It didn’t register. At all.”

“Bitch. I don’t believe you. You’re bluffing again. Besides, who brings a camera to a psychotherapy session? It's obvious you wanted to blackmail me.”

"Feel free to talk to your lawyer about it. But don't forget about the torn dress. And how much of your DNA I have inside me. Under my fingernails, too. Remember when I scratched your neck? I’ve heard cops have these rape kits."

Damn it. She really meant it.

"I’ll give you some time to consider. Until tomorrow. It's recommended to collect DNA evidence using a rape kit within seventy-two hours after a sexual assault to ensure the highest chance of obtaining accurate results."

"Are you reading a rape kit manual to me?"

"I knew you could be funny when you choose."

"Does Faith know about it?"

There was a pause. “You abandoned me, David. I thought I couldn’t live without you. Justine helped me understand it was a lie. You have to pay.”

“Faith? I…. Why do you—”

“She’s gone,” Justine’s voice was back. “Check your email. There’s a link to the video there—to convince you, I'm not bluffing. I'll delete the source in ten minutes.”

“Ask Faith to talk to me, or I won’t pay anything.”

“She doesn’t want to have anything to do with you.”

“I’m surprised you’d fuck me just to help your sister.”

“I would do anything for my sister. The money helped, of course. Besides, it was nothing special, nothing I don’t do regularly. Better check if you didn’t catch something. I cannot guarantee my clients are always safe.”

“Your clients? Oh, fuck me. You’re a whore? That's just hilarious. Wait a minute, if you're a whore, your accusation won’t stand in court. I have nothing to worry about anything.”

"You're so funny. You fell for my trick again. I was curious to see if you'd assume a sex worker can't defend herself in court. Shame on you, Dr. Ross. You should rethink your career path. You're not fit to be a psychotherapist. But I’m not here to judge you. Once you settle the payment, I'll let it go. And no, I'm not a prostitute. I'm an actress. And I don't do porn, either. Never have. Though, playing with you was… entertaining? And if you still insist on labeling me a whore, at least I'm a high-priced one. One million dollars. Wow."

“What guarantee do I have that you won’t report me anyway?”

“None. But think of my sister’s name: Faith. She had faith in you, and you failed her. Now it’s your turn to have faith.”

“Brilliant. Ingenious plan. Congratulations.”

“Oh, it wasn’t mine. Faith came up with it.”

“I don’t believe you. She'd never ask you to have sex with me."

“You're right. She didn't. She said we should hire someone. But I thought it would be fun to do it personally. It was.”

“Let me talk to her. Please.”

“You had your chance. It's too late. Now grab a pen to write down the account number. If I don't see the money in the morning, I will go to the cops. And your career as a psychotherapist will be over. Unless you want to continue your practice in jail.”

THE END

Please note, there's an additional act—an epilogue—in the audio version. A surprise for you.

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 (current)

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Chapter 4

My breath caught in my throat. This had better be some twisted joke. This couldn't be real.

"It's a fake. AI-generated."

"You think so?"

"My wife would never—"

“You’re sure about it? Trust her so much?”

My fingers trembling, I flipped through the remaining images. Three of them revealed Maria's face. “Was this the real reason you came? To show me these fake photos? What do you think you can accomplish by that?”

She sulked. “Why are you convinced these pics are fake? Think your wife’s so different? I thought the same of my husband.”

“You’ve crossed the line. You're not my client anymore. Why would you do such a thing?”

“I think I made myself clear.”

I uttered a short laugh. “Even if these photos were authentic, which I don’t believe, do you think I’d process this information as you did? What made you think I'd want revenge on my wife? Not everyone thinks the way you do.”

She remained unfazed by my glare. “You love your wife so much that you’d forgive her for anything.”

“I’m not discussing it with you.”

“Good. I didn't come here to talk.”

“Where did you even get my wife’s pictures? You had to get them somewhere to make these fake versions. That’s an invasion of privacy.”

“An invasion of privacy?” She sat up straighter. “You mean your wife fucking my husband is not an invasion of privacy?”

“You’re delusional.”

“Delusional? Call her and ask if it's true.”

I got up. She needed professional help—that much was clear. However, not from me. “This session is over. Leave now. You don't have to pay.”

She scoffed. "Guess that's a no on the sex. Too bad." She bent down to pick up the discarded photos from the floor, making sure I had a clear view of her breasts.

"Leave them. I’ll have them analyzed.”

"Questioning your wife's loyalty?" She grabbed her purse, walked to my desk, and set it down. She pulled out a tiny plastic bag and emptied its contents onto the desktop. "Looks familiar?"

Another of her tricks? I moved in for a better look. It was a smartphone, encased in a familiar-looking blue silicon. Blood rushed to my cheeks.

"How did you get hold of this?" I picked it up and pressed my finger to the screen. It unlocked, as I feared. "You stole my wife's phone?" I wanted to scream.

“Borrowed it.”

“Without her consent.”

“She didn’t object.”

“Her photos… You took them from her phone to set up the whole thing. How did you even know who my wife was?”

“The P.I. told me.”

I slammed my hand on the desk. “Stop lying!”

“I’m not lying.” She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse.

“No smoking allowed.”

“Can’t I—?”

“No. Do it outside. After you leave.”

She tucked the cigarettes back into her purse, returned to her armchair, and reclaimed her seat.

I gritted my teeth.

"Your wife's phone… Want to know how I took it?"

I looked at her in silence.

"My husband owns a chain of butcher shops. He's in the process of acquiring a new store."

“So what?”

“It's where they fuck. Your wife and him. In a small apartment above the shop. My P.I. took the photos there.”

I took my place across from her, digging my nails into the fake leather of the armrests. "I don't buy it."

"Your wife missed your lunch today, didn’t she?"

“That’s none of your business.” But my heart froze. Maria canceled our lunch today, saying she had a meeting outside the city with a new client. She was supposed to show him a property for sale.

"I was the one who arranged their meeting today."

“You wanted them to meet? You're lying.”

Justine's eyebrows shot up. "How was it? Denying it won't make it untrue?"

The damn woman was playing therapist with me.

“I stole my husband's phone—I know the password—and I texted your wife, arranging a meeting at their usual place.”

“Your husband would’ve noticed his phone missing.”

“He didn’t. He boarded a plane without it. He’s still up there, unable to do anything until the plane lands.”

I glared at her.

“Your wife suspected nothing. She arrived at the place and read the note I left for her. I can fake my husband’s handwriting. I'm not even sure she's ever seen it.”

“Get to the point.”

“Sure. The note I left directed her to the freezer. It specifically instructed what she should wear. Or rather not wear.” She giggled. “Kinky to have sex in such a place. You should try it.”

“In a freezer?”

“You know, a large room with iron hooks hanging from the ceiling—"

“My wife would never agree to do anything in such a place.”

"That just proves how little you understand her. She jumped at the chance. Makes me wonder what's missing between you two."

“Stop playing with me.”

“Your wife left her bag and clothes outside the door. When she got in, I shut the door, locked it from outside, and set the temperature. Then I took the phone from her—”

“Set the temperature?” If only I could wrap my hands around her throat. "You mean you locked her naked inside a working freezer? She could be dead by now!”

"Oops."

Chapter 5

Was I looking at my wife's potential murderer? She brought Maria’s phone, so at least part of it was true. Damn it! I couldn’t call her, couldn't check if she was okay. If only I knew where she'd be at the moment.

I pulled out my cellphone and called our landline number. No answer. I tried once more, this time waiting much longer. The same result.

What if everything Justine said was true? What if her husband wanted to buy the butcher shop from Maria? She was a real estate agent, after all, even if she specialized in residential houses.

I looked up. Justine's gaze was fixed on me, her lips curved in a victorious smile.

A stabbing sensation in my chest forced me to bend forward. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

“Panic attack? I won’t be able to help you.”

That was the cold shower I needed. I raised my phone. “I’m calling the cops.”

“You’re sure you want them here? Your wife might not survive it. There’s just not enough time.”

“If you locked her naked in the freezer, she’s—”

"She's still alive. For now. Killing her wouldn't serve my purpose. I did my homework. I adjusted the temperature to ensure she had hours left before hypothermia set in. Assuming my calculations were correct because I had to guess a crucial variable. Do you happen to know her weight?"

She was lying. That couldn't be the truth. “The cops will find her.”

"What makes you think they'll figure out where to search?" She smirked. "My husband's in the air, unreachable. I will remain silent if they question me. I won't incriminate myself."

“They’ll check her records. They’ll find the address.” A choking sensation took hold of me, yet understanding it was a symptom of panic provided little relief.

“You assume Michael is buying the place from your wife. He’s not. It has nothing to do with your wife’s business.”

Michael… Of course. She said his name before. Perhaps I could find something on Maria's phone? I checked it again but couldn't find the messages Justine had mentioned. There were also no records of any calls to or from Michael, implying either Justine lied, or Maria had been cautious. She knew I could unlock her phone. She wouldn't risk leaving evidence of her affair.

Could Justine be telling the truth? I couldn’t read her at all.

I called our house’s landline again, but there was no answer. Then Maria's work—they didn't know where she was.

"Checking your wife's possible locations? In case I’m bluffing? That’s OK. Unlike your wife, I'm not pressed for time."

“Know what? You have no proof. You could've stolen her phone and arrange for her to be somewhere I can’t reach. The rest, you could’ve made it up.”

“And the photos?”

"They’re obviously fake. You can do whatever you want with AI nowadays."

Justine laughed. “I almost forgot. Check your email. The personal one.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’ve sent you something interesting.”

I checked my phone and noticed her email.

“Just don’t get too excited. It’s a fake account.”

Her email had three images attached. The first depicted a sizeable, closed metal door with a small window set in the middle. Was this the freezer Justine had mentioned?

The second picture was of Maria’s bag on a table, the red one I gave her on her birthday.

The third picture was grainy and dim. It displayed the interior of what looked like a freezer, as the hooks Justine had mentioned were visible. Near the far wall, a naked figure sat on the floor, hugging bare legs, head on knees. I couldn't make out the face, but the long, dark hair resembled Maria's. Alone, naked, in the freezing cold and the darkness. A wave of nausea washed over me. “This can’t be happening.”

“Sorry for the poor quality, but the window was dirty, and I switched off the lights inside to make it more cozy. I couldn’t take the photo with her looking at me. If she survives, I don’t want her to recognize me later.”

If she survives… “I know you.”

“Doesn’t matter. If your wife were to testify, she wouldn’t be able to point at me. She wouldn’t even know if it was a man or a woman who locked her inside.”

“Where is she? Tell me!”

“I will. When you give me what I want.”

Chapter 6

I barely registered Justine sitting in front of me—I could only see Maria in that cold, dark room.

Heat flushed through my tensed body, the veins and muscles bulging under my skin. “You want me to fuck you?”

She nodded. No smile on her lips anymore. She knew she got me. There was no escape.

"Do you think I'd be able to get it up? I'm too worried about my wife. And the fury I feel toward you will make me strangle you first."

“Fury, you say? Let’s talk about this.” She parodied my words. She had been toying with me all this time.

Something deflated inside me. The fury that fueled me up to this point had dissipated. I lost this battle. She had won.

"Can’t get it up? Let's test it out." She propped one leg on the armrest, causing her dress to hike up and expose her again.

I attempted to focus on her face, but it was pointless.

“Look at me.”

"No." I had one last chance. I could bluff, too. "I don't give a damn. Maria betrayed me. Why should I care?"

"Nice try. You think I'd believe you'd let your wife die?"

"You want me to believe you'd let your wife die?"

"If what you say is true… I don't care.”

She seemed lost in thoughts when she stood up. "I guess it's your call. Even better if the bitch dies." She took a couple of strides towards the door.

“Stop!”

She faced me with a sly grin.

"I’ll do it.”

She settled back into her armchair as if the previous events were insignificant. Casually, she spread her legs, revealing herself once more. "Do you like my pussy?" Her tone was guileless, as if discussing a beloved pet.

This time I looked. The pants in my crotch tightened at once. She was right. I could hate myself for this, but I didn’t stand a chance.

She must have noticed my reaction. “Now that we established you don’t need artificial help, you can fuck me.”

“Just like that?”

“Precisely.”

“I have no condoms in my office.”

“I’m on the pill.”

“I’m not worried about you.”

“Even if you worry about catching something, you have no choice.”

I thought of the picture she sent me. Maria was still in that freezer. Alone. Shivering. Yelling for help. If she still had the strength to yell.

“Fuck you!”

“Oh, you will.”

“You’re forcing me to have sex with you without my consent. It's not just blackmail. It's rape.”

“Rape?” Her eyes narrowed. “Good. Let it be rape. Now, to be consistent with that, we’ll do a little role-playing if you don’t mind. I’ll pretend I don’t want you to fuck me, and you’ll do it, anyway. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

Was it the only way? And to think that at the beginning of this session, I was sorry she was a patient. I imagined fucking her with pleasure. But that was the point, wasn’t it? She wanted me to hate it now.

“Come here and show me your dick.” It was a command, not a request.

I hesitated.

“Look at your wife in that freezer again if you lack motivation.”

Instead, I recalled the image where Maria fucked the other guy. Was it really true? Perhaps I should have my revenge.

No, that wasn't me. I wouldn't enjoy it. Even if she betrayed me.

I got up and stood in front of Justine.

She rested her head on her hand, as if watching a spectacle.

“What are you waiting for? Take off your pants and show me your dick.”

Clenching my teeth, I lowered my pants, then my shorts.

Justine flashed a smirk. “See? There's no need for Viagra.”

My dick betrayed me. Not for the first time.

With her gaze fixed on my groin, she shifted her head to examine it from various angles. "On second thoughts, your little guy could use a boost." She raised her legs, hooked them around the armrests and started touching herself, while watching me through half-closed eyes.

I swore when my dick hardened.

"Your little buddy understands what's best for him." Her lips curled into a grin. "Now, get on your knees, and lick me. I'll let you know when to quit. You can play with your dick if you want, but don't climax."

I dropped to my knees, and buried my face between her legs. I began to lick yet disregarded her additional instruction.

I would not enjoy it!

She seized my head, guiding it to her preference. Her hips swayed in tandem with my tongue's rhythm, her moans amplifying. Finally, she climaxed, panting heavily and scratching my scalp with her nails.

When she let go of my head, letting me rise to my feet, I wiped my lips with the back of my hand and pulled up my shorts and pants. I doubted she would let me keep them on for long.

She leaned back, her smooth legs crossing with deliberate grace. A predatory smile crept onto her face.

"Mmm… not bad. But the real fun starts now. I want you to be… rough."

PART 1 | PART 2 (current) | PART 3 (next)

Content warning: The following story is for adult readers only.

Prologue

Ever had that gut feeling, that inner voice warning you against something? It's intuition. I've relied on this inner voice ever since I became a psychotherapist. It never failed me.

It was I who failed.

The moment Justine Faux stepped into my office, my professional composure evaporated and my inner voice shrieked. Why didn't I heed its frantic warning?

Am I being overly dramatic? Perhaps. I could label my reaction an acute case of countertransference. Yet, within the first sixty seconds of the session? Wasn't I past the age of reacting so strongly to an attractive woman? Too seasoned to be swayed by a client?

Why did I hush my inner voice, ignoring its desperate screams?

And there was… more. Something familiar about the woman, stirring up emotions I thought I'd forgotten.

Chapter 1

Justine Faux was my last patient this evening. My favorite time of the day, when the last glimmer of sunset streamed through the windows of my office, bathing everything in a golden hue, making me feel tranquil—irrespectively of the problems my patient could face.

Justine's red hair fit the view—glowing like a raging inferno. I could almost feel the heat. Unless it was because of her dress, which turned sheer above the waist.

Normally, I paid little attention to what a patient wore, unless it uncovered an essential detail about them. This time the detail was something else—she wore no bra.

Was it a new style—the transparency a modern substitute for exposing one's soul? Or was she trying to get my attention? But why? I needed more information.

“Doctor Ross?” Justine's voice snapped me back to reality. She shifted in her seat, a playful smirk appearing at the corner of her lips.

“Yes?”

"Have you finished?"

“Finished?”

Her eyebrows curved in a teasing arc. "Finished gawking at me?"

Was I that obvious? I swallowed my saliva before it had a chance to choke me—as if I were sitting in a dentist's chair, bracing for the inevitable drill. "You're saying I'm gawking at you." I kept a controlled, gentle voice, attempting to retain a bit of professionalism. “Is it important to you that I am?”

It might be a stereotype, but answering a question with another question was a therapeutic device, though sometimes used for my benefit.

Justine cocked her head. “Doctor Ross, I might be underdressed, but I'm not blind. I can see you're… checking me out.”

Underdressed? Did she mean how she was dressed under? Referring to her missing bra? Or had I misconstrued the meaning of a straightforward word? My mind raced, over-analyzing the concept. What was going on with me? Too much work? Too many life stories stuffed in my head?

I snorted—inwardly. I had an entire arsenal of snorts, chuckles, and sighs—all inside my head. I could even roll my eyes without my patient ever noticing. It's easy to believe every psychotherapist has this detached indifference, allowing them to objectively analyze each patient. What a load of crap. It looked that way on the outside only because we didn't show our reactions—unless they had therapeutic value, of course.

"Do you like my dress?" Was it a tease? She was well aware of the impact her dress had on me.

“You made an effort to look… presentable.” I cringed at the euphemistic word. “But maybe it’s not about the dress. Maybe you were concerned… with something else?”

Her mouth quivered, barely holding back a smirk. "Perhaps this outfit wasn't my best choice." She painted an innocent look on her face. "But I'm off to a party later, and I didn't want to rush home to change."

Plausible, but I didn’t buy it. She also sidestepped my question. “You're going to a party after our meeting?”

“I am. And I love this dress. It's comfortable. Unlike my heels.” She glanced down at her shoes and… kicked them off, revealing her crimson-polished toes.

"So…" I took a moment before looking up. “What brings you here?”

Her tongue traced her upper lip, the same color as her toenails. Exactly the same shade. Did they come in a set?

"It's Michael, my husband." Clenching her lips, her eyes grew cold, as if just the mention of his name caused her distress.

"He's... having an affair."

Chapter 2

It was rejection, after all—unless I misinterpreted the significance of her husband's affair.

I locked my gaze with hers, struggling to resist the temptation to inspect her body again, and asked one of my favorite questions: “How do you feel about it?”

“How do you think I feel?” She knew the questioning game.

“You tell me.” These gleaming eyes, full of emotions. Was it annoyance? Or something else?

I quivered. The emotions were all that mattered.

I used to fancy myself some kind of psychological detective, unraveling the tangled webs of my patients' minds. Now, their predictability bore me to tears. But their emotions? Those raw, messy, chaotic eruptions of feeling? Those were my lifeblood. My emotional sustenance. My fix.

“Do you think I'm beautiful?” Justine fluttered her eyelashes, and pressed her palms together, mimicking a prayer. “But please, no evasive answers this time.”

So, it was alright for her to dodge my questions, but I couldn't evade hers? I ignored her request.

She pursed her lips and glared at me. “All I'm asking for is a simple yes or no.”

“Did your husband's affair make you doubt your attractiveness?”

“Here we go again… Another question.”

This time I was determined to wait her out.

After a minute, she heaved a painful sigh. “I just can't fathom that Michael would do such a thing.”

“Denying it won't make it untrue.”

“You think I don't know that?” A storm of emotions raged in her eyes for a split second before she blinked it away, her features smoothing into a mask of calm.

“What did you feel when you discovered what he had done?”

She gave a noncommittal shrug. “Fury… Disappointment… Pain… Wouldn’t you feel the same?”

“Fury, you say… Let’s talk about that.”

Leaning down, she scrunched her toes, then relaxed them with an audible exhale. Was she aware that her dress had parted in the front, revealing her cleavage?

I admired her shapely breasts for a moment, the dark nipples no longer straining against the thin fabric. Was she teasing me? Or was it me—acting like a man? “Perhaps it’s not only your feet that hurt?”

Her head jerked up, a twisted expression flashing across her face. It vanished an instant later. She fixed her gaze back on her feet. “That's not helping.” She sat up, propped her right foot on her left knee, and began rubbing her sole with both hands. “Much better.” The motion caused her dress's hem to rise, giving me a clear view between her legs. Her bra wasn't the only thing she forgot to wear. Here, her neatly trimmed hair was also… red. A fitting color for her fury.

I looked away, conscious of the fact that I shouldn't be staring at her, especially not now when, I was certain, she wanted me to. How many times during this session would I have to tear my eyes away? I have to admit—I was… relishing the view. I accepted these guilty pleasures as a part of me.

Poor Justine, to be rejected like this. Her fury… was it at her husband, herself, or perhaps… me? She might have chosen me as her therapist, knowing her provocative behavior would force me to reject her advances, giving her an excuse to direct her fury at me. Not the first time I served as a transference object.

“What do you expect from our meeting?” I feigned ignorance of her body, keeping my gaze strictly on her face.

Her eyes narrowed into slits, before she schooled her features into a glacial calm. “I expect nothing.” She brought her foot back to the floor and tugged the hem of her dress over her legs. “I need to stretch my legs.” She pushed herself to her feet before I could respond.

She strolled through my office, examining the books on the shelves, checking my diplomas on the wall. The thick carpet muffled the sound of her bare feet. Her dress featured a low-cut back, exposing the top curves of her buttocks.

Admitting her today had been a mistake. I should've told her to come back, after I have introduced a dress code for my patients.

“How about you, Dr. Ross? Why don’t you join me here? I bet you get… stiff… from sitting in one spot the whole day?”

Stiff? Her wording wasn't a coincidence. I was getting stiff, though not in the area I'd want her to notice. Join her? I shifted in my chair. Uncomfortable, I could bear. Awkward was another matter. “Do you think your husband's rejection makes you feel lonely? Is that why you're asking me to join you?”

She leveled an enigmatic gaze at me, then drifted to the terrace window. Placing her palms against the glass, she peered outside. The amber sunlight shone through her sheer dress, delineating every curve of her figure. Her toned legs subtly spread, stretched the translucent fabric between her thighs, letting the sun's radiant glow to outline her swollen labia.

“Do you cheat on your wife?”

Caught off guard, I flinched, and she noticed my fixated gaze.

“I see,” she said. “Why am I not surprised?”

Damn it. She played me. Even if I did indulge in a few discreet flings, I was careful, so it was… inconsequential.

Justine floated past me, leaving a trail of intoxicating scent behind. At my wall of fame, she traced her fingers along the border of one specific certificate.

I envisioned her fingers over my chest.

“Men fall into two categories.” With a sly grin, she faced me. “Those who've strayed, and those who haven't done so yet.”

“Did you formulate this theory before or after you discovered your husband’s betrayal?”

“Oh, the idea isn't mine. But I’ve always believed that.”

“Then you should've seen it coming.”

She glanced at my diplomas once more. “You have so many. You must be fantastic. Lots of experience with cases like mine?”

She resumed her seat in the armchair, adopting a more modest stance: knees together, the hem of the dress smoothed down. “I may be young, but I'm experienced, too.”  She batted her long eyelashes.

I had a pretty good idea of what she meant.

“The things I can… do.” She pierced me with her gaze. “You couldn't even begin to imagine.”

The problem was, I had a vivid imagination.

Chapter 3

Why did she have to be my patient? Why wasn't she just a woman I met?

"I'm attractive, intelligent, and my skills extend beyond that of a regular wife. But still… he fucks that bitch."

If that was where she was going, I could work with it. “If you think you did everything you could, why does it sound as if you doubt it?”

She hugged herself, avoiding eye contact, and took a deep breath, possibly striving to get a grip on her emotions. In just a moment, she appeared composed. Yet, her eyes gleamed when she turned to face me.

I must've hit a jackpot.

“He doesn’t love me anymore.” Her voice was barely audible. She looked so vulnerable. If I could just get up and hold her. But, being her therapist, I could only imagine that.

“Do you think he loves her?”

“I don’t know your husband. And I sure don’t know what he feels about other women.”

She flinched. “You think there’s more than one?”

“That was only my way of saying I don’t know your husband’s feelings,” I corrected myself.

“But you could tell, couldn’t you?”

“Tell what exactly?”

“You must be proficient in recognizing all those… non-verbal tells and signs.”

“Why are you asking that?”

“Would you recognize true love?”

“By looking at the people involved?”

“Yes.”

"It’s not that easy, I'm afraid."

She reached for her handbag and pulled out a bunch of photos. She passed one of them to me.

A man’s head filled the entire frame. The guy’s face looked like a model in a shaving cream ad. “Who's this?”

“My husband.”

That was her husband? Wow.

"Can you recognize… love on his face?"

I stifled a snort. "It doesn't work that way."

“Just… tell me what you see.”

I took my time studying the guy's face. "Who's he looking at?"

“That bitch. Do you think he loves her?”

"Perhaps he's the one who should answer this question."

Her nostrils flared. “You’re doing this again.”

“Doing what?”

“Turning everything around.”

“And you don’t like it?”

“You won’t give me a straight answer.”

“What if there aren’t straight answers?”

“See? Even now. You’re not helping me.”

“Perhaps I’m not giving you the help you want, but the one you need.”

“How do you know what I need?”

“Then what do you need?”

“Her.” Her eyes grew cold and hard. “Dead.”

That gave me pause. Was it a genuine threat? Was the other woman in danger? Or had Justine only vented her feelings about her competitor?

“Why do you want her dead?”

“Isn't it obvious? She stole my husband.”

"And she's the one to blame?"

She pursed her lips. "Michael, too."

“I see.”

Her features contorted, eyes narrowing. "You think it's my fault."

I chose not to comment, giving her time to think.

She fiddled with her dress, lifting it so high I could see everything below her waist. But this time, it didn't feel intentional. “You’re right,” she said after a pause. “I am mad at myself. I should’ve done something. I should’ve talked to her before it went too far.”

“Talked to her?”

“I meant my husband. I should’ve talked to him.”

"You said ‘her’."

"It was a slip."

"A slip?"

She gave a nervous laugh. "I know. You’ll call it a Freudian slip. Right?"

What wasn't she telling me?

“I have to do something before I lose my mind. I could leave him… Move on." Her gaze dropped, fingers toying with her dress, hiking it up again. "Or… I could show him I refuse to be one of his playthings. That I know this game.”

"What do you mean?"

“I want revenge.” She leaned back, her legs drifting apart in a blatant invitation. “You think I don't know how you feel about me? I can sense your gaze. Analyzing… Probing me… Caressing my body. You're struggling to keep from looking at me. You could… help me have my revenge.”

Could she be more explicit than that? Her choice of dress was obvious now. If only that happened outside my office… “I think we should discuss—.”

“I don’t want to talk. I want to do to him what he did to me. And you’re going to help me with that.”

“Really?”

"I'm not blind. Stop pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about."

“I’m confused. You could’ve picked any man if you believed that was the way to deal with your problem. Yet, you’re asking me? You should know it’s not allowed. I think you knew I would disagree. I think you wanted to be rejected again.”

"You're good. I mean it. But before you say no—"

"I am saying no."

She held out the rest of the photos. "Take a look at these."

"It won’t change anything."

“Humor me.”

I grabbed the photos and started flipping through them. The first one revealed a man engaged in oral sex with a woman. Their positions made it impossible to see their faces, but I assumed the man was Justine's husband. "Why are you showing me this?"

"You'll figure it out soon enough." She motioned for me to proceed.

A subsequent photo revealed the same woman, sitting astride a man lying on the bed, evidently having sex.

In the third snapshot, their roles were reversed: the woman orally pleasuring the man. I cocked my head, trying to see better. Did she take it all in?

I put the pictures away. How foolish of me to have given in. She wanted me aroused—that was clear. "Did you take these photos yourself?"

She shook her head. “My P.I. did.”

“You hired a private investigator to follow your husband?”

"Wouldn’t you, in my place?"

"I still see no reason you showed them to me."

“That's because you haven't finished with them yet.”

"There’s no point. If you think you'll change my mind about—"

"Just a few left. Please…"

"Fine." I grabbed the photos again. Still the same scenario of the woman straddling the man. Only now, she was facing the….

“Anyone you know?”

PART 2 (next)

The entire novel is written in first-person past tense from the perspectives of multiple point-of-view (POV) characters. However, I have chosen to write a few chapters from the perspectives of secondary characters in the third person. This stylistic choice was made to present important events as seen by onlookers.

The events depicted in the following excerpt take place near the end of the first book. I do not always write in chronological order.

Dr. Violet Corby, the chief anesthesiologist of St. David’s Medical Center, Austin, Texas, was alone in the operating theater. Or, to be exact, she was the only person alive in the room. Her colleagues and the nurses had left a couple of minutes ago, leaving her with the thirteen-year-old girl who had died during the heart surgery. Soon someone would come to collect the body to prepare it for the family.

Dr. Corby reached for the sheet that covered the dead girl. She pulled it down just enough to see the girl’s face. She knew her name, of course. Lidia. As she looked at Lidia’s pale face, a pang of sadness and regret filled her heart. The girl on the table was so young. Her braided hair lay in neat coils against her shoulders, framing her face like delicate strands of jewelry. Her lips were parted slightly, the faintest hint of a smile lingering on them. They seemed to shimmer in the now dimmed surgical light. She was so beautiful. So innocent. And now—so dead.

Dr. Corby wouldn’t admit it to anybody, that she cherished this moment when the only sound in the room was the flat line of the life-support monitor. They turned it off when Dr. Olson declared the patient dead, but she switched it on again when everyone left. It was comforting to her. Even if it shouldn’t have been. After all, the sound meant someone was dying or was already dead. It should’ve been terrifying, especially for the anesthesiologist responsible for the patient’s well-being. And it had been that. Until it was too late to do anything. Then the sound became something else: the fanfare accompanying the soul on her way to the afterlife, the homing beacon that let the soul reach eternity.

If souls existed, that is. She wasn’t sure about that. She wished they did. But then, what about Heaven? Hell? Purgatory? Where would the soul go after leaving the body? Another body? One that hadn’t been born yet?

As a doctor, she was a scientist, trained to rely exclusively on the empirical. Yet she couldn’t banish the image of a soul drifting into the vast unknown, the mournful sound of life monitor slowly fading into silence.

She had seen too many deaths—fewer than recoveries, but still enough to make her weary of her work. The ones that tormented her most were those of children.

She thought of her kids: Diana, still in kindergarten, playing doctor with her dolls; Patrick, trying his first steps in Little League, always cheered on by his loving father.

What if it were one of them on this table, eyes shut, apparently asleep, but never to wake up again?

Impossible. She pulled the sheet over the girl quickly. Her children would live forever, never to hurt or die. Even though a lie, it was still comforting.

She turned away from the table and reached to the monitor to turn off the no-longer-comforting sound that predicted a horrible future. But before she touched the switch, the sound changed. The continuous beep turned into a series of regular ones.

Beep... beep... beep... beep...

It had to be malfunctioning.

She turned to the girl and removed the sheet, pulling it down to her navel this time. The cut across the girl’s chest was neat—doctor Olson had a good hand. Yet something was wrong with it.

“What the hell?” Dr. Corby closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to banish the strange sight. The skin couldn’t seal itself together as if it had never been split. She’d been overworked and should've gone home hours ago.

But when she glanced at the girl again, not only was the cut gone, but her chest moved rhythmically up and down.

The doctor staggered away from the now-breathing girl. “My God, that’s impossible,” she whispered as if fearing to wake up the girl.

Before she could convince herself it was a nightmare, and she probably had fallen asleep exhausted as she was, the mouth of the girl moved, and her eyes snapped open.

“Where the hell am I?” The girl’s voice sounded different, as if more mature.

The girl pushed herself onto an elbow and looked around. “What is this place?” She moved her legs over the edge of the table and jumped to the floor, the sheet sliding off her naked body. “Operating theater? Did I have an accident?” The girl's eyes scanned the surroundings, finally focusing on Dr. Corby. “Who are you?”

The doctor froze. The no-longer-dead girl was talking to her! As if it wasn’t enough for her to be alive. Dr. Corby looked around in search of something sharp, like a scalpel. In this situation, she’d rather be armed.

“You speak English, don’t you?” the girl asked again. “Or am I in some fucking third world country, where—”

“You’re in Texas, USA. And… I’m a doctor. I took part in your surgery.” She barely uttered the words, her lips strangely unwilling to part.

“Fucked it up, haven't you? Or I wouldn’t be dead.”

“I’m just an anesthesiologist.”

“And that justifies your failure? Not that I mind. Entering a dead body is so much easier than a live one.”

“We tried to save you.” Dr. Corby rushed with explanation, just in case the no-longer-dead girl would want revenge. Then the full meaning of what the girl had said got to her. “Entering a…. Are you a demon or something? Animating this corpse?”

“A demon? Are you insane?" The girl padded closer on her bare feet, and being shorter than Dr. Corby, looked up. Her large green eyes grew wide. "At least you didn’t call me a zombie. And why are you so fucking tall? You a genetic aberration or something? Or is it me?” She examined her small hands. “Damn it. How old am I?”

“You’re thirteen.”

“A child? Bollocks!" The girl hung her head, peering down. "Where's my… Fuck me! I'm female? Again?"

"You're a beautiful girl."

"Are you kidding me? Menstruations, PMS, mood swings… What a shitty life ahead of me.”

“It isn’t so bad,” Dr. Corby said. “There are certain compensations.”

“Like what?”

“Um…” 

“That’s what I thought. Nobody in his right mind wants to be a woman.”

“That’s pretty biased and sexist. You shouldn’t be—”

“Give me a break. I’m a man, for goodness’ sake. At least I have been in most of my lives."

“So you’re not… Lidia?” She asked just to make sure.

“Lidia?” The girl frowned. “Is that the girl’s name? Wait. There aren’t parents waiting outside to take the body, are they?”

“Actually—”

“Damn it. I have to run.” The girl’s eyes scanned the doctor from top to bottom. “Strip.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Take your damn clothes off.”

“My scrubs?”

“I can’t walk out of here naked.”

“I’m not your size.”

“It’ll have to do for now.” The girl glared at the doctor. “What are you waiting for?”

Dr. Corby backed away. “I can’t give you my clothes.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” She tried to find a good reason—there had to be one. But she came up with nothing. So, she changed the subject. “How are you alive, anyway? Your heart shouldn’t work at all.”

“Magic.” The girl put out a mysterious expression.

"Magic?"

“Kidding. I’ve regenerated the heart. Easy-peasy. Though for you, it probably looked like magic.”

“Regenerated the heart? That’s impossible.”

“It’s so frustrating to deal with people like you. How stupid can you be not to believe in something you’ve just seen with your own eyes? And take off your clothes, for fuck’s sake. It’s cold.”

“How old are you, really?” 

The girl snorted. Then she moved closer, raised her head, and looked deep into the doctor’s eyes.

The being that looked through the girl’s eyes seemed ancient. Not a little girl. Not even a grown-up. Dr. Corby’s grandmother, who died a couple of years ago. felt similar when she looked into her eyes. The feeling of boredom and knowledge, as if she had seen it all.

“Who are you?” the doctor whispered, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer.

“Let’s just say, we’re not even from the same millennium. So, lose your goddamnit clothes, or I’ll make you.”

Her hands shaking, dr. Corby started to undress. She’d give the alien what it wanted, then go back to Diana and Patrick, cuddle them to her chest, and pray it was a bad dream. If the thing that presided in the no-longer-dead girl would ever let her go. “Are you going to kill me?” The words escaped her before she thought them over. Now, she had just given it a suggestion!

“Kill you? Whatever for? You’re cooperating.”

Dr. Corby exhaled, her body deflating like a pricked balloon. There was a chance she could get away.

The girl pulled on the pants which were obviously too long for her, but the top mostly fit. If she did something about the pants legs, she’d probably make it out from the hospital undisturbed.

“Besides…” The girl checked if the ID badge is still attached to her chest pocket. “You’re a doctor. You’re useful. Who knows, maybe you’ll save one of my children one day.”

“You have children? But… if they anything like you, they wouldn’t need a doctor. They would regenerate.”

“Finally, you started using your brain. You assume it’s genetic. Well, it helps I’m the father. But they’re not like me yet.” The girl added the final touches to her clothes. “Not immortal. But they can be trained. If they live long enough.”

“You’re immortal? But then—”

“You already know too much. I’ll have to wipe your memory before I leave.”

"My memory?" The doctor backed away, shivering in the underwear the girl      had graciously let her keep.

“It won’t hurt. And it will affect only the last thirty minutes. Or so one would hope. Speaking of which…” The girl took a deep breath and stood still. “Shut up now. I forgot to check what options I have. I need to concentrate.”

“But my memory…”

The girl hushed the doctor by raising her hand, then an expression of deep concentration filled her face.

At once, all the little hairs on the doctor’s body stood up, as if an electric current flew through her. She stepped back from the girl until she was flat against the wall. The temperature dropped in the room. Her breath created clouds of white vapor as she exhaled. The lights on all electronic equipment blinked off, followed by the overhead light in the room, which flickered once and died.

Despite the sudden darkness, the little girl was clearly visible. Her face and hands glowed with a faint light, as if she were painted with a fluorescent dye.

“It works!” The girl grinned. “The bastards thought if they cut me off, I wouldn’t be able to do anything. Amateurs.”

A barely visible ring formed in front of her, shining with a reddish light, about five feet in diameter. Then the ring solidified, and everything grew still and silent. It hung there, a foot above the floor, its reddish light giving everything in the room an eerie glow. A membrane-like substance filled the ring inside. It shivered slightly, as if breathing in and out.

The girl examined the glowing circle and nodded with apparent satisfaction. “Kind of small, but so am I. Looks like I won’t have to go through the hospital after all.” She looked at the doctor and frowned. “Are you OK? You look pale. I didn’t use you as a battery, did I?”

The doctor didn’t reply.

“You know… the life force. Well, you wouldn’t know, of course. Still, I need to save energy, so your memory correction will have to wait.”

A sigh of relief escaped the doctor's lips. She had no idea how the memory thing would’ve been performed, but she didn’t want anyone to tinker with her brain. She was very fond of it and rather proud of her reasoning abilities. She didn’t want to lose them. “Thank you,” she whispered.

The girl only yawned. She detached the ID badge from her blouse, glanced at the name, silently mouthing the words, then tossed it to the doctor. “I don’t need it anymore. I have my escape route now.”

The doctor caught the badge, then she gestured to the glowing circle. “What is this… thing?”

“An interdimensional gateway. Nothing too fancy.” The girl pursed her lips. “So, dr. Violet Corby. I bet even if I don’t wipe your memory, you won’t remember anything that has happened here, right? If anyone would ask?”

“I’ve forgotten already.”

“That's what I thought. After all, you don’t want to spend the rest of your days entertaining patients in a secure ward of this hospital. As one of them, that is.”

The doctor could see it, too. She’d have to come up with some explanation quickly before they found her here, almost naked, with the dead girl’s body missing. Perhaps some terrorists who collected bodies of young girls and had a fetish for women’s clothes? Anything but the truth would be more believable.

“Goodbye, Dr. Corby. Have an enjoyable life. As short as it may be, anyway.”

The girl cast a final look at the room, gave the doctor a reassuring smile, then stepped inside the glowing ring, disappearing behind the membrane. The membrane solidified, and the entire ring vanished.

Doctor Corby stood unmoving in the complete darkness. What did the girl mean by ‘as short as it may be’ while talking about her life? Did she know something about her incoming death? Or was it just relative to the girl’s immortality? 

The door to the room opened, the light from outside illuminating part of the room. Someone’s head peered inside.

Dr. Corby grabbed the abandoned sheet from the floor and wrapped it around herself, forming a nice-looking robe. If she was going to die soon, she needed at least a little dignity.

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part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 (current)

Chapter 7

Alice asks me to stop after a while. When I get up, she hauls herself higher on the sink, then wraps her legs behind my back, pulling me closer. She breathes heavily, as if she had the best time of her life. “That was… out of this world.”

“I’m flattered that you consider me an alien.”

“Better than I imagined it.”

“I am that good.”

She puts her hands on either side of my head. “Kiss me on my lips now.”

I lean in… then stop. I raise my finger. “Wait.” I unwrap her legs from my back and step away.

Her face takes on a curious expression.

“How about my first kiss?”

She furrows her brow. “You, too, have a dream about your first kiss?”

“Just popped into my head.”

“I guess you want… the same thing?”

“Now you have a Voldemort in your vocabulary.”

She chuckles. “Do you want a blow job as your first kiss?”

“Why not?”

I detect only a slight hesitation before she jumps down from the sink. “I can do that. Any specific instructions you want to give me before I begin?”

“Yes.” I pretend to consider her question. “You can start as I did. Gently at first.”

“Of course.”

"Then I want it to differ from your instructions."

“Meaning?”

“I definitely want you to use your tongue.”

“Can do.”

“And I do want you to suck. But not like a virgin. Like a pro.”

She makes an exaggerated grin. “Your revenge?”

“Revenge? I wouldn’t call it revenge. Just… balance.”

“Very well.” She kneels, positioning herself in front of my shorts. “Want me to pull them down, or you’ll take them off yourself?”

“You do it, but slowly, very slowly. I want it to last.”

She gives a tight laugh. “Sure.” She grabs my shorts and starts dragging them down.

“Stop it.”

“Am I doing it wrong?” She looks up. “You want it faster or slower? Maybe I should kiss it through your shorts first?”

I grab her hands and pull her up. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you asked me to.”

“Why did you agree?”

“Balance. And I promised you I would do anything you wanted if you fulfilled my dream. You did it perfectly. I will never forget that kiss in my life.”

“I don’t want it this way.”

“What way? I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

“I was.” I hold her gaze. “When I kissed your… clit.”

She giggles. “You developed a taste for the word ‘clit.’”

“I developed a taste for your clit.”

“What if I want the same?” She glides her hand over my exposed chest, the soft contact causing a pleasant tickle. “Let me do this for you. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“You’re forgetting about the balance thing.”

“We can balance it out later.”

“I must admit…” She bites her lip. “I’ve never given a blow job on a first date.”

“You don’t have to do it at all. I mean… not today.”

Her eyes shine. “What if I want to? I want you inside my mouth. I want to taste you with my tongue. I want—” 

I press my lips to hers and put my tongue gently between her lips.

We play with our tongues for a while.

I pull away. “Here. You tasted me. How did it feel?”

“I think I tasted… myself.”

“Well…”

“I loved it. Kiss me again.”

We spend several minutes kissing, letting ourselves explore one another. I hold her closer to my chest, feeling her nipples hard on my bare skin.

She slips her hands under my shorts, caressing my buttocks, slowly pulling the shorts down.

“Wait…” I touch her hand.

“Stop me again, and I’ll think you do have an abnormally small dick.”

I sigh. “Pull them off and see.”

She frowns, then pulls down my shorts, causing my dick to jump out. She traces her finger along its stiff shaft. “Hmm… It’s not that small. I’d say it’s exactly the size I like.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Now I want you to hear me out.”

With a disappointed sigh, she lets go of my penis and looks up.

“I want you to stay with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere. In case you didn’t notice—”

“I want you to stay after the door opens.”

“We’ll have to go home when the party’s over.”

“This is my home. Well, my parents’…” 

Her mouth spreads into a wide smile. “I knew that.”

“How?”

“Your name is inside the book.”

“Hansel?”

She jabs me in the chest. “Leo. And finding me up here in this bathroom would be quite a coincidence. It’s private, remember?”

“Well, it’s my bathroom when I stay here.”

“And it’s your book.”

“I like to read when I sit on the toilet.”

“That’s not a crime.”

“Will you stay then?”

“Am I not too crazy for you?”

“You’re the crazy I want.”

"Let me think…" She rests her forehead on mine and closes her eyes. For a moment, we share the same air, inhaling and exhaling as one. "Okay. I’ll stay. But first we have to get out of this damn—"

With a loud click, the door opens.

Chapter 8

“What?” I yank my boxers up and move to the door. I check the hall, but nobody’s there. Then I examine the lock. It looks normal.

When I return to the bathroom, Alice is wrapped in her towel again. “You found someone?”

“No. I don’t get it. The door opened on its own. And I can’t hear any music from downstairs. The party must have wound down.” I glance at the window. “It’s getting brighter outside.”

“Good.” She pulls her destroyed dress off the shower curtain. “I’m hungry, and I don't want to be seen in this towel.”

“You’re supposed not to care. You run naked on a beach full of people.”

“That’s different.”

“You look great in the towel. Though I prefer you without it. I think I could get used to this nudist life.”

“Naturist.”

“Right.”

We reach the ground floor to find nobody there. There’s the usual after-party mess, but it’s not that bad.

I check the kitchen. “There’s some sushi left in the fridge, or I can make you a sandwich.”

“Whatever. I have to find my jacket. I wonder if that friend of mine ever called me.”

I put my phone on a wireless charger and switch it on. The moment I enter my pin, I’m attacked by a weird fanfare. A window pops up with a giant ‘Congratulations!’. A loud female voice speaks automatically.

“Welcome back to Finding Love Naturally—our AI matching service helping you find a perfect partner in our busy times. We are happy to congratulate you on finding your true love. We hope you will have a wonderful time together. Your contract has been concluded."

A receipt pops up on the display. I cringe at the price.

"We will contact you shortly to arrange for our techs to come to your house to remove the remote lock and other equipment we used to fulfill the contract. Please note, you are eligible for our special 50% discount on our sister program, Breaking Up Naturally, should you wish to use these services in the future. We wish you a happy relationship."

Another loud sound and the window blinks out.

A sudden move behind me makes me look back.

Alice stares at me with a strange expression on her face.

"I can explain." I walk closer. "The service... I subscribed a long time ago while still in England. I didn't realize it would work here."

“So the locked bathroom door…”

"I didn’t lock it. You heard them—they did it without my consent.”

"You gave your consent when you signed the contract."

"I didn't agree to all that. They must've broken the window, too. They should've informed me what they were going to do—"

"Oh, shut up. Why do you think they call themselves Finding Love Naturally? It has to appear perfectly natural, with no one's intervention."

I stare at her, realization mounting. "You seem to know quite a lot about this company."

"Of course I know about this company." She unlocks her phone and holds it up for me. After the familiar fanfare, the congratulations on finding her true love follow. I frown when I see the price—they charged her much more than they did me.

She puts her phone away. “They wouldn’t arrange for us to meet if I didn’t sign the contract with them. Now I doubt my friend sent me that text message. They must have lured me here to meet you.”

"The locked door, the window, even my phone's battery... I bet they disconnected the charger. It was all them. What about the shower? Did they—"

"No." She shifts on her feet. "The shower was me."

"Uh?"

"I know it was stupid, but I thought soaking myself in cold water would be a good way to… break the ice."

"You stepped under icy water to break the ice?"

"I didn't know what else to do."

I force myself not to laugh. "So, you did it to manipulate me? And here I thought you were just crazy."

"People manipulate one another all the time. That's not always bad, depending on their intentions. You're not angry, are you?"

"How much of what happened today was your plan?"

"Only the shower. I didn't know the company arranged my visit, but I hoped they did. I liked you the moment you entered the bathroom."

"I see."

"And…" She bites her lip. "I knew you lived here, in this house. I saw your photos in one of the rooms upstairs."

"So it wasn't only my name in the book? You searched my house without permission and pretended you didn't know who I was?"

"I wanted to know who I was dealing with. I didn't go through your things or steal anything."

"Except for the book?"

"I didn't steal it. It was already here, in the bathroom."

I keep a straight face, trying to look serious. But it's getting hard. “You know, you appear to be this careless, crazy girl, then it turns out it’s all premeditated.”

“Premeditated. It sounds as if I committed a crime.” She touches my hand. "Are you mad at me? Regretting our meeting already?"

I pretend to consider her question. When I don't answer after a few seconds, she nods, and removes her hand from mine, slowly turning away.

"Alice?"

She looks at me.

"I haven’t changed my mind."

"About what?"

"That I want you to stay."

“You… sure?”

“I am. I want us to try. If—”

"Good. After all, it was the best first kiss of my life."

A quiet warmth spreads through me as I lift my hands to hold her face. I move to kiss her... "Wait. Why did they charge you more than me? Is the service more expensive for women?"

“What? No, I don't think so. That must be the warranty.”

"I saw nothing like that in my contract."

"Because I paid extra for that. I might act crazy or careless, but I like being prepared. I'm a plotter, after all."

"Who?"

"It's a writer thing. Tell you later."

"So this warranty… What is it?"

"Oh… If we split up within the next three months, they’ll give me 50% off their next match."

"What?"

"So, if you're planning to fuck this up…" Her hand drifts up to tousle my hair. "Be a good boy… do it while I'm still covered by the warranty."

THE END

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part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (current)

Chapter 5

I look at her in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve seen me naked. Now I want to see you naked. Balance, remember?”

I freeze. She got me. She’ll consider me a coward if I don’t do it now. Or worse—that I do have a small dick. I make a last desperate attempt to wriggle free of her task. “It’s not fair.”

“Not fair? How?”

“Because you’re a nudist.”

“Naturist.”

“You're accustomed to being nude in front of strangers. You said it yourself. I’m not.”

“Do you still consider me a stranger? After what we have shared?”

“I don’t even know your name."

“Oh… It’s Alice, like in Alice in Wonderland. Yours?”

“Hansel. Like in Hansel and Gretel.”

“It’s not!” She laughs. “You can’t be Hansel. Nobody sane would name their kid Hansel. Not here, anyway.”

“You’d be surprised how people name their kids.”

“Not Hansel. No way. Tell me your true name.”

“All right. It’s Leo. I couldn’t come up with a tale name.”

“Really? How about Leo from The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe?”

“I forgot about that one. But the name’s not in the title.”

“It doesn’t have to be. So, since we know each other now…”

“You’re persistent.”

“That, I am.”

“You know you’re not supposed to use the game to force someone to do what they’re uncomfortable doing?”

“Since when? I thought that was the game’s goal, actually.”

“Fine.” I slowly take off my t-shirt.

Her eyes grow wide. “Nice abs. You work out?”

“I race.”

“Race?”

“In a punt.”

“In what?”

“It’s a flat-bottomed boat, like a gondola, but narrower. We use long poles to push off the riverbed.”

“Interesting. Do you win?”

“Always.”

She smiles. “Now I see a different side of you. You stopped being so uptight.”

“I’m not uptight.”

“Like a typical Brit. They spoiled you there.”

“They didn’t.”

“Now, your pants. Or… trousers, that’s the word. Go on. And If you want more ‘balance’…" She reaches for her towel. "I can remove this."

“That’s unnecessary.” I remember what The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy said on the front page: Don’t panic. But it’s too late. The image of her naked body flashes in my mind, and my pants automatically fill out. “Can I ask you a question?”

“As long as you continue taking off your clothes.”

I reach for my socks. “On a nude beach… How do men… What do they do when they’re…”

“Aroused?”

“Right.”

“Nothing. It doesn’t happen that often, but even if it does, nobody cares. It’s natural. And you can always jump into the water. Why?” Her gaze focuses on my fly. “Oh… I see.”

“Do I have to?” I move my hands in front of my pants. 

“No, but if you don’t, you’ll forfeit the game. And, to keep the balance, I’ll make sure you’ll never see me naked again.”

Do I want to see her naked again? Hmm… I unzip my fly and take my pants off.

“Interesting…”

“What’s interesting?” Heat gathers in my face again.

The cheeky smile on her face tells me that despite the boxer shorts I’m wearing, she can clearly see how my body reacts to hers. “You didn’t lie.”

“About what?”

“Your dick. It’s not… small.”

“Can you stop commenting on how I look, please? It’s humiliating.”

“Guys do it all the time. But you’re… different.”

"Am I?"

“They would rip their clothes off in seconds if they were with me.”

“You’re finished boasting?”

“Boasting?”

“That everyone wants to have sex with you.”

“You don’t?”

I hesitate, debating the best reply. “Not like that.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Then, like what?”

“In a… more gradual way. We could start with a kiss.”

“Funny you mentioned that…” Do I see her face flush?

“What do you mean?”

“Just a thought… Your shorts now.” She gestures with her head.

Resigned, I slip my fingers inside the waistband. “You sure I have to take it off?”

“You asked me to dominate you. That’s what I’m doing. And it’s only a start.”

“It was a joke.”

“How the hell should I know that? I thought you were serious.” She leans closer, near enough for her breath's delicate warmth to dance across my lips. “Honestly? I’ve seen hundreds of dicks on my beach. I don’t care if you take it off. But since you have a problem with that, I want to offer you an alternative.”

I drink in her sweet breath. “Alternative?”

“You said you wanted to start with a kiss.”

I lean in, but she presses her fingertips to my lips. “Not like this.”

“Brilliant…”

“That would be too easy. Ask me the question first.”

“What question?”

“We’re still playing the game.”

"Um… Truth or dare?"

“Truth. Now ask me what my unfulfilled dream is about the first kiss with a new guy.”

“Uh…”

“Do it.”

“What’s your first kiss… I mean, your dream about your first kiss? With a new guy.” I frown. “You have a dream about the first kiss?”

“Acting out that dream is your alternative.”

“I’m game.”

“Hmm… I wonder…”

“So, what’s your dream?”

Her expression turns thoughtful. “You see… the entire world is about conventions.”

“Conventions?”

“When I meet a guy, the same scenario always plays out. The guy asks me out, and then he tries to get more physical, at some point going for the first kiss. You know, first the lips, no tongue, then with tongue, sometimes my neck first, then the lips, his hands all over my body, then first base, second base… You know the drill.”

“I guess.”

“It’s always the same.”

“And you want different?”

“Yes. Ever since I was old enough to consider these things, I’ve had this dream about the first kiss.”

“Go on.”

“I wanted it to be unique.”

“Right.”

“Delicate, but bold at the same time.”

“Okay.”

“The first physical thing to happen between me and a guy should be something special. No grabbing my ass.”

“Special?”

“Deeply intimate.”

“Mmm.”

“But romantic at the same time.”

“Great.”

“So I came up with this plan.”

“I’m listening.”

"I wanted to try it with other guys, but I didn't believe they could do it."

"You want me to try?"

“If you’re bold enough.”

“Hmm…”

“You have to understand how important it is that you do it exactly as I tell you.”

“Aha.”

“It’s my most intimate dream. If you manage this…” She stands up, slowly unwrapping the towel, letting it drop to the floor. Her dark nipples gain my attention, making it near impossible to focus on her face. My boxers tighten again.

“If you do it right… I’ll let you do anything." She steps closer. "No holding back. No limits. And…” With her right hand, she gently touches the front of my shorts. “And I know you want me.”

At this point, I can’t deny her anything.

“So, will you do this for me?”

I swallow and nod.

She steps away, picks up her towel, and wraps it around herself. She leans on the sink again. "Now listen carefully, because I’m going to tell you exactly what I want."

Chapter 6

I give her my total attention when she explains her needs.

“I want to feel… love in your lips touching my skin.”

“But—”

“I don’t care if you love me or not. We’ve just met, so it would be weird if you did. But I want to feel it. To imagine it, at least. Get it?” She almost frightens me with her resolve.

“Sure.”

“The first touch of your lips has to be… gentle. Like a painter’s brush starting to create a beautiful picture. Just a whisper of pressure to give me a hint of the things to come.”

I nod. I feel so stupid that a girl gives me instructions on how to kiss her for the first time. But I promised to play along.

“Linger in one place only for a moment. Let your lips drift, their subtle motions unveiling fresh regions. No tongue at this point. Not yet.”

I nod again, stunned. Is that how she writes her books?

“Then you can capture my skin between your lips. But be delicate, don’t suck.”

“Fine.”

“Observe how I react. If I lean closer or shrink away.”

“I will.”

“When the moment’s right, let your lips be the sheath housing a blade.”

"Ah… right." The way she talks about it is… weird. If I didn’t know how to kiss, that wouldn’t tell me anything at all. But it’s her fantasy, after all. Why not let her have what she wants?

“I want to feel as if touched by a virgin man who had no prior experience and is worried he might do something wrong.”

“I can try that.”

She frowns at me. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

“What?” I snort. “Of course not.”

“Because you act like one—all this fuss with getting undressed. Twenty-year-old virgin.”

“I’m twenty-two.”

“Even worse.”

“I’m not a virgin. I’ve been with many girls.”

“But did you have sex with them?”

“Seriously?” I don’t know if to laugh or get furious at her.

“How many girls have you had?”

“What? Look…”

She shoots me a death glare.

“I lost count.”

“Likely story…”

“Can’t you just… leave it?”

“Sure. Have you ever been in a serious relationship?”

“Alice… Please.”

“Have you?”

I sigh. “Define serious.”

"Lasting more than a couple of months. Where you believed she was the one and only."

“The first—yes. The second—no, not really.”

“Hmm… What was her name?”

“That’s enough. Stop interrogating me. I’m willing to give you that first kiss you dreamed of, but treat me with some respect.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were so touchy.”

“I’m not, but there’s a line.”

“There’s a line, he says…”

“Stop it, or I'll bite you instead of kissing.”

Her smile falters. “That would hurt.”

“It would. Anything else before I start?”

“Not really. I don’t want you to go too fast. It’s our first kiss, after all. I want it to last.”

“Don’t worry. I'll act as a perfect virgin for you. I hope I still remember that time.”

“Not too virgin, though. I want to enjoy it.”

“You will.”

She claps her hands. “Wonderful!”

“You want me to do it now?” I prepare to get closer, worried my breath may no longer be fresh.

“Now will be perfect. And when you're through, you can kiss me on my mouth.”

“When I’m… Wait. What? Where exactly do you want me to plant that first kiss?”

“I thought it was obvious. On my clit.”

"On your…" I'm too stunned to utter the word.

“Clit. Is ‘clit’ the Voldemort in your vocabulary?”

“What?”

"The word that must not be named? I told you: delicate but bold, deeply intimate and romantic at the same time. Where do you think I wanted it?"

A sigh escapes from her lips, followed by a crease forming between her eyebrows. "Can you do this for me or not?"

"Well…"

"I understand it's not something you usually do the moment you meet a new girl. I could even be sick or something. So you don't have to do it if you don't want to."

"Are you sick?"

"I wouldn't ask you to do this if I were. My recent STI test results came back clean, but I understand if you don't trust me. And…" She looks down. "I’ve never told anyone about my dream. You're the first."

She's so… crazy. And yet she remembered about a potential health risk.

"It's okay if you don't do this, but then you'll have to take off your shorts. It was an alternative, remember?"

“But the first kiss to be on your…”

“Clit. Imagine in the future, when we’re married, and our children ask how we first kissed we can—”

"I'll do it. Just… stop talking about our… children."

"Great."

Her wink tells me it was a joke. That makes me relax. Otherwise, I would think she was mad. Well, she is, but I kind of… like it.

She unwraps her towel, letting it drop to the floor. With a gesture, she invites me to take the place in front of her.

When I kneel, she parts her legs, exposing her perfectly smooth pussy, with its lips slightly apart, drawing me in. Somehow, any doubts I had about it slowly go away. I only have to remember to focus on her… clit.

“Will this position be alright with you?”

“The position’s perfect, thank you.” I look up. “Has anyone ever told you, you’re a bit… unusual?”

She frowns, as if considering the question. “People keep telling me I’m crazy. Why, you think they’re right?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re so sweet.”

I return her smile, then position my hands on her thighs and lean in to perform according to her detailed instructions.

NEXT - part 4

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Chapter 3

“Will you let go of me anytime soon?”

When I release my grip, she takes a step back. “Thank you.” Her eyes are still locked on mine.

“No problem.”

“We shouldn’t give up. Let’s try the window again. Can you pass me the towel, please?”

I don’t move. I take in her uniformly tanned body, her perfectly shaped breasts, her flat stomach with a cute navel… 

“Want me to turn around so you can admire the view from all angles?" There’s not a hint of embarrassment in her expression.

“Sorry… It was so sudden and… You're not trying to cover yourself in panic.”

“I’m used to strangers seeing me naked.”

“You are?”

“Oh, I’m not a stripper or something. I’m a naturist. I sunbathe and swim at naturist beaches, and don't wear clothes when I can avoid them.”

“A nudist?”

“Naturist. There’s a clear distinction. I don’t do it for the fun of running buck naked. I'm motivated by my love for nature.”

“I see no difference.”

“You won’t until you try it. I can take you to my favorite spot if you like.”

“No, thank you.”

“Afraid to bare it all? Nudity is the norm there, so you stand out if you wear something.”

“It’s not for me.”

Her stare trails downwards, pausing at my zipper. “You have a small dick or something? No one would care. It’s a judgment-free zone. People respect—”

“I don’t have a small… Well, that’s none of your business.”

“Size doesn’t matter.”

“Really?”

“Well, it does. Particularly the girth. But I’m supposed to say it doesn’t. Never mind. Can I have my towel? I’m getting cold.”

It dawns on me she’s been naked this whole time, yet it ceased to faze me at some point. Perhaps she’s right about nudity, and one can get used to it after all.

“The towel? Please?”

I hand it to her. “Never lose your towel. It’s the most useful thing in the universe.”

Her face lights up with a huge grin. “It's from the book.” She wraps the towel around herself, knotting it between her breasts. “Thank you. Want to try the window again?”

“I will. But alone this time.”

“I won’t lose my towel again. Unless…" She steps back, leaning against the sink. "…you want me to.”

"Keep it on."

She laughs. “You must have felt lonely when your parents sent you to England. A young boy with no family.”

“I lived with my aunt.” With both hands on the window, I take a deep breath and brace myself. My muscles strain, trying to force the window open, but it barely budges. “Bloody hell…” I step out of the bathtub.

“It was worth a shot. I guess we’re back to square one. So… visiting your parents? How did it go?”

“They’d left for a holiday.”

“They don’t like you, do they?”

A lump forms in my throat, sealing off any words. I cough to mask it.

“Sorry. I have this knack for blurting out what comes to my mind. I didn’t—”

“That’s ok. I didn’t tell them I was coming. I bet you don’t have this problem. Your parents must adore you.”

“They’re both dead.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“They’ve been dead for three years now. I’m okay.”

“You’re living on your own?”

“I’m twenty-one. I'd better be.”

“Still in college?”

“I dropped out.”

“Oh… What do you do for a living?”

“You’ll laugh at me.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

“I write.”

“Write? Write what?”

“Books. Fiction.”

“That’s… That’s astonishing! Why did you think I would laugh?”

“I write romance.”

“What’s wrong with writing romance?”

“Some people think it’s stupid.”

“Some people are stupid.”

“True.” She beams at me. “I’m thinking of returning to college. To study creative writing.”

“That’s great. Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know yet. Perhaps…” She gives me a long stare. “…Cambridge?” 

“It’s expensive. I mean, since your parents—”

“That’s not a problem. I wrote a few bestsellers, and I’m set for life.”

“Set for life? At the age of… Wow. I’ll never say writing romances is stupid.”

She sighs. “My fans won’t help us here. We’re still stuck.”

“So we are.”

Chapter 4

“Do you know any games?” She asks after a few minutes in silence.

“Games?”

“Since we’re destined to spend indefinite time here together, why not make it fun?”

“Right…” As if it wasn’t fun already. I try to recall some games, then say the first thing coming into my mind. “Truth or dare?”

“It’s a classic.”

“I get to ask the first question.”

“Fair enough.”

“Truth or dare?” My intuition says she’ll choose ‘dare’.

“Mmm…Truth.”

Apparently, with her, I can’t rely on my intuition. “All right. Let me think for a moment.” What else would I like to hear about her. Then I remember how she looked in that wet dress, and one question seems to ask itself. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Lame.”

“You’re supposed to answer.”

“I don’t have one. But it’s not only lame. It doesn’t tell you anything. I could have a husband. Or a girlfriend. And you reveal too much about yourself. You wouldn’t ask this question if you weren’t interested in me.”

“I just saw you naked. Everyone would be interested.”

“Not if you find my body repulsive.”

“I don’t find your body repulsive.”

“See? I don’t need the game to learn what I need to know.”

“You needed to know if I found your body repulsive?”

“I didn’t. That I knew the moment I saw your reaction when I lost the towel.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks a second time.

“It’s my turn now.” She gives me a teasing smile. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What’s the most important thing for you in a relationship?”

“Now you’re revealing yourself.” I point my finger at her. “You’re supposed to ask me something like: what’s the most embarrassing moment in my life?”

“Lame.”

“Okay. The most important thing for me is… balance.”

“Balance?”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean?”

I make myself more comfortable on the edge of the bathtub. “Well… I believe both partners need to feel like equals in a relationship. There can’t be only one who has all the power and control. We need to give and take—compromises on both sides. So neither person feels like they’re making all the sacrifices.”

She wrinkles her nose. “That’s so…”

"Lame?"

“...wise. What about passion?”

“Passion?”

“Passion is important, too.”

“Passion is vital, but it can’t overpower everything else. It should exist alongside mutual care, respect, and understanding. Passion without substance is just… infatuation. It won’t last.”

“I disagree. Without passion, the relationship withers and dies.”

“Interesting point.”

“So, one partner shouldn’t dominate the other?”

“Definitely not. A healthy relationship allows both partners to retain their individuality while coming together in harmony. Like two melodies that complement each other to create a beautiful song.”

“How romantic… But what if a partner wants to be dominated?” She winks at me.

“Right. That’s too many questions. My turn. Truth or dare?”

“I’ll stick with the truth.”

“Very well… What are you doing at this party? You don’t seem to enjoy it too much. Who invited you?”

“That’s two questions.”

“But related.”

“My friend invited me.”

“A female or a male friend?”

“That’s another question.”

“Still within the realm of the original one.”

“A female friend. We haven’t seen each other for ages.”

“How come you’re not with her now?”

“She stood me up. I got her text to come here, but when I did, I couldn’t find her anywhere. I retreated to the top floor, hoping she’d turn up later.”

“You ignored the ‘private’ sign.”

“That’s just stupid—it’s all private property, anyway. If you don’t want people to see your house, don’t invite them.”

“Makes sense.”

“And you ignored the sign, too. Truth or dare? My turn.”

I feel if I choose ‘truth’ again, she’ll say ‘lame’. That’s why I risk having to do something stupid. “Dare.”

“Wow. I didn’t expect that from you.”

I raise my hands in an ‘I give up’ gesture. “Dominate me.”

She lights up, her lips forming a huge smile. “Can I?”

“I’ll risk it. Just do it with… passion.”

“What about balance?”

“Well… I'll get to ask another question.”

“Not if I never choose ‘dare’?”

“I bet you will.”

“You know me so well.” She tightens the towel on her breasts. “You even saw me naked.”

“An image I’ll never forget.”

“And you didn’t find my body repulsive.”

“Not in the least.”

“So, if we’re supposed to have balance, I have a perfect task for you.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Take off your clothes.”

NEXT - part 3

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Chapter 1

Don’t you just love it when you rush to the bathroom, open the door, getting ready to do your thing, then you notice someone’s already there?

“Don’t mind me, I just sit here.” A young woman’s voice makes me jump.

“Bloody hell…” My hand freezes on the zipper when I see her on the toilet seat, her dress hiked up, her long bare legs casually crossed at the ankles. Dark hair cascades over her face, concealing her features.

“Sorry. I thought it was vacant.” My face gets hot and I try not to stare. “Why didn’t you lock the door?”

“I locked it.” Her voice hints at amusement. “No harm done. I love your accent, by the way. British?”

I sneak a hasty glance. Despite her compromising situation, something about her is… captivating. Perhaps it’s her nonchalance in my presence.

“I’ll just… go.” I fumble with the doorknob. It won’t budge. “Brilliant….”

“What’s wrong?”

“The door’s jammed.” I jiggle the doorknob, hoping it’ll miraculously give.

“Typical. What are you doing in the U.S.?”

“What’s typical?” I turn to her. “There’s nothing typical about it.”

She shrugs. “It’s just my luck. Every time I come to a party, something goes wrong. Last time, some dickhead spilled wine all over my dress. The time before that, I got stuck in an elevator with a dude who wouldn’t stop talking about his pet ferret. Now I know everything about ferrets. I hate the beasts… Do you have a pet ferret?”

“What? No, I don’t have a… Look, I’m sorry I caused your bad luck tonight.”

“It’s not your fault. We’ll have to wait it out, I guess. Unless you break down the door. Hmm… If you had a trained ferret, you could slip it under the door, and… no, it wouldn’t work—ferrets are way too big for that. So what’s your story?

What brings you here? By the way…" She lifts a thick book off her lap. "Look what I've found. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I got to chapter three. It's wonderful!"

“One of my favorites, too.” I manage a feeble grin. “And I don’t want to break the door.” 

“Fair enough. When did you come to the US? Do you like it here?”

“I’m an American. My parents sent me to a boarding school in England when I was a kid, and I kind of picked up the accent. I still live there. Just finished college.”

“Oxford?”

“Cambridge. I’m visiting my parents here. You think you could… finish what you’re doing?”

“Oh, I’m not doing anything. I sit here as an excuse for not joining the others.”

“Avoiding the party downstairs?”

“This extrovert is ready for some introvert time.”

“I get that. I'll call someone downstairs to help us out.” I pull out my phone. But when I try unlocking it, it doesn't react. "Impossible."

"Dead battery? Happens to me all the time."

"I remember putting it on the charger last night."

"My bad luck seems to be following you."

"Do you have a phone?"

"I left it in my jacket downstairs. I’ve been trying to get off the damn thing. You know—social media and stuff. I trained myself not to pull it out at parties, but I’m still too weak-willed to leave it at home."

"Brilliant..."

“We can yell. Maybe someone will hear us. Or we can take turns reading the book to each other. Your accent is straight out of Downton Abbey, guv’nor.”

That makes me laugh. I steal another glimpse at her slender legs. “Um… If you’re done, could you possibly—”

“Oh, I forgot. You wanted to go.” She gets up, and her dress falls down her legs. “Go ahead. It’s all yours.”

"Uhm…"

"Go on, don’t hold. It’s unhealthy."

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t do my business while you’re watching.”

She bursts into laughter. “Shy bladder?”

 “Kind of…”

She puts the book on the vanity and steps into the bathtub behind the shower screen. I can see only her silhouette through the frosted glass, but I hear her voice. “There. I can’t see you. Better?”

“I guess.” I hesitate before moving to the toilet.

The sound of running water comes from behind the screen. She must have turned on the shower to mask any potential noise I might make.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

“No problem. We’re in this together.”

When I flush and wash my hands, she turns off the shower and comes out. She’s soaked through, shaking, the wet dress clinging tightly to her body. I avert my eyes, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

Chapter 2

“What were you thinking?” I grab a towel and toss it to her.

She shrugs and begins drying her hair. “I was trying to help.”

I reach out and touch her cheek. “You’re ice cold and you're shivering.”

“I guess I… should’ve used warm water.” 

I force myself not to comment, turning my attention to the door. I try to banish the image of her nipples showing through the damp, thin dress.

“You sure you can’t kick the door open?”

“It opens to the inside. And it’s solid wood.”

“Or you’re just too weak.”

I turn to her with an angry retort on the tip of my tongue, but she looks so miserable that I change my mind. “You’re shaking. Take off the dress and dry yourself properly. Or you’ll catch a cold. I’ll get you a clean towel.” I rummage through the cabinet, find a bath towel, and hand it to her.

“You know it’s a myth?” Her lips quiver as she forms the words.

“Take it off.” I turn away from her to give her some privacy. “What myth?”

“That you can get sick from cold water. You get it from viruses, not the cold. Although when you’re cold, your immune system—”

“Yes, well, right now you’re shaking like crazy, so I’d rather not take any chances.” I keep my back to her as I hear her undressing and toweling herself dry.

Something wet touches my hand. “Can you wring it out, please?”

I bring the wet dress to the sink and squeeze it tightly. Then I pull it apart to stretch it flat over the shower curtain. The sound of tearing makes me freeze. “Oh, no… I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” she sounds amused despite the catastrophe.

“I’m terribly sorry. I can… I’ll pay to replace it.”

“Don’t worry. This dress was never my favorite. Let’s figure out our exit before something else goes wrong. Oh, and you can look. I’m no longer naked.”

She’s wrapped in a towel that barely reaches her thighs. Her hair, damp and pulled back, reveals her face. Her beauty is undeniable—the delicate shape of her lips, large brown eyes looking at me with amused curiosity. “Something wrong?” She tilts her head.

“The party downstairs… I wondered if you could dance in this… outfit.”

"Dance in a towel?" She flashes a cheeky grin. “Think I should give it a try?”

“When we get out of here, at least.” I turn to fight the doorknob one more time.

Meanwhile, she fumbles through a cabinet, searching for anything that could be of use. She pulls out a few bottles of toiletries, a pack of razors, and a hairbrush. “Nothing to help us escape, but we’ll be well-groomed.” She starts brushing her long hair.

“I think it might be the time we yell for help.”

“Okay. You first.”

We take turns shouting, but since the loud music downstairs is barely audible up here, it’s unlikely anyone will hear us from the top floor.

After a while, we give up. With our backs against the wall, we pant from the effort.

“C’est la vie.” She sounds unbothered.

We lapse into silence for a while.

Then she hums a tune—a melancholic melody. “Know this song?”

I nod, recognizing it from the radio.

“Want to sing with me?”

Despite the odd situation, I join in. Two strangers locked in a bathroom, singing a sad song at the top of their lungs is absurd, yet comforting. We laugh, then sing other songs until our voices turn hoarse and the tension dissipates.

The last song ends, and we stare at each other, as if for the first time. Her eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles, her lips forming a gentle curve, inviting me to move closer.

"The window!" Her sudden blurt makes me freeze, thoughts of getting closer forgotten. "We can try the window. It’s too small to get out, but people are bound to be outside. We can ask them to open the door."

“Sure,” I force a reply.

She steps on the bathtub’s edge trying to push up the tiny window. As she raises her arms, her towel rides up, no longer fully covering her buttocks. “Can you help me?” 

I don’t move. I’m too preoccupied with what I see. Her bra is not the only thing she forgot to wear.

“Little help here, please?”

“Right.” I get into the bathtub. I’m tall enough to reach the window without risking the unstable position she took.

“Together.” She steadies herself.

“Let me try first.”

As soon as she pulls her hands away, her balance falters and she tips backward.

I grab for her, but instead I snag the towel. Arms flailing, she spins out of it and teeters for a split second before tumbling into my embrace. Our gazes lock. We remain speechless, entangled in an intimate pose, her nude form cradled against me. Through my t-shirt, I feel the warmth radiating from her bare skin.

NEXT - part 2

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seventeen

“Do you trust me?” I asked my wife when I found her on the couch in front of the TV. I ran our conversation through my head several times and decided the best route was to be totally honest with her, as I had always been.

“Sure, Honey.”

“Would you tell me anything?”

She studied me, a glint of interest in her eyes. “Perhaps not everything. We women have these little things we wouldn’t share with any man. Why?”

“But if it was something important?”

“Of course.”

“I have something to tell you,” I blurted out before I could second-guess myself.

“Would it take long? Because I have a nasty headache and want to go to bed early tonight.”

Would it take long? Not really. All I needed was one sentence: I had sex with another woman, but it was in a dream, so it didn’t count.

Ridiculous.

Even if I told her Diane was in a coma, I wasn’t sure that would help. What if Fiona started to shout? What if our discussion lasted the entire night? What if she decided I no longer was the reliable man she married all those years ago? What if…

“Honey? You okay?” She gave me a worried look.

“I’m all right. It shouldn’t take long. But let me get you something for your headache first. We should have some pills.”

“And a glass of red wine, please.”

“For a headache?”

“You know it helps me sometimes.”

I poured her a glass of wine, then ran upstairs to the medicine cabinet in search of ibuprofen, only to find that we had run out. Perhaps it was better to put off the conversation? No. I couldn’t be a coward forever. Arguments were good, weren’t they? They meant we were talking, and communication was vital in any relationship. Right?

I could drive to a store and get something for her headache or… search the bedside drawers, where Fiona sometimes kept her pills.

In our bedroom, I opened the top drawer and found a book she’d been reading for months, some earplugs she occasionally used to help her sleep… but nothing she could use for her headache.

I had better luck with the second drawer. I found what I was looking for—a few remaining ibuprofen pills. Then I delved deeper, and I had to remind myself to breathe.

In my hand, I held a familiar packet with a heart-shaped pill. Unlike the blue Dream Lover pill I used, this one was mostly pink.

So, Fiona used this too? Did it count as one of the ‘little things’ that a woman wouldn’t share with her man?

I rummaged through the drawer, discovering more packets—some empty, some still full. Then I snapped it shut, clutching one packet tightly in my fist, and ran downstairs.

Fiona had finished her first glass of wine and was pouring herself another. The bottle sat on the coffee table near her—she wasn’t too debilitated by her headache if she could rise and grab it.

“You found it?” she asked.

I clasped the pill even tighter. “I have.”

She glanced at me, concerned by my tone. “Can I have it?”

“Why?” I struggled for composure.

“’Cause I need it.” Her face drew tight.

“Am I not enough for you?”

Her eyes searched mine. Then she relaxed. “Oh, Honey…” She put her glass aside. “That’s a myth.”

“A myth?” I asked, confused.

“A misconception. You’ve possibly heard somewhere that climax can help with a headache. But it doesn’t work like this. It might help for a moment, but the headache would come back later. It could be even worse.”

I stared at her, perplexed. “What are you talking about?”

“What were you talking about?” She looked puzzled. “Weren’t you suggesting sex as a cure for my migraine?”

It was like an icy bucket of water thrown on me. I felt like laughing and crying at the same time. Fiona thought I wanted to give her an orgasm to cure her headache. Unbelievable. My body slumped, and I started to chuckle.

“Honey, are you okay?” she asked. “Do you want a hug or something?”

“Yes… I mean, I’m fine. I don’t need a hug. I’m great actually. Everything’s splendid. Honestly.” I gave a short, awkward laugh.

“And the pills? For my headache.”

“Oh, I’ve found some ibuprofen, but it’s old, so I have to drive to the store to get something.”

“That’s so sweet of you, but I think I’ll be alright. The wine helped. My headache is already better.” She stood up, picked up her cell phone, and checked the time. “Almost eleven. I have to go to bed.”

“Why?”

“Why what? Go to bed?” She walked closer and examined my face. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.”

“I told you I needed to get to bed earlier this week.”

“Are you scared of being late?”

“Late for what?” She frowned.

For your next date in your dream, I wanted to say, but couldn’t. My instincts were telling me to end this absurd charade. But then I looked at her, and my resolve faded away. Was I ready to know why she had taken those pills? Would it make a difference if it had been a momentary impulse or something more profound? Was I free of blame? Especially after what had happened between me and Diane? I couldn’t hate Fiona for what she had done. Unless I was ready to hate myself. I couldn’t confront her. Not yet. But the cracks inside of me spread like a shockwave, tearing apart something that seemed to be so resilient while we were together.

“Late for work tomorrow, of course,” I gave her a reassuring smile. “You don’t want to oversleep.”

She blinked in confusion. “You’re right.”

“I’ll check if anything else is missing before I go out.”

“Out?”

“To get something for your headache. You might need it next time.”

“You’re a wonderful husband.”

I forced a grin and blew her a kiss. Then I ran upstairs to put the Dream Lover pill back in her drawer before she noticed it was gone.

A moment later, when I was examining the medicine cabinet in the bathroom for missing supplies, I felt her come up behind me.

“Anything else we need?” she asked.

“No, not really. I’ll grab some vitamins, too. We have to look after ourselves, right?”

“How thoughtful of you.”

I spun around and smiled at her. “Sweet dreams.” I kissed her goodnight.

Her eyebrows raised in surprise. “You’re acting weird tonight. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Never better. Don’t wait up for me.”

“You know I fall asleep at once these days.”

“That I do.”

She squeezed my arm and left.

A few minutes later, I was in my car racing to the store where I got the pill last time. Fortunately, it was still open.

“Do you have more family or friends you keep the Dream Lover for?” I asked the same guy as before.

He grinned. “I’ve got a massive family. How many d’ya reckon you need?”

“Can I get a discount if I buy in bulk?”

eighteen

“It’s you again?” Diane’s voice sounded cold, but a twinkle in her eyes betrayed her true feelings. We were back in the same hotel room.

“Don’t act so surprised.” I advanced towards her. “I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think of me.”

Her lips curled into an impish grin. “You know how it is. Someone tells you not to think of a pink elephant…”

“Am I a pink elephant to you now?”

“How’s your wife? Have you told her about us? Or have you come to your senses?”

“A bit of both.”

Two weeks had flown by since our last conversation, and a lot had happened. I was feeling hopeful and had some news to share, but I knew our conversation wouldn’t be easy.

I grasped her hands in mine. “I know you’re in a coma. I visited you at the hospital.”

She yanked her hands free and spun away.

“Don’t run away!” I raised my voice, anxious that she’d disappear.

“You promised,” she said without turning my way.

“I said I couldn’t promise you that. So, technically, I kept my word.”

“What do you want?” She faced me. “And what else have you learned?”

“Everything. That nurse filled me in.”

“Jack?”

I nodded.

Her head dipped briefly, then she looked up. “Are you satisfied now?”

“I know how to wake you up.”

“That’s impossible.” She looked away.

“My friend specializes in comatose patients. He said if you stopped taking the pills, you have an eighty percent chance of regaining consciousness. He knows of similar cases.”

“Eighty percent?”

“Give or take.”

“What if I don’t wake up?”

“If that’s the case, I guess you’ll be able to go back to your pills.”

“You guess?” She raised her eyebrow.

“There’s no guarantee. The pills keep your brain active. It was actually a good decision to give you these.”

She kept her gaze on me for a moment. “At least you’re honest.” She moved to the window, presumably to watch her beloved dragons.

“You don’t have to decide now,” I said.

“Oh, thank you. I’m so glad you considered asking my opinion.”

“It’s your life.”

She spun around and looked me square in the eye. “Exactly. And yet, here you are butting in!”

I hesitated, searching for the right words. “Do you really want to do this for the rest of your life? If you can even call it a life, that is.”

A spark lit up her eyes, turning them bright and fiery. “I’ve managed so far. I’m invincible here. Remember?” She waved her hand, and a minibar appeared from thin air. She poured herself a drink.

“You prefer living in a dream.”

“And what’s so terrible about that? I have all that I need.”

“For now. What if something happens? Suppose your sponsors change their minds?”

She blushed. “That’s none of your concern.”

“No, but I wish it were.”

“But why?” She stepped closer to me, her eyes searing mine. “Why do you care?”

“Because I want to be with you, Diane. In real life and in the dream.”

“And your wife?”

“I’ve filed for divorce.”

“Not because of me?”

I shook my head. “She cheated on me. I just found out.”

“You’ll substitute one woman for another. How convenient. But why do you assume that I’ll want you when I wake up? Maybe I’ll just go my own way.”

“You can do what you want. I won’t try to stop you. But you could get back to a normal life once again.”

“Or no life at all. You said eighty percent. And there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to come here ever again. I’d be stuck living as a plant forever.”

“They’d probably switch you off if there was no brain activity.”

She forced a laugh. “Your jokes still suck.”

I grabbed her arms. “Imagine it Diane. You could return to your work, do more research, even study this pill, if that’s what you want.”

“And stay with you?”

“For a start. We can’t know how we’d work out in real life.”

“You’re tempting me...”

“You’re the temptress here.” I grinned. “I’m nothing compared to you.”

She pulled me closer and kissed. I could sense her desperation in the way she held onto me.

“So?” I asked when we parted. “What’s your decision?” I held my breath.

“Do it. But if I die, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.”

nineteen

My first week, I was optimistic. I took a break from work and stayed in Diane’s room for most of my time, even though I knew it wasn’t rational. Eventually, the staff forced me back home to bathe and eat.

In the second week, I had less faith but still visited her daily, staying with her for hours.

When in the third week I started to accept the fact that this would be Diane’s reality for the foreseeable future, the doctor responsible for Diane called me.

“Look here.” She gestured to the new monitoring equipment beside her bed. “Her brain activity has changed since we last observed. I can’t promise anything, but I think she might be waking up.”

I beamed at the woman.

But it wasn’t until two days later that it happened. I must have drifted off when a soft voice stirred me awake.

Diane was struggling to keep her eyelids open, her gaze fixed on me.

“You…” she said weakly.

I leapt closer to her, my heart pounding. “You’re awake!”

“You...”

“Yes? What is it?”

“You look old,” she murmured.

“Old?” I chuckled.

“You looked better... in my dream.”

“Do you think you can get used to this version of me?”

She gave me a weak smile. “I’ll… regret it.”

“I’ll make sure you won’t.” I bent over and kissed her on her forehead. “Welcome to the real world.”

THE END

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 (current and last)

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thirteen

“You failed to tell me there were real people in these dreams,” I said when Mark answered my phone after the fifth ring.

“So that’s how it works…”

“Mark!”

“I offered you the manual. You didn’t take it.”

“You know why I didn’t. And still you let me ramble on about the whole subconscious thing.”

“It was fun. Very illuminating.” By the tone of his voice, I could tell he was having a good laugh.

“That’s just bullshit. You should’ve told me.”

“But didn’t you say you were a researcher? Didn’t you research the pill before you took it?”

What an utter idiot I was. The exhaustion didn’t help either. I hadn’t slept the whole night after I left the dream. Now I was on my fourth coffee, praying Mark would deliver again.

“Never mind,” I said. “I need your help.”

“If you’re looking for more pills, I’ve run out.”

“It’s not the pills.” I filled him in on my encounter with Diane, omitting the details.

“So she’s not Miss Zeigarnik anymore?” I could almost see his wide grin.

“I need to hire you.”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t try to find her. You’ll regret it.”

“Why?”

“What if she has a husband and a bunch of kids? Or… looks like me?”

“I don’t care what she looks like. I want to be her friend.”

“Is that what she wants?”

“She doesn’t know what she wants.”

“So, you know better?” Was he mocking me?

“I want to see her again.”

“Take another pill.”

“I don’t think it’ll work this time. It has to be mutual.”

“You mean she doesn’t want to see you anymore?” He snorted. “Were you that hopeless in bed?”

“Are you going to help or not?” My patience was waning.

There was a pause. Then Mark asked, “You want to be her friend? Is that it? What if you want more when you see her? A dream is safer than reality.”

“It’s a lie.”

“You just spent a night with someone you knew and still say that?”

“I want to see her. During the day.”

“Why?”

“That’s what friends do.”

He sighed.

“Will you help me, please?” I asked. “You’re the only one I know who specializes in finding people. I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

“Payment is not a problem. I’ll do it. For you. But I’ve warned you. Remember that.”

“I will.”

“Send me all you have on her—anything helpful, even from your dream—and I’ll get back to you as soon as I find something.”

“Thanks, Mark.”

“Don’t thank me yet. This isn’t going to end well. You’ll regret it.”

“Never.”

I didn’t have to wait long, because Mark called just a few hours later.

“You found her?” My heart leaped in anticipation.

“I only needed two hours.” Pride was evident in his voice. “So, I won’t charge you anything.”

“Well?”

“But you do owe me a beer.”

“Sure, Mark.” I ground my teeth. “I’m extremely grateful. But can you tell me what you discovered?”

“You’re so impatient.”

“Do you want that beer?”

He paused, as if considering my question. But I knew he just wanted to torture me more. Finally, he said, “The good news is she’s single. No kids, either.”

“And?”

“And she has lots of time. You can visit her whenever you like.”

“That’s a relief.”

“During visiting hours.”

“She’s in jail?”

“No. Although that would be funny, eh?”

“Mark!”

“She is in a special clinic for comatose patients.”

My body went numb. “Fuck me… Is she in a coma?”

“For almost three years.”

“But…” My mind raced. “That’s around the time we—”

“I know.”

“That’s why she never responded to my calls or messages,” I muttered, more to myself than to him. “Something happened, and she ended up in a hospital. All these years… I should’ve looked for her. Helped her.”

“Don’t blame it on yourself.”

“It didn’t cross my mind until you suggested it,” I lied.

“Sorry. Still want the address?”

“Text it to me.”

fourteen

The room was smaller than I anticipated. It seemed people confined to bed required less space. I braced myself for the sight of multiple tubes sticking out of Diane’s body, but the only thing keeping her company was a cardiac monitor that beeped steadily beside her bed.

I settled into a chair and studied her. Her face appeared unnaturally pale, but somehow she looked younger than in my dream. Her breathing was steady, as if she were merely asleep.

She had been here for three years. I could press the receptionist for more information, but it was clear she had already shared more than she intended.

So this was why Diane didn’t want me to find her. Did she fear I’d reject her once I learned of her condition, or was she afraid I’d only visit out of guilt or pity?

I reached out to touch her hand. It felt icy cold.

“Amber told me you’re an old friend?” a male voice spoke from behind me.

I spun to find a young guy in a nurse’s uniform standing in the doorway.

“I requested to be alone,” I snapped.

“You’re not family. I had to check. You’re lucky Amber even let you in.”

“You’re the one who looks after Diane?”

He nodded, stepped into the room, and closed the door. He took a seat on the opposite side of the bed with a confidence that showed he did it regularly. “She never has visitors, you know. There was this elderly woman who kept coming by, but she stopped about a year ago. I assumed it was her mother, but apparently Diane’s an orphan. Do you know who that could be?”

I shook my head.

“She was old,” he said. “She might have passed away.”

“Everyone dies eventually. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Not Diane. She would never choose death.”

“How would you know?” I looked at him. “Wasn’t she in a coma when they brought her here?”

“I’m the only one who comes here to talk to her.”

“Talk to her? How? Does she even hear anything?”

“Nobody knows for sure. But it’s the thing I do.”

“You talk to other patients, too?”

“They have regular visitors. She doesn’t.” His expression softened as he looked at Diane.

“Who pays for her treatment?”

“Treatment?” The guy snorted. “There’s no treatment. Her insurance covered the costs for a time. Now, we get anonymous donations in her name.”

“Do you have any idea who the donor is?”

“That’s the point of anonymous, isn’t it?” He looked away. Was he hiding something?

“Anything else you want to tell me?” I pressed him further.

He studied me for a moment. “I already told you too much.”

I glanced at Diane. “We used to work together. I’m her close friend.”

The nurse arched an eyebrow. “Close friend? And you haven’t visited her since she arrived.”

Something clenched in my chest and wouldn’t let go. “I just found out,” I whispered.

Should I tell him about my recent date with Diane? And how did she get her hands on the Dream Lover pills? She needed them for our meeting, and if anyone could get them to her, it had to be this man.

I took a deep breath. “Why do you give her the Dream Lover pills?”

fifteen

The nurse recoiled so sharply, he nearly toppled his chair.

“I know it’s you.” Even if I didn’t before, his reaction left no doubts about it. “But why? Why would you do this to her?”

He licked his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I met her last night in a dream.”

“You did?” His mouth pressed into a tight line.

“That wouldn’t be possible if someone hadn’t given her the pill.”

“So what? It could’ve been someone else.”

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll go ask more questions elsewhere. Her blood test would show something. Who do you think they’d ask next?” I narrowed my eyes.

His face drained of color. “I was trying to help. Others take those pills too. That’s the only way they can communicate.”

“So, you did it out of kindness?”

“Yes.” He gave a sigh of relief. “I even shared a dream with her once. It was hard to get her to see me in the dream, but she must have heard me after the hours I spent talking to her, describing myself. I explained her current condition and her financial troubles. And then the money started to come in.”

“Coincidence?”

He shrugged.

“How do you give her the pills?”

“The same way she gets her food—through an NG tube connected directly to her stomach.”

“But why? You don’t do it to other residents, do you?”

“I…” he stammered. “She was so…”

“You had a crush on her.” The moment I said it, his cheeks flushed crimson.

“She was all alone here! Nobody came to see her, not even you. Some old friend…” He gave me a disdainful look. “I thought if I got her the pills and explained what happened, she’d be able to wake up. If I stimulated her strongly enough...”

“Stimulate how?” But I knew the answer before he spoke. “By having sex with her in the dream?”

He jumped out of his chair, sending it skidding backwards. “What do you know? I bet you didn’t go into her dream just to talk! You’re one of them.”

Now it was my turn to blush.

“So, stop speaking to me as if I’ve done something wrong. At least she has some semblance of life. And no, we didn’t have sex.”

He had a point. If I were in the state of suspended animation Diane was, I’d want to see people in my dreams. Or die.

But what did he mean by suggesting I was one of them? Who did he have in mind?

“The money she receives… Are you sure you know nothing about it?”

He crossed his arms.

“When did it start coming in?”

“A few weeks after I started giving her the pills.”

“How can you afford them, anyway?”

He shrugged. “Other patients get them. It’s enough for her needs.”

“You mean you steal them?”

“Would you rather that I do nothing?”

“How often do you give them to her?”

“At first, it was twice a week. Now it’s every twelve hours.”

“And nobody noticed anything? The missing pills? Do they check her blood? I don’t believe you.” I touched Diane’s forehead—it felt as chilly as her hand. “The pills can’t be harmless to her body. I’ll have to discuss it with her doctor.”

“Please don’t.”

“Then tell me more!”

He glanced at the door, probably wishing he had never come. His face settled into resignation. “I get the pills with the money.”

“But you told me the money comes anonymously to the clinic in Diane’s name.”

“Yes, but… some of it I receive with the pills.”

“So someone wants you to give her the pills and pays you for it?”

He hesitated, his distress palpable. “I don’t know their name.”

A sickening thought slithered through my mind like a vile snake, sending my temper soaring. “I know what you’ve done… She’s selling herself in her dream to get the money to stay here. And you are her pimp!”

sixteen

“They were going to throw her out!” His gaze shifted back and forth between Diane and me, burning with intensity. “Because of the outstanding bills. She wouldn’t have survived in a state-owned facility. You don’t know how it is there. I worked in one of those… hospitals.” He air-quoted the last word. “They would’ve sold her for parts. I’m not kidding. I had no other choice.”

“So, you auctioned her off to the highest bidder?”

“You think I forced her to do it?” His voice shook. “She wanted to live. She told me that when we met in the dream.”

I willed myself to calm down. “How is it even technically possible? You need to imagine the person you want to see in your dream before falling asleep, and from what I can tell, Diane never wakes up.”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know. But next time I visited Diane, she asked me to give her the pills regularly. She said someone would contact me to arrange everything and I should do as they say.”

“And?”

“A woman approached me and gave me the pills and the money. She wanted me to take some photos of Diane. From what I know, their arrangement is: Diane does what they want, and they pay her bills. My part is to give her the pill every twelve hours.”

“But why would someone want to see her? Why not see different girls every night?”

“It’s not safe anymore,” he said. “You can’t guarantee someone who recognizes you in the dream won’t try to blackmail you in real life. That’s why I never learned who they are. I only met that woman. I thought you might be one of them. And Diane can appear different each time. From what I know, she’s perfected it. She’s like a witch. She can do whatever she wants in her dreams. And these guys… They’re big players. It’s a perfect arrangement for them. No risk she’ll get to them in the real world, because she’s—”

“… comatose,” I finished for him. “With no family.”

He nodded.

That made sense. It also explained what she said about leaving the dream. She lied about the safe word—she didn’t need it. She had somehow learned to leave one dream and enter another.

I’d rather die than sell myself like that, but Diane was different. She wanted to live, even at a high cost. And if she chose that path, who was I to stop her? I could try to, but it didn’t mean she’d listen.

Damn it! This was too much for me. I had to talk to her again. Maybe there was another solution? There had to be.

Something else bothered me. “If she gets the stuff all the time, how is she supposed to ever wake up? Doesn’t the pill keep her in the dream?”

“I do what she asked me to do.”

I clenched my fists and forced myself to stay in my seat, even though I wanted to grab this fucker’s throat—but if he called security, I’d risk not being able to visit Diane in the future. So, instead, I merely glared at him, conveying as much fury as I could through my gaze. It must have worked, because he looked terrified of me.

“You will not help them anymore,” I said. “And stop giving her the pills. Or I’ll speak to your boss. You think firing you will be enough for him?”

“Don’t you think it’s her decision, not yours?”

My resolve wavered. He was right. I shouldn’t decide for Diane. It was her life, not mine. I could try to talk her out of this, but that was all. And I needed him to give her the pills if I wanted to see her again in the dream.

“Fine,” I conceded. “I’ll talk to her first.”

Jack got up. “They won’t like it. They’re powerful. They’ll ask what happened.”

“That is why you’re not telling them anything. You’ll keep it to yourself. I can’t stop them from taking the pill and thinking of Diane, but I can persuade her not to meet them anymore.”

“What about the bills? If they stop paying—”

“I’ll take care of her bills. Give me your phone number.”

He did that.

“Now, go.”

He rushed out of the room.

I leaned down and kissed Diane’s forehead. “I don’t know if you can hear me, Diane, but I’m going to get you out of this mess. That, I can promise.”

Exiting the building, I strode forward with unwavering confidence, ready to take on any challenge. The impossible task of waking Diane from her coma was no exception.

Even though I wanted to talk to her at once, I had a lot to consider. The sensible thing was to learn what her chances were before I tried to convince her to give up her current lifestyle. If Diane was never able to wake up, this way of life was better than nothing. I shouldn’t expect her to decide unless I had a reasonable alternative.

What I needed was my old friend Brian—a psychiatrist with whom I had worked in the past. He worked with comatose patients before, so he might be able to help.

And there was another person I had to talk to: my lovely wife, Fiona.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (current) | part 4

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eight

I sat at the hotel bar I recalled from our last meeting.

Diane perched on the seat beside me, grasping a delicate glass filled with something blue. She smiled as she focused on a tiny umbrella she twirled between her slender fingers.

“Diane?” I said, still somewhat perplexed.

She looked up. “Kevin?” Her smile vanished for an instant, yet the joy in her eyes remained. “Is that you?”

“Surprised?” I stared at her, scarcely believing my good fortune.

She hadn’t changed a bit. Perhaps her eyes showed a few wrinkles I hadn’t noticed before, but it was the same woman who had captivated me years ago. Her mouth curved around the straw as she took a sip of the deep blue liquid, her piercing gaze never leaving me for a second.

I motioned for the bartender, who already knew what I wanted without me having to say it.

“You’re here.” Diane’s hungry eyes devoured me whole.

“I am,” I said, my voice laced with caution. How did one speak to a girl in a dream?

She laughed, her pearly teeth sparkling. Her joyous laughter was as I remembered it from our first meeting at the conference. “We haven’t seen each other for an eternity. You walked out on me last time.” She gave me a disapproving look.

Damn, she was stunning. She had that enigmatic expression that left me unsure if she was being serious or jesting. I always had to use my wit in our conversations to avoid being fooled by her, but I adored smart women. Her figure, slim and toned, was the same. Only her breasts seemed fuller than before, fitting well into the blue dress.

She had to be as I remembered her—it was my memory that manifested her in the dream. But the more mature look was intriguing—as if my unconscious took into account the time that had elapsed. The fuller breasts likely mirrored my unmet desires.

I took a hearty swig from my glass, relishing the familiar taste of the cold liquid, mixed to perfection, and dismissed the image of Fiona sleeping in our bed. I focused on Diane instead. “I called and texted you later, yet you didn’t respond,” I said. “I suspected you were mad because of my… indisposition that night.”

It wasn’t indisposition—I simply couldn’t cheat on my wife. When Diane wouldn’t answer, I felt a sense of relief, as I knew further contact would be devastating to my marriage. Since our research was over, there was no need for us to talk professionally. It must have stayed suppressed in my subconscious until now, as it resurfaced in my dream, making me feel guilty again.

“Let’s not talk about it.” Her signature grin warmed me all over. “It’s good that you’re here now.” She touched my knee, sending a shiver through my body. “You haven’t changed at all. The years have only made you more attractive.”

“I’m still a teenager, apparently.” I recalled Fiona’s words.

“That’s perfect. The experience of age with the energy of a teenager. You won’t bore me in bed.”

In bed? Was she serious, or was this just a dream? Of course, it was a dream. My dream. So why shouldn’t it go the way I wanted?

“Is this what you want?” I asked, my eyes locked on hers.

She reached up, her drink in one hand, and undid three buttons on my shirt. Then she traced her finger across my chest, eliciting an involuntary tremble. “We can ruminate about the past or we can make up for what we left unfinished. We need to solve our little problem before I have to lose you again.” She gulped down the rest of her drink and put the glass on the counter. If she brought up the Zeigarnik Effect right now, I wouldn’t be surprised. But she leaned over, gave me a quick kiss, then jumped off the seat. “Do you want to keep drinking, or shall we go up?”

“Up?”

“To my room, of course.”

I abandoned my drink and grabbed Diane’s chin, pulling her lips to mine. Our kiss lasted a full minute before I finally let go.

nine

Diane kept her distance from me in the elevator, her inquisitive eyes watching my every move. Her dress cut off just above her knees, showing off her slender legs. I felt the tension between us intensifying, as if she were trying to gauge the night’s outcome.

When we reached her floor, I followed her along the corridor, admiring how her buttocks moved the thin fabric of her dress in time with each step.

Instead of a single room, we entered a lavish suite. My subconscious must have known I wanted something luxurious to share the night with her, and it had delivered.

How did the pill work? Did it keep me from waking up? Was it affecting my creativity? Because I hadn’t expected this lush decor.

I made a mental note to research the pills later, but for now, I had an unfinished task to complete.

Diane kicked off her shoes and padded towards the tiny mini bar in the center of the room. “Another drink?”

“I’d rather stay sober for this.”

She let out a light laugh. “You can’t get drunk if you don’t want to. But if you change your mind, say the word.” She poured herself a rosy beverage this time and then regarded me with her green eyes. “Still married? You’re not wearing a ring.”

I glanced at my left hand, noting the missing band of metal. “I didn’t take it off.”

A smirk tugged at her lips. “But you wanted to. That’s how it works here. Like magic.” She took a sip from her glass, draining it halfway. Then she waved her hand over it, and it refilled itself.

“Wow! Can I do that?”

“Are you a wizard?” She lightly grazed my cheek with her finger, tracing circles on it.

I turned my head and pressed my lips to her hand.

“It’s amazing that you’re here.” She allowed me to continue with my kisses.

“I can be here every night.”

“And your lovely wife?”

“She can’t be mad at me because of a dream.” I hesitated, fighting the urge to remain loyal to Fiona, even in my dream. “And she’s not always so lovely.”

Diane beamed in response to my answer. She paused to sip from her drink, then she kissed me. A familiar bittersweet taste lingered on her lips, one that I couldn’t quite identify. She entwined her tongue with mine, gracefully caressing and exploring me.

I put my hands on her back and pulled her closer. I had been waiting for this moment for far too long. Her body felt warm against mine.

“You’re so strong,” she whispered into my ear.

I slid my hands to her buttocks and grabbed harder.

“Ouch.”

“I’m sorry.” I loosened my grip. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She laughed. “Silly, you can’t. I’ll feel as much pain as I allow—even if you were to hit me with your fist.”

“I would never do such a thing.”

“Even if I asked?”

“I’d never hurt you, Diane.”

She pulled away, her gaze burning into mine, searching for the truth. “No, you wouldn’t,” she conceded after a moment. “Do you want me like I want you?”

“More. Much more.”

She stepped back and adjusted her dress. “Shall I take it off? Or do you want to help me?”

Her words made my heart race. “You do it.”

“In a normal way? Or with magic?” She closed her eyes, and the dress melted away, revealing only her black underwear.

“How’d you do that?”

“I’m a witch.” She strutted over to the bar and filled her glass with another drink.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she stood there, wearing almost nothing. “Can I do the same trick with my clothes?”

“Sure. Just focus on what you want. But be careful or accidents may happen.”

“Accidents?”

“Nothing life-threatening.” She chuckled.

I paused, my analytical mind scrutinizing the scenario.

Although it was my dream, it still had the ability to surprise me. The pill seemed to allow both my conscious and subconscious thoughts to shape the dream, but it was the latter that provided unforeseen surprises. Diane—as my creation—knew it was a dream because I did. She acted like a witch because I already considered her magical. Even though it was a metaphor, here it translated into reality. Have I denied myself the same ability by believing I was limited by the rules of logical science? Or was I simply mundane? To become a wizard in this place, I had to let go of my inhibitions and embrace a new identity.

I inhaled deeply, letting my body relax. Focusing on my clothes, I imagined them evaporating away.

I knew it worked as soon as the fresh breeze caressed my bare buttocks, and my erect dick shot up, freed from its constricting fabric. I had forgotten to leave my boxers out of the vanishing act—that must have been what Diane meant by accidents. My face heated as blood rushed through me.

Diane giggled, her gaze traveling over my naked body. “You didn’t lie about the teenage bit,” she emphasized the last word.

“Sorry.” I tried to shield my dick with my hands, but its over-enthusiastic state made it rather tricky.

“No.” She swatted away my hands. “Let me handle this.” She encircled it with her slender hand, her fingers clasping tight.

I gasped. What a contrast to Fiona asking me to handle it myself.

“See? Only pleasure,” Diane murmured, her eyes burning.

“Mmm.”

“Now lie down, and I’ll do the rest.” Without releasing her grip, she pushed me onto the sofa.

I sunk into the pillows and looked up at her. Her breasts, straining against her lacy bra, threatened to break free.

“If it’s unfair I’m wearing this while you’re naked, I can make it go away.”

“No, it’s perfect.”

Her lips curved up into a mischievous smirk. “And this tool you have here.” She tightened her hand around it. “It’s… something.”

“I haven’t had sex for a while.” I managed to choke out.

“Oh…” She frowned. “Then let’s not delay any longer.” She leaned down, and with her tongue, started tracing patterns across the top of my dick.

I closed my eyes, trying to focus on the sensations, but one thought kept nagging at me: if she was my creation—which essentially meant she was me—did it mean I had just gone down on myself?

ten

I awoke in an exuberant mood, stunning Fiona when I prepared breakfast for her. Once she had left, I jumped into the shower, reminiscing about my night with Diane. The blowjob she gave me had only been our starting point. We’d done many things, some in the shower.

The scalding water ran over my skin like a river of pleasure. I closed my eyes and let my fingertips wander, imagining Diane’s delicate hands exploring me. I moved with the rhythm of the steamy water, lost in the moment, following a steady beat until… Fiona’s words from the day before about ‘handling it myself’ came crashing back to me. What an anti-climax. Would her words always invade my little… me-times? Good thing I found an alternative. The only issue was that I’d already used my only pill.

I wasn’t in a rush to get to work since I set my own schedule. After breakfast and a cup of coffee, I got into the car and hunted for more pills.

The first few stores I visited had run out of the magazines. I initially checked the shelves myself, feeling awkward about requesting what I needed. Yet, when I didn’t find what I searched for, I started asking the shop owners. Remarkably, they never ridiculed me, only apologized, saying the Dream Lover’s shipments had been coming late recently.

This store was my eleventh this morning.

“Got any Dream Lover mags?” I asked the shopkeeper, without so much as glancing at the shelves.

“Blimey, mate. Sorry to say, but we’re all out of it.” The guy didn’t lift his head from the newspaper.

“Not again. I’ve been searching for three hours. How many shops will I have to visit today?”

The shopkeeper looked at me and slowly folded his paper. “Been gettin’ a proper beating, innit?” He chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve been there meself. I had this bird, and we were shagging every night like rabbits. But one night, I was out of me pills and missed the action. Just one bloody night. You’d think she would’ve waited for me, right? But nah, she goes and gets herself another bloke. Can ya even believe it?”

“What do you mean?” I strained to comprehend the man’s strange vernacular, but his rapid-fire speech made it even more challenging. “You could’ve thought of her again. Did you not focus hard enough?”

“Turns out she was with some other geezer already, mate.”

“But how? I mean, she existed only in your mind. How could anyone else meet her if she was part of your imagination?”

The guy looked me up and down and chuckled. “Oi, you’ve nicked me pill ‘ow many times now, mate?”

“Only once. Does it matter?”

“Have you read the manual, the disclaimer, and all the other waffle?”

“A friend explained everything to me. What instructions do you need for taking one pill?”

“Do you know how the pill does its magic?”

“Do you? I mean, who does? I plan to do some research to learn how it affects our brains, but—”

“Innit lush, mate? You pop the pill, she pops the pill, and off ya go on a jolly in the dreamworld, not a care for any sprogs. Proper mint, I tell ya.”

My mind raced, not only with the translation of his words but also with their implications. It couldn’t be the truth. Just couldn’t.

“You didn’t know?” The guy grinned. “Did you reckon it was all in your napper?”

“Wait!” Sudden coldness enveloped my entire body as if I had jumped into a half-frozen lake during mid-winter. “The magazines for women… They take the pill so that—”

“Got it now?”

“No way.” I shivered. “No fucking way.”

“Can’t catch your missus cheating if she’s still lying in your bed.”

“What? Never mind. I need that magazine. Right now.”

The shopkeeper frowned. “I may have a wee bit left. I’m saving it for me mate, but for the right price, I can make an exception.”

“And the right price is?”

“Two-hundred.”

“For one magazine? Last time I checked, that’s what you paid for five copies!”

The guy shrugged and turned away from me.

“I’ll take it,” I said, resigned.

He turned back with a twinkle in his eye. “Cash only, mate.”

“Why am I not surprised?” I reached for my wallet.

eleven

This time, Diane wore a miniskirt and a tiny t-shirt that barely contained her breasts, making what I had to do even harder for me. I desperately wanted to fling myself at her and repeat what we did last time. But she was an actual person, and not a figment of my imagination. The implications of any intimate act were entirely different now, especially when Fiona was concerned.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked her as she perched on my lap, her bare knees tempting my hand to caress them.

“Tell you what?”

“That this is real. You’re real, not just a part of my memories.”

“What do you mean?” She frowned, then her jaw dropped‌. “Oh, shit. You thought it was only a dream?”

I nodded.

“But…haven’t you read the manual? Or done some research?”

“Everyone keeps talking about the goddamn manual as if it were some kind of holy scripture.”

“You should’ve read it before getting into the dream.” She rose from my lap and sat beside me.

“I know.” I glanced down at her slim ankles, then up her long legs, ending at her mini-skirt-covered thighs. Did she wear anything under that skirt?

“Wow.” She shook her head. “When we had sex, you thought I was just…”

Again, I nodded.

“Well… Does it matter?”

“I cheated on my wife.”

She gently touched my cheek. “Does it matter?”

I frowned. “It matters to me. I’ve never done it before. Is it normal for you to be disloyal to your partners?”

She withdrew her hand. “Does that mean you won’t fuck me anymore?”

“Can you phrase it differently, please?”

“Like ‘have sex’ or ‘make love’?”

I uttered a loud groan. Everything was less complicated when she wasn’t real. For years, I had fantasized about her so much that it felt like there was a unique bond between us. But that was an illusion. Wishful thinking. Now that I had accomplished the task, she was no longer Miss Zeigarnik to me. I should just… forget about her.

Who was I kidding?

“How is it even possible?” I mused aloud. “I bet thousands of women take these pills, and the first night I tried it, I’m seeing you?”

She sighed. “If both parties imagine each other at the same time, they usually meet in the dream.”

“So last night you thought of me?”

“I might have thought about you once in a while. Coincidence.”

“Serendipity more likely. And you could’ve called me. We could’ve met in the real world. We still can.”

“We can’t.”

“Why?”

“It was fun. Even if we only met once. I thought we could do more than that. Pity.” She placed her hand on my thigh and looked into my eyes. “I enjoyed last night. Nobody has made me feel anything like that before. Even in a dream.”

I suspected she said it to comfort me, but my poor heart started beating faster. The freedom I felt with her last night had encouraged me to try things I had never done before, but only because I thought I was with someone who didn’t exist, or at least wasn’t there in the same way. There were some things we did I wouldn’t even trust Fiona with.

And, Fiona? Before I knew the true identity of my ‘dream lover’, I wanted to tell my wife about the pill so that we’d have a good laugh. Maybe even take the pills together? It could’ve revived her sexual desire.

But now? She’d never forgive me for what I did. Not a chance she’d believe I hadn’t researched it thoroughly as a scientist. How could I have been so stupid?

Diane leaned in, brushing my hair with her hand. “What’s going on in that gigantic head of yours?”

“I’m trying to decide how to explain it to my wife.”

She snorted. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you insane? Why would you even consider it?”

“Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

“Unless you’re an idiot, yes.”

twelve

I shut my eyes, my brain whirling with Diane’s words. Lying to Fiona was an alien concept to me, but Diane appeared unconcerned by it.

I glanced at her. “Do you have a husband?”

She avoided my gaze.

“You won’t say?”

She rose, walked to the window, and looked outside. What could she be seeing out there in the dream? Dragons flying in the sky? I smiled at the thought.

“So you can have sex with me, but you won’t tell me anything about yourself?” I had to ask her these questions. They haunted me.

Still staring out of the window, she shrugged.

“How can I contact you in reality? Do you have the same phone number as before?”

She faced me. “Why would you want to contact me in the real world?”

“Are you involved with someone? Any kids?”

A hint of mockery crossed her lips as she smiled.

“You don’t trust others easily, do you?” I pressed.

“Why should I trust you with my personal details?”

“We had sex.”

“A one-night stand.”

“I’m not some random guy you picked up in a club. We’ve known each other for years.”

“We spoke on the phone and met once. Nothing happened between us.”

“I shared plenty about myself with you last night.”

“Only because you thought you were talking to yourself.”

“Still, you wanted to see me again. And you knew how the pill worked, so it wasn’t just a one-time thing.”

She smiled. “It was fun. Why not repeat it?”

I looked away. “I can’t. Not now.”

“That I can see.” She waved her hand, and her clothes transformed into a sweatshirt and long pants. “Anything else you want to discuss before I clear off?”

“Last night with you was the best of my life.”

A look of sorrow swept across her face.

“And it’s not just the sex,” I continued. “It’s how I felt when I was with you. No reservations. No holding back. As if… everything was just between me and… me.” I laughed. “It sounds stupid, I know.”

“Doesn’t sound stupid to me.” Her frown deepened and her eyes pierced me with intensity. “How did you feel when you discovered it was really me?”

“I thought I’d never be able to look you in the eye.”

“Why not?”

“For two reasons.” I took a deep breath. “First, I never explained why I stopped calling you after the—”

“I don’t need your explanation.”

“And because I’m weird.”

“Weird?”

“Some of the things we did last night—”

“Stop it! You’re acting like a teen. I’ve seen many guys here. You’re not weird, trust me.”

“Thanks, I guess. The thing is… I’ll never have with Fiona what I had with you.”

She reached out and squeezed my hand. “That’s… sad. If you feel this way, why are you still with her?”

“Because I love her.”

“You sure about that?”

I placed my hand over hers. “I don’t want to talk about my wife. I want to talk about us. We can see each other. In real life, I mean. As friends.”

“Just friends?”

“Well…”

“That’s impossible.”

“But why?”

She got up and poured herself a drink. I never noticed when she materialized a minibar. Was that her escape? Drinking? Was she an alcoholic? A drug addict? Was that why she didn’t want to see me outside the dreams?

I stood behind her. The heat radiating from her body made me feel warm, even though we were not touching. I gently clutched her arms, drawing her close so that her back rested against my chest.

“I don’t care how you look now or who you became,” I said softly to her ear. “I want to see you in real life.”

“I can’t.”

“But why?”

“I don’t see people in real life.”

“You don’t see people… What does it even mean?”

“Drop it,” she commanded in a warning tone. “Or I’ll leave now.”

“Can you do this? Leave the dream?”

“You haven’t read the manual, so you wouldn’t know.”

“But I have. Before I joined you here tonight. And there was nothing there about leaving early. I would’ve noticed.”

“It is in the women’s edition.”

“There goes gender equality. Why’s that?”

“I guess the manufacturer assumed women might need to escape earlier.”

“That’s so—”

“I know.”

“How do you do it, anyway?”

“Leave? A safe word. You don’t even have to speak it aloud.”

“What is the safe word?”

“The moment I say it, I’ll disappear.”

“Then don’t.” I pulled her closer, encircling her with my arms.

Her body tensed. “You said you didn’t want to have sex.”

“I said I couldn’t. But I want it so much. And I don’t want you to disappear. Ever again.”

She relaxed and nestled her head against my shoulder.

I wanted to kiss her on the neck, but held back. It would be my conscious decision now. Unfair to Fiona or Diane.

As if she could read my thoughts, she asked: “Have you decided if you tell her about us?”

“Not yet.”

“That’s your call, of course. I wouldn’t.”

“I’m aware of that.”

She sighed. “Promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“That you won’t look for me in real life.”

“Why not?”

“Do you swear?”

The tension in her body told me how important my response was. I delayed my answer for a few moments, relishing in her warmth and closeness. Finally, I said the only thing I could: “I cannot promise that.”

She withdrew from my arms at once. Before she slipped away, she locked eyes with me, almost as if daring me to seek her out. Or was it only my projection? Perhaps she only wanted to remember my face one last time.

part 1 | part 2 (current) | part 3 | part 4

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A frustrated husband ignored by his wife. A pill that can manipulate dreams. Will he dare to take it and risk destroying his marriage?

Kevin is livid at his wife's indifference. But when a long-lost friend introduces him to a dream-altering pill, he senses an opportunity to flee his wretched existence and uncover joy in a realm he controls.

In a world of his own creation, Kevin gets to be with the woman he's always desired. But he soon discovers that things aren't as they seem. As he grapples with the consequences of his actions, he must make a choice that could change his life forever.

Your comments help me improve my stories in the future, so don’t hesitate 😁.

One

Snatching up The Engine like it held the secrets to the universe, I grabbed a pack of my beloved gum and found myself in line behind a mountain of a man. He wore an electric-hued Hawaiian shirt and held a stack of porn mags that could rival a small sex shop’s inventory.

My blood had boiled when Fiona called off our plans, claiming it was for work. It had been her idea to come to the damn mall, as if shopping and having lunch together were a perfect combo. I hated this place. People swarmed together to satisfy their insatiable urge to acquire more things they didn’t need. There was a reason I purchased everything online. And here I was, stuck alone, uncertain of what to do next. Should I get some lunch and hope my mood improved? Or head straight home? At least I would get my magazine before leaving.

The giant ahead of me tossed the porn mags on the counter. “Don’t forget the extras,” he said to the cashier.

The clerk gave a brief nod and rummaged through a drawer.

I leaned forward, desperate for a glimpse of what he held, but the porn connoisseur shifted his stance, blocking my view.

Damn it! What extras could a porn mag have? Faux vagina? A buzzing device? A prophylactic and a rubber glove for the extra-careful masturbator? Better safe than sorry, they say.

Annoyed that my curiosity wouldn’t be satisfied, I looked at the price: $250.

No way.

“Hey!” I pointed to the cash register. “You punched the wrong button by mistake.”

The cashier glared at me but didn’t respond.

“Nah, that’s okay.” The soon-to-be-duped customer didn’t even glance at me.

“Okay? Five porn mags for over two-hundred bucks? It’s your money.”

“These aren’t porn…” The guy turned to see me, and his jaw dropped. “Kevin! Damn. That you?” His face lit up.

“Ah…”

“I’m Mark.” The lack of recognition on my face must have been obvious to him. “Mark Hampton.”

“Hampton?”

“Your old high school compadre. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”

I looked closer and saw something familiar about his eyes. Oh yes, I remembered him. He was the guy who was always trying to get me to play basketball—or football, or baseball, or whatever ball happened to be in season. Unfortunately, I had neither the taste nor the talent for sports. Still, he was one of my old friends—for lack of another word.

“You’ve grown,” I said. It sounded ridiculous, perhaps even insulting.

But Mark let out a deep chuckle and grinned at me. “No shit! I’ve nearly tripled in size.”

Was it the same Mark who used to captain the high-school football team?

“Are you going to pay for this?” the cashier asked.

Mark paid with his smartwatch, and the clerk handed him a few plastic packets. Before I could get a better view, Mark made them disappear into his vast pockets. Something I wasn’t supposed to see? Was ‘extras’ a code word for drugs?

I paid for my magazine and gum and followed my old buddy out of the shop.

“What do ya say we get some chow together?” Mark smacked his lips. “I’m starving.”

“Why not? I was supposed to have lunch with my wife, but…” I waved my hand, dismissing the whole thing. “Where do you want to go? McDonald’s?” I picked a random restaurant off the top of my head. It’s not like I knew the damn mall.

“Nah, I’m on a diet. No kidding.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

“There’s a nice veggie spot on the second floor.”

“Vegetarian? Seriously?”

“Don’t start. You should’ve seen me a few months ago. There was even more of me.”

We found an escalator and got onto it.

“So you got hitched?” Mark glanced at my ring finger.

“Yeah.”

“Any kids?”

“We’re thinking of adopting. Then our family will be whole.”

“Lucky bastard.” Mark rested his heavy hand on my arm. “I envy you, man. I’m alone.”

Two

Rico’s Veggie Place was tranquil. Softly flickering tea lights illuminated each table, and a faint melody drifted through the air as customers conversed in hushed tones. The staff, wearing white aprons, glided around the tables without disrupting the peaceful ambiance.

How come I’d never been here before? ‘Veggie’ in the name was the likely culprit. I got why some people abstained from consuming animals: out of love and respect for their right to live. I respected animals for a different reason: the delicious flavor of their meat. But I guess there was no harm in experimenting with… plants.

“So, what do you do for a living?” I asked Mark when we sat at a table.

“I’m a private investigator.”

“Really?” I looked him over. “You don’t look like the type who runs around the town with a concealed gun in a holster. I mean, I don’t want to be rude, but you’re not exactly… inconspicuous.”

Mark raked his hand through his tousled hair. “You have no clue how quickly people overlook me after one glance.” A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “Especially women.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.

“But you’re right,” he continued. “I mainly use my computer for work and don’t venture out of my apartment much. I specialize in missing persons investigations. The things you can discover on the net are unbelievable.”

“Missing persons? Is it hard to find someone nowadays?”

“Depends on the type. People are so stupid sometimes. A guy tries to disappear, then uploads his pics to social media while standing in front of a casino in Vegas. What an idiot.”

“Right.” I gestured to the magazines Mark put on the chair beside him. “And these porn mags? Why are they so expensive?”

“They’re not porn.” He grimaced and placed one on the table. It was wrapped in thin plastic. A sticky residue at the top hinted at something once fastened there, but now missing.

“The Dream Lover?” I read the magazine’s title, my eyes lingering on the topless woman on its cover. “How is it not a porn mag?”

“I know, they should change the cover. But apparently, it sells better with this… lady. It’s a manual on how to use the pill.”

“What pill?”

Mark fished a small package out of his pocket, one he’d stashed at the newsstand. He broke the seal and a tiny blue pill rolled onto the table, stopping close to my plate. “You pay for the pill. People keep stealing them, so shopkeepers detach them to keep them safe.”

I squinted at the heart-shaped object. Carved on its side were two letters: DL.

“What is it? New Viagra?”

Three

A waiter showed up, and Mark placed his order.

Unfamiliar with the menu items, I asked for the same thing.

Once the waiter left, Mark inched towards me, speaking in a hushed whisper as if he was about to divulge a secret. “Viagra’s nothing compared to this. If you take it before bed, you’ll have an interesting dream.”

“What kind of dream?”

“Think of the title.” He placed his hand on the magazine. “The Dream Lover. Imagine yourself with the girl of your dreams. And you can do whatever you want with her.”

“You mean, sex?”

“It’s not only about sex.” Mark reclined in his chair, ignoring its moans and creaks, and locked his hands behind his head. His gaze shifted away as if his thoughts had taken him back to the world of his last dream. “It’s like a proper date,” He spoke in a gentle tone. “Sex is just the cherry on top.”

“A date? In your dream? Because of a pill?” I snorted and turned my head away.

I should’ve dismissed his claims at once. But Mark had never been a liar. Yet he could’ve been duped by some sort of scam. And if such a pill had ever existed, wouldn’t I know about it?

I picked the pill from the table, rolling it between my fingers. “So, you’ve used this before, huh?”

“I’m telling you, it works.” He raised his hand as if to swear an oath. “Honest.”

“Hmm… Can you manipulate the dream in any way? Or is it random?”

“Sure you can. Like on an actual date. If you behave, you might… get lucky. But one wrong move—“

“And the girl? Is it always the same one?” I pointed to the glossy cover.

“This one? No. Not that I’d mind.” He gazed wistfully at the picture. “You pick who it is—sort of. Before you fall asleep, you need to focus on who you want to see. Picture her with all the details. You’ll usually succeed.”

“Usually?”

“Sometimes the girl is just similar. I won’t spoil your experience by explaining how it works. But it does, every time. You can enjoy any type of sex imaginable—sometimes even types that are beyond imagination. If you catch my drift.”

“That’s illogical. You can’t dream of something you’re unable to imagine. It’s your mind that creates your dream.”

Mark only grinned.

“Your subconscious must be the reason behind it,” I continued. “Generating scenarios you wouldn’t think of when you’re awake, but secretly wish for.”

He frowned. “The way you talk… Are you some kind of head doctor?”

“I’m a psychologist. But I do research nowadays. That’s why I’m surprised I’ve never heard of these pills.

“Don’t you ever watch the news?”

“Not really. It’s all the same thing.”

“I hear you.” Mark nodded. “At one point, the pills were controversial. They almost banned them.”

“What happened?”

“At the time I wasn’t interested in them, but I heard stories. The pill seldom lived up to expectations.”

“In what way?”

“The woman you got differed from the one you imagined before bed. Or she didn’t appear at all. Men were livid. Women felt betrayed because of the men’s alleged infidelity.”

“Infidelity? How can someone be unfaithful in a dream?”

Four

The waiter brought our meals, and Mark hid his magazine and the pill.

I eyed my plate skeptically, my nose crinkling at the foreign smell. Nothing appeared familiar, as I studied the exotic hues and texture of my food.

“You should try it.” Mark scooped up some of the yellow mush on his plate. “It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.”

I forked the substance that resembled meat and popped it into my mouth. Surprisingly, it had a real meat-like taste. “It’s not too bad.”

“I meant the pill.”

I gave a short laugh. “I don’t know. Is it FDA approved?”

“Who cares?” Mark devoured his food like a starving canine. “Nothing has happened to me, and I take it almost every night.”

“Every night? You must be dishing out lots of money. Does the missing persons’ business pay that well?”

“Money’s not an issue. Availability is. It’s getting harder to find it anywhere, though the woman’s edition is easier to buy.”

“They’ve released a women’s edition?” I raised my eyebrows.

“Why do you think women stopped complaining about cheating?”

“Right. Is it any different from this one?”

“The cover features a shirtless guy, but the title’s still the same.”

“And the pill?”

“It’s pink.”

“Blue for men, and pink for women? How original.” I speared a strange-looking vegetable on my fork. It had to be a vegetable, right? We were in a vegetarian restaurant. “Have you ever tried it—the pink pill?”

“No way. I’m not too keen on ending up in bed with a guy. I love women too much. But I heard they’re making an LGBT edition.”

“Right.” I carefully tasted the weird vegetable. It was… okay.

“The best thing about it…” Mark furrowed his brow. “Not that it matters in your case. You’re still looking good. Fit, athletic. Unlike me.”

“Oh, come on.”

“It’s true. I’m well past my ideal weight. But in those dreams…” His face lit up as if he were already dreaming. “I look like I did back in high school, perhaps older, but still.”

“So you can change how you look in the dream?”

“I don’t do it on purpose. It just happens that way.”

While we ate, I pondered over Mark’s words. So, the pill not only allowed you to choose your partner but also change your appearance in the dream.

A few minutes later, I finished my meal, and the waiter brought my coffee.

“Perhaps you don’t even realize you want to look different,” I said, taking a sip, “but your subconscious does. And your dream reflects that.”

“Tell you what.” Mark’s face broke into a silly grin. “I’ll give you one.” He put the magazine in front of me, placing the pill on top. “Consider it a late birthday present for all the ones I missed.”

I scratched my head. “I have nothing for you in return.”

“Nah. I mean, sure, I’d love to have a gorgeous wife like yours, but that’s not something you can give me. She is gorgeous, right?”

I pictured Fiona’s curvaceous body and nodded.

“You don’t need the pill, do you? You two having sex every night?” There was a sour note in his voice.

I thought of the times Fiona refused me, saying it was her period, a migraine, or that she had to wake up early the next day. “I can’t complain.”

He heaved a sigh, then guzzled half the juice from his glass, letting out a loud belch afterwards.

“Still, things change,” I said. “We’ve been together since college. I love her, of course, but other women do exist.”

Mark lowered his voice. “Have you ever… you know?”

“Are you asking if I cheated on my wife?”

He reclined in his chair. “Cheated is a big word.”

“No, never.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Never even felt like it?”

I averted my gaze.

“Hah!”

“I love the tranquil atmosphere at home.” I felt compelled to explain. “If Fiona ever found out, it would be the end of me.” I grasped my cup.

“But?” Mark’s eyes kept delving into me, seeking a chink in my armor.

“But I’m still a man.”

Five

Two stunning women with olive complexions and dark hair that hung loose and glossy down their backs to their curvy buttocks passed our table on their way to the bathroom. They looked like twin sisters, though the way they held their hands suggested something else. The white skirts they wore were so short, it almost seemed like they were trying to show off their taut, toned legs. The material of their clothing hugged their lower bodies.

My gaze lingered on them, my heart racing as I tried to imagine the intensity of being with them simultaneously. Would the pill allow me to make that happen?

Mark’s eyes were ablaze with unbridled longing. His gaze followed the young couple, who soon disappeared behind… a wall of misty dreams. An eternity seemed to pass until he returned his attention to me.

“I knew this woman…” I fiddled with my coffee cup, trying not to spill its contents over the table. “She was a fellow researcher living in another state. We worked on side-by-side projects, so we talked a lot online. When we finally met at a conference…” I smiled, recollecting that time. “Well, nothing happened. I mean, she was brilliant, way smarter than me. And funny. Pretty, too. We teased each other, but I was with Fiona, so…” I shrugged. “Since then, I’ve been thinking of her from time to time. My Miss Zeigarnik.”

“Funny name.”

“What?” I chuckled. “No. I named her that because of the Zeigarnik Effect.”

“What’s that?”

“A Soviet psychologist, Bluma Zeigarnik, figured out that unfinished or interrupted tasks are more easily recalled than completed ones. Our relationship didn’t move past flirting, so she’s kind of like an unfinished task for me.”

“You wanted things to go differently with her?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s perfect.” His face lit up. “You can see her in your dreams.”

“It’s not the same.” I looked away, thinking of the last time I saw her. “You ever wonder what would’ve happened if you did something different?”

“All the time.” He flashed his teeth at me.

“Sometimes I regret my decision back then, but I didn’t want to risk ruining it with Fiona.”

“Would you now?”

I ignored his question, lifting my coffee cup in a silent salute to Miss Zeigarnik’s memory.

“Is it a betrayal if you have sex in a dream?” Mark asked. “You think Fiona would be mad at you for that?”

I considered Fiona’s likely reaction. “No, I don’t believe she’d be angry at me for that.”

“There’s your answer. The pill is perfect for you.”

Even though it was tempting, I wanted to say no. Instead, I made a ridiculous noise, like a schoolgirl giggling at her crush.

“If you’re still on the fence,” Mark said, “why not buy her the special ladies’ edition? Make her day.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You scared she’ll find it too enticing?” He nudged the magazine closer to me, his smile taunting. “Mind made up?”

I scowled at the glossy mag. “Only the pill, please. I don’t want Fiona to—“

“No problem.” He whisked away the mag, leaving only the pill in its place. “You don’t have to read it. Just take the pill before you go to bed and let your thoughts drift to that special someone. Sound good?”

I gazed at it for a moment. Would I have the courage to attempt it?

“Gotta run.” Mark took the waiter’s bill from the table and dropped some twenties.

“Allow me.” I went for my wallet.

“Next time.” He rose and extended his hand.

I shook it.

“We have to do this again. I’m looking forward to hearing about your dream.” He winked at me. Then he passed me his business card. “Here, if you ever wanted to locate anyone. I’m extremely proficient at it, you know.”

six

“Sorry about today,” Fiona said when I stepped into the bathroom. She sat in front of the mirror, applying moisturizer to her face, wearing only panties.

“I was deeply disappointed when you didn’t show.” I walked up behind her and placed my hands on her arms. “Stuck in the damn mall. Alone.” I didn’t see any reason to tell her about Mark. “But you can still redeem yourself.” I tried to reach for her breasts, but she wiggled free.

“I’m on my period. I can’t.”

“I don’t mind.” I replaced my hands on her arms and started to massage her neck. “Remember when we were in Paris?”

“That was a different time. I didn’t care about the mess.”

I backed off and squatted next to her, forcing myself to look only at her face. “Last time, it was PMS. Now it’s your period.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” I stared at her perky breasts as warm memories filled my mind. I almost forgot what it was like to caress them, to feel them in my hands. “When will you fit me into your schedule?”

“For sex?” She screwed the lid back onto her moisturizer and returned it to the dresser. “You take all the fun out of it when you nag me like this. Can’t you wait for the right moment?” She grabbed her tweezers, muttered something about a stray hair, and plucked one from her eyebrow.

“I’ve been patient for weeks.” I watched how her breasts jiggled with her every move. “And even when we did it, you seemed distracted.”

“Distracted?” Fiona gave me an ironic look, holding the tweezers as if she wanted to stab me in the eye. “Distracted how?”

“I mean—”

“Do you want me to moan and cry ‘yes’ with every thrust of your dick? Like those girls in porn flicks?”

I clenched my teeth. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that you’ve changed.”

“You mean I’m not a teenager anymore? Well, you’re still acting like one.”

“Can’t I have regular sex with my wife? Like everyone else?”

“What do you know about everyone else? You avoid visiting our friends. Where do you get this information? The internet?”

“They’re your friends… And I don’t enjoy seeing them because they’re fucking boring.”

“Is it my fault you don’t have a bunch of guys to hang out with? But if you listened to my friends, instead of being so self-centered, you would’ve noticed their sex lives aren’t perfect either.”

“If that’s what you’re going to say to excuse yourself…”

She rose and moved closer to me. I braced myself for an argument, but her expression softened. She took my hands in hers. She looked gorgeous with this worry in her eyes. “You think I’m avoiding sex?”

“Are you?” I held my breath, my heart pounding in my chest.

She pulled me closer, the familiar scent of her perfume making me lightheaded. “I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been giving you enough attention. It’s just… between work and everything else going on, it’s been… stressful recently.” She stepped onto her toes and lightly kissed my forehead. “It’ll get better, I promise.”

I nodded, unconvinced.

She walked to the sink. “Just don’t push it.” She leaned forward and began washing her hands. “Exercise restraint.”

Restraint? Right. I fixated on her shapely buttocks, only half-hidden by her panties. They urged my dick to slide between them and…

“Can you pass me the towel, please?” Fiona snapped me out of my trance.

I flung it at her back, blocking out the teasing sight.

“What are you doing?” she growled, catching the towel before it fell to the floor.

“Clearly nothing exciting tonight,” I muttered and left the bathroom.

seven

“Cuddle?” Fiona suggested when we lay in bed.

We always slept naked, unless Fiona had her period. So today, she had stayed in her skimpy panties, which didn’t improve the situation at all. When a woman dressed close to nothing asks you to cuddle, cuddling is the last thing on your mind. Unless it happens after sex.

But Fiona had told me sex was off the table, crushing all my hopes for something between us tonight. I didn’t see any reason to give her anything now.

“I want to sleep,” I snapped, turning my back to her.

“But I wanted to be the little spoon tonight.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“You’re punishing me for what happened in the bathroom. Or is it still about the mall?”

“I’m not punishing you,” I lied, fighting the guilt that surged inside me. But I shifted closer to her, feeling the warmth of her body radiating through me as she nestled against my front. I reached for her breast, but she blocked my attempt and trapped my hand.

Only my stupid dick didn’t get the message.

Fiona adjusted her position, trying to accommodate my eager appendage. “I want to sleep.”

“Tell it to my dick.”

“Yeah…” Her breath eased. “Can’t you just… handle it yourself?”

I stiffened, but for a different reason than my dick.

Handle it myself?

“I need a piss.” I pulled away from her body.

She didn’t even twitch. Amazing how quickly she fell asleep after she put her head on the pillow.

Handle it myself?

Fiona lay still, her chest rising and falling slowly with each breath.

A weird thought came to me. What if I…

Hell no! What was I thinking? Was I so desperate that I’d contemplate taking advantage of my sleeping wife?

My cheeks burned with shame as I raced to the bathroom. Not to do what she’d suggested, no fucking way. I needed to cool off.

But ‘the problem’ solved itself. Not only women could be put off by something their partner said. Men were sensitive too. And even if I still had a hard-on, I’d refuse to ‘handle it myself’ because my beloved wife told me to.

Staring into the mirror, I scowled at my reflection. Miss Zeigarnik would never have acted like that.

And then it hit me. I had the pill from Mark! With the forced shopping in the mall, Fiona complaining about her job, and all those little things that bugged me the whole day, I completely forgot about it.

The pill. I could handle it myself, but in the way I chose.

I dug the pill out of my pants pocket and returned to the bathroom to inspect it under the better lighting. One side of it had a hint of pink, though blue was the most prominent color—a boy meets a girl. It made me chuckle. If everything worked out as planned, I’d be having fun with Miss Zeigarnik, not my uncooperative spouse.

I placed the pill on my tongue and washed it down with a few gulps of tap water.

Then terror surged through me.

What had I just done? I’d accepted the words of a man I hadn’t seen for years without looking into it first. I had no idea what was in the pill. It could have been poison. Or a drug that had the potential to make me an addict right away. What if it irreversibly altered my brain?

I shoved three fingers deep in my throat, ready to vomit it up, when I realized: I was a pathetic coward. I had no reason to think Mark lied. And even if something happened to me, Fiona would be the only one to blame. She was wrong for treating me like a mere roommate.

Oddly reassured by this twisted logic, I returned to our bedroom. Fiona’s snoring filled the room, so I rolled her over, and she quieted at once. Her heavy breathing assured me of her deep sleep.

I was going to see Miss Zeigarnik tonight. Even if it were just a dream made up of my memories, it would still feel real to me if Mark’s words were true. And it was time to stop using this stupid nickname. Her name sounded so much sweeter—Diane.

The consistent cadence of Fiona’s breathing was soothing. I closed my eyes, reflecting on my recent meeting with my beautiful colleague.

We were at a hotel bar during the last conference. Diane sat beside me on a tall stool and laughed at my jokes, even though they weren’t all that funny. I could make out her jet-black hair cut to just above her shoulders and that sweet grin that seemed to start in her naughty eyes—twinkling with the promise… of something special… happening between us… that night.

part 1 (current) | continue (part 2)

Alan

Chapter 1

Now

Every time I see my student dying, I feel awe mingled with envy.

I adjust my position so I have a clear line of sight through the car's windshield. Then I raise the binoculars to my eyes and zoom in on James.

With his feet firmly planted on the roof's edge, he steals a look at the sidewalk forty floors below, as if testing his courage to make that last step.

"That's my boy," I say under my breath and smile. Students of death, I like to call them. And this moment is the graduation.

The weather is to die for. No clouds, so James can see the stars for the last time and feel his insignificance in our galaxy. No strong wind to upset his balance, so his decision will be his own, and not a whim of nature. Few people on the sidewalk below for his falling body to stop prematurely someone else's life. And cold enough for him to believe, his body trembles from the bitter night rather than fear of impending death.

I adjust the magnification for a clearer view.

James reaches inside his pocket, takes out his phone, taps the screen, and presses the handset to his ear.

The cheap burner phone I bought for this occasion chimes a merry tune. I could've changed the ringtone to something more appropriate for the occasion, but I didn't care. It's not like I'll keep the phone after this conversation. I switch it to the speaker with one hand, the other still on the binoculars. "Ready?"

"Yes."

"Must be a killer view from up there."

"Spectacular." James chuckles, recognizing the cheap joke. His voice quivers. It's alright. He hasn't quieted his mind the way I taught him.

"Having second thoughts?" I ask the obligatory question.

"No."

"Very well. Look up. See the stars?"

James's head turns up, and he stays silent for a while. "So many..." he finally says. "Have you ever thought if we're alone in the universe? You think someone up there is watching me at the moment?"

"Soon you'll get all the answers. I envy you."

"You can join me. We can jump together. I know you want it, too."

"My way differs from yours. Scared?"

He looks at the sidewalk again. "It's a long way down."

"Remember your training. Fear's natural. Self-preservation thing."

"I know."

"It's only one step. Takes but a moment. Then nothing will matter anymore."

He nods.

I don't push him, that's not my role. If he decided he didn't want to do it anymore, I wouldn't mind. But I know it's not going to be. Not in his case. Too many times I've had this conversation before. I know how my students react.

"I'm ready." His voice is stronger now. I detect no hesitation.

"You're sure?"

"I know what you're doing. And I'm grateful. But I've decided. I want to finish this tonight."

"Then I guess it's a goodbye. Remember about the phone."

"I will."

"See you on the other side."

"Thank you." After disconnecting, he tinkers with his phone, following our training to reset it to the factory setting, before dropping it onto the roof. He looks up at the stars one more time. And smiles.

I squeeze my binoculars harder and hold my breath. Even now, after so many times, this moment carries a heavy load to me.

Still smiling, he lifts his right foot, holding it in the air for a second, then with a one swift move, steps forward. His body plummets down, quickly gaining momentum.

I count seconds in my head. One, two, two and a half...

James crashes onto the sidewalk below.

I release my breath and put down the binoculars. My role here is finished.

I remove the SIM card and the battery from my phone and put it on the seat beside me, to be thrown away later. Then I start the car's engine and pull off.

When I'm driving past the place where James hit the ground, there is already a small group of people surrounding him, mouths gaping, fingers pointing, the backs of their phones directed at the place James fell, flashes illuminating the place like miniature lightnings.

I press harder on the accelerator and swear. Social fucking media. There is nothing more important than updating your profile nowadays.

For a moment, I fight the urge to turn around and direct my car straight into the overexcited mob.

But I'm not a murderer. I only help.

Life is overrated, anyway.

We may pretend not to see the door, but we're all heading to the final exit.

Share Peter Jolt’s Fiction

The first thing that hit me when I pushed open the door was the smell. It wasn't the overarching smell of grease and stale coffee as one would expect from such a dingy place, but the buttery aroma of pancakes, syrup and slightly scorched grill. It made my stomach growl in anticipation.

The diner looked straight out of the 1950's. It was dimly lit, the scattered lights overhead casting long, sullen shadows. The scuffed linoleum floors, Formica-topped tables and vinyl-cushioned booths evoked happy memories–a nostalgic echo of one of my favorite eras. The latest Michael Jackson's "Thriller" on the radio spoiled the setting.

The patrons were few, scattered around the near-empty room. A solitary trucker sat at the bar counter, his food the source of that delightful smell. He dug into a stack of pancakes, each bite followed by an appreciative nod, the enjoyment evident on his weary face. That sight and the aroma made my decision for me. Pancakes it was.

I sat beside a wall of dirt-smeared windows. They seemed more like forgotten aquariums, caked with years of dust and neglect. The world beyond was a blur of speeding colors, the streaks punctuated by the massive bodies of trucks that roared by. Each time one passed, the diner shuddered slightly, and for a moment, the world seemed to vibrate.

I had barely settled into the booth when a young waitress approached, a smile trying to push past her evident fatigue. Her uniform was as worn as the diner itself, a retro white apron stretched over a faded red dress. She must have been in her late twenties, but the weariness added a few extra years. Her chestnut hair was held back under a small cap, strands escaping from under it to cover her left eye.

"Morning." She handed me a laminated menu, her voice betraying a hint of warmth. The crooked name tag spelled out 'Jane'.

“Good morning, Jane.” I placed the menu down on the table. “I’ll have the pancakes. The aroma is irresistible. And a pot of tea, please.”

She looked slightly taken aback. "Tea? Not coffee?"

"That's right. Make it strong, please."

With a nod, Jane reached to pick up the disregarded menu. The motion caused her hair to shift, revealing a swollen eye. The deep hues of a fresh bruise stood stark against her pale skin.

So the rumors were true.

“Ten minutes.” Jane offered me a thin smile before turning on her heel. She moved briskly, disappearing into the back of the diner.

I closed my eyes, searching for her mind. After a moment, I located her back in the kitchen. It took a few more seconds to tune into her surface thoughts.

<He saw it... Damn it!... So what? He's just some guy, he'll be gone soon.> Her thoughts were as clear as if she said them aloud. And then, a wave of emotion surged forth, strong enough to nearly break my concentration. Fear. Followed by anger. But it subsided as quickly as it had risen, replaced by a forceful calm. Jane had it under control. 

I extended my perception, trying to see what she was seeing. A man, older than her, also clad in an apron, shared the kitchen space with her. Every movement Jane made was calculated, designed to maintain as much distance from him as possible. When she dared to glance his way, waves of fear and anger washed over her again. It had to be her husband, Bill. My first target.

A truck roared past on the highway outside. The whole diner shuddered, glasses tinkled on their shelves, and a dish clinked somewhere in the back. I took a moment to steady myself, then concentrated on my second target that day. Walter. I could feel him, behind the wheel of his truck, still some ten miles away. If I didn't locate him and make an initial connection, I wouldn't have been able to sense him from such a distance. There were limits to my abilities.

The last part of the puzzle was on the other side of the street. Instead of straining my eyes attempting to see through the dirty windows, I reached with my mind, locating Trevor inside the gas station. He stood behind the counter, browsing some porn mags hidden from the shoppers' view.

"Your pancakes," Jane materialized by my table, laying down the steaming stack and the pot of tea before she attempted to dart away.

"Wait," I called out.

She paused. "Anything else? We have—"

"Why don't you leave him?"

“I... What?” She looked at me, taken aback.

“Your husband. He beats you. It's obvious. Why don't you leave him?”

“I don't know what you're talking about." She started to back away.

"But you do." I reached out, touching her wrist.

She flinched, pulling away from me. "That's none of your business, mister." Her thoughts surged with embarrassment and anger.

"Why don't you report him to the police?"

She closed her eyes briefly, her anger ebbing away. She had mastered the trick of controlling her emotions at will. When she opened her eyes again, she seemed unnaturally calm. “What's it to you? You a lawyer or something?"

"A lawyer? Don’t insult me. I'm something like a... spiritual helper."

"A priest?"

"Not exactly. But I do have a close connection to the guy up there." I gestured to the ceiling. "I'm here to help."

She snorted. "And you suggest I report him to the cops? You don't know what you're talking about."

“Then leave him. Pack your bags and go. Never look back.”

Straightening, she plastered on a professional facade. “Anything else?”

I sighed and shook my head.

She turned and left. It was a long shot, but I had to try.

My gaze fell to the pancakes on my plate. I sliced off a piece and took a bite. They were just as delicious as they smelled, the rich flavors filling my mouth.

Jane was the bitter taste of reality behind the sweet allure of the pancakes, in a diner stuck somewhere between the past and the present.

***

I swallowed the last piece and poured more tea into my cup. Strong, but the taste was far from perfect.

It was the time to go back to work.

Trevor, the attendant at the nearby gas station, entered my awareness first. I felt him, the dull edge of boredom gnawing at him as he aimlessly flicked through some risqué magazines. He desperately needed a break. A smoke outside, perhaps? I latched onto this thought, intensifying the craving. I pushed, nurturing his desire until I felt him shift in his seat, grumble under his breath, and finally rise from his uncomfortable perch.

Trevor's thoughts were now on the cool morning air, the taste of a cigarette, and a brief respite from the mundane task of manning the gas station. I felt him leave the confines of the station's store, the faint chime of the doorbell fading into the background.

I sought out Walter, extending my senses to the semi-truck that barreled down the road a couple of miles out. Within moments, I peered through Walter’s eyes, the truck's cab becoming my temporary vantage point. A small bridge grew in the distance, as the truck thundered down the road towards it. Walter's speed was consistent, unyielding, the hum of the engine a steady soundtrack to his careless drive. He never slowed down, not even for the towns he passed through.

I checked the distance. Two minutes, maybe less. Walter's rig was a constant variable, a piece on this roadside chessboard I found myself playing on. I had to time it right.

I turned my attention to the kitchen now, focusing on Bill. I could feel the hard grip he had on a kitchen knife, his mind clouded with unsavory thoughts. No subtlety now. <Put the knife away. Move.> I gave him a mental command, overriding his will.

The sudden intrusion made him pause, a tingle of unease running through him. I intensified that feeling, morphing it into raw fear. He needed to understand what Jane felt when he struck her. Satisfied with his panicked state, I urged him to walk faster.

Looking through his eyes, I caught a glimpse of myself, sitting at the table with eyes shut. What an odd perspective.

<Now, Bill, to the door.>

“Bill, where are you going?” Jane's anxious voice cut through his panic.

For a moment, he tried to act logically. “I have a delivery,” he answered Jane.

“We don’t do deliveries.” She blocked his way, as if trying to stop her husband, but he pushed her away, far too rough in his haste.

Jane stumbled, falling to the floor. No time for subtleties, and she was used to this kind of treatment, anyway.

I split my concentration, checking on Walter—his truck was almost at the diner. <Just a little faster, my dear friend.>

And Trevor? Still having that smoke outside. Perfect.

Now, Bill, out the door and onto the road. <Run, Bill, run!> Run for your... death.

<Walter, don't you dare slow down now.>

Through Bill's eyes, I saw the headlights of the incoming truck. Through Walter's, I saw the man standing on the road. Brake! No, too late. Turn right. Yes, right. Towards the gas station.

No need to check Trevor's view, I knew what was coming. I disengaged my mental grasp just as the truck rammed into Bill and careened into the gas station.

The impact resonated through the diner, causing everything to vibrate. I opened my eyes to see a trail of destruction through the diner's dirty window and couldn't help but smile. Oddly enough, the fuel gushing from the damaged pumps hadn't ignited upon impact.

That changed moments later when a flame sparked, setting the fuel ablaze. It wasn't as explosive as I had imagined, but it did the job.

I tried to reach Bill and Trevor's minds once more, only to find a void where they once were. It meant they were no longer part of this world. Only Walter still hung in there, his mind echoing with pain from the flames. Perfect. He soon fell unconscious.

I played my part. It was over. For today.

"Is that coffee?" a deep voice echoed across the table, pulling me from my thoughts. A large man barely fit into the chair across from me. Handsome, with dark skin and a neat beard, he could just as easily be thirty or fifty. Under his dark coat concealed an expensive-looking suit, the color indistinct under the diner's dim light. With a playful grin on his face and his bushy eyebrows raised, he scanned the room, probably for Jane, but the diner was practically deserted. The whole town was likely outside, staring at the smoldering remains of the gas station.

"Who are you?" I asked, lifting my cup to take another sip of my tea, imagining it was a finer blend. Had Jane brewed this or had it been Bill?

"Hold on." He rose from his seat, and retrieved a cup from the counter. He filled it with tea from the pot, lifting it to his nose. "Damn it. It's tea. I'd have ordered coffee, but you've killed off the cook. And his wife...well, she's outside mourning him."

I glanced through the window. The police had arrived, and a crowd had gathered, including Jane. I could still sense her emotions—fear, shock, maybe relief, but definitely not mourning.

I tried to delve into the stranger's mind, but I hit a mental wall. No surprise there—the Messengers were always impervious to my telepathy. I had no doubt he was one of them—the way he had mentioned Bill.

"What do you want?" I broke the silence.

“A question for you…” He raised an eyebrow. “Did you really need to kill your father?”

“I didn't pull the trigger.”

“Technicality.” He seemed amused.

“He deserved it.”

“They always do, don't they?” His gaze drifted back towards the crowd outside the window. “It’s just you have this… predisposition for killing off the members of your family.”

“I wonder why.” I finished the last drops of my tea. “What does he want this time? Another target? Tell him I'm tired. I want out.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here.” A devilish smirk appeared on his lips.

“Really?”

“Fancy a holiday, Kane?”

“A holiday?”

“You deserve it.”

“If I want a break, I take it. I don’t need anyone's permission. Especially not his.”

“But I’m not offering an ordinary break. How about a lifetime's break?”

That caught my attention.

“Next time you're reborn, you can do whatever you wish. We won't contact you anymore,” he said.

“You think I'll rest? By the time I reach adulthood, I'll remember everything from my past lives.”

“Not this time, you won’t.”

I leaned forward, scrutinizing him. Up close, he looked much older. But then if he was the Messenger, thinking of his age was ridiculous. His eyes reflected a curious mixture of boredom and amusement, as if he'd seen this conversation play out countless times before.

“So what's the catch?” I asked.

“Catch?” He feigned surprise, then let out a chuckle as if he found this amusing. “There's no catch. You've earned this.”

“There's always a catch.” I didn't share his mirth.

His smile vanished. “There will be a few conditions. You'll learn about them in the interim period. Nothing you can't handle.”

I weighed his words. A lifetime's break? It sounded almost too good to be true. Could I really spend all these years without thinking about my past, without hunting down targets, without killing anyone?

Then suspicion rose in me. “Have you ever offered me this before?”

He grinned at that. “I like you, Kane. You're not a mindless killer. You have a brain.”

I sat back, pondering. I searched my memories, but they were hazy, obscured by time. Could there be centuries missing there? Still, there seemed to be only one logical choice. Even if I had made it before. “Fine. I accept. When do I start?”

“How about right now?” He aimed a large handgun at my head, which looked eerily familiar. Where did he get it so fast? The lack of weight in the holster under my left arm answered that question—it had to be my own Desert Eagle. The bastard was a practical joker!

 “Say hallelujah,” the Messenger said, grinning. And then, with a loud bang, the world vanished.

This is a story (dialog only) I planned to use as a prologue for one of my novels. Since I’ve changed the concept, I’m presenting it to you in an audiobook format.

Enjoy!

Peter

Chapter six

Are they already in the house? She said between eleven and twelve, which means I still have time. She didn’t say it aloud, but what difference does it make? Should I call the cops right away? And tell them what? That I overheard my wife’s thoughts? Plotting to murder me? I could tell them about the pills, but Chang said the tech was new. What if the cops never heard about it? They might think it’s a stupid joke. Or that I'm a lunatic.

The panic room! The only place I can be safe. But it’s upstairs, one floor above me.

Once more, I check the cameras. Nobody’s outside. Nor inside. But if they’re pros, I wouldn’t see them, right?

I have no choice. With a trembling hand, I unlock the door and creep outside, trying to step as soundlessly as possible. I head toward the stairs. I keep my Glock in the panic room.

The damn floor creaks beneath my feet. I freeze in place.

“Honey?” Lily calls from the living room. “That you? I’m waiting here, you know. I found something fun to watch. Remember that movie where they break into a house and the family hide in the panic room?”

Fucking hell! She must know I can hear her thoughts. It’s her twisted sense of humor. It doesn't mean the killers are not real. I can't risk it.

The stairs seem to blur beneath my feet as I race upward, driven by the force of my rage mixed with fear. I reach the secret entrance and key in the code. The door slides open. I get in. It locks behind me. Now I can breathe again.

I see two options. She knows about the mind-reading and she’s toying with me, thinking about the killers and her lover to make me mad. Or it’s real. And they’ll come to get me soon.

Real or not, it had to be her who deactivated the alarm. I shouldn’t have given her the code. I’m so stupid. But why? Why is she doing this to me? I’m good to her. I give her everything. All she needs.

Is it just a play? Or does she really want me dead? Does she want a divorce? Like Linda? Fine. I won’t be as stupid as Linda’s husband. I’ll sign the papers. It’s obvious she doesn’t love me anymore.

Unless it’s just a stupid joke.

What if it isn't?

Did she ever love me at all? She can take half of my money and go. What if she wants everything? Or to be famous because they murdered her husband in her bed? It was her thought.

I must talk to her. I need to understand. What if I grab my gun and confront her? If the killers are real, maybe she can call off the attack. And I can lock us inside the panic room and demand an explanation from her here.

Enough. I have to act. Now.

I unlock the safe and remove my Glock. Then I check the cameras again, making sure nobody’s in the house. If they are, at least I’m armed.

Chapter seven

Five minutes later, I’m downstairs, holding my Glock, ready for anything.

“Finally! What took you so long?” She pats the seat beside her. “Come on, you’ll love the movie. It’s incredibly realistic.” <Especially when the bullets hit your head.>

How can she be so heartless? It’s as if she hates me. What did I do to deserve this? “Lily?” My voice falters a bit.

Her beautiful eyes meet mine, but now I see the emptiness within them—devoid of emotion or care.

“I know your plan,” I say with confidence, despite the tremor in my hand gripping the gun.

“What plan?” She feigns surprise.

“You hired some goons to kill me tonight.”

Her eyes dart to the TV, likely checking the time left until their arrival.

It’s real… I have no doubt now.

“Between eleven and twelve?” I taunt, mustering up the courage to smile.

She looks surprised. It’s so authentic. No wonder she wants to go back to acting. She’d be a star. Her eyes narrow. “Are you completely deranged?”

“Am I deranged?”

“You think I want you dead and hired someone to kill you? I mean, I know you have problems, but this?”

She tries to stand up, but I aim the gun at her. “Not so fast. Sit down!”

<A gun? Where did he get the gun?>

Fake amusement bubbles in my throat. “Do you remember our session with Chang when he mentioned the special pills?”

“Pills?” Her eyes narrow. “What pills?”

“I can hear your thoughts. That’s how I know about the men coming after me.”

<He won’t shoot. He’d go to jail for that.>

“I’m aware of the repercussions,” I answer her unspoken thoughts. “But you know what? I don’t care. I just want to know why. Why would you arrange something like that? What is your goal? Unless…” I hesitate, clinging to the remnants of hope. "Unless this is just a stupid joke?”

I expect a flurry of thoughts inside her head, but either the pills stopped working or her mind is empty.

“I gave you everything,” I continue. “I loved you. And you—“

“You’re confused. Or it’s some type of nervous breakdown. Maybe both. I don’t know, I’m not a specialist. And If you’re so scared, someone will come and kill you, why don’t we call 911?”

“And tell them what? That I can hear your thoughts?”

She sighs. “Honey, you’re sick. You hardly ever leave the house, you lock every door, and activate the alarm even during the day. I took you to Dr. Chang under the pretense of dealing with our marital problems, but the real issue isn’t us. It’s you.”

She looks so innocent, but I know she can act.

“You’re forgetting I can hear your thoughts. I know about the assassins. And… Walt.” I have to force myself to say the name.

“That’s just nonsense. Part of your delusions. You can’t hear my thoughts. Nobody can. The special pills you’re talking about don’t exist. It’s all in your head.”

“I can hear you in my head. Chang gave me the pills. I still have the empty container somewhere. I can show you.”

“And what will that prove? If you can hear my thoughts, tell me what I’m thinking right now.”

I focus on her, trying to hear. But I get nothing.

“See? You’re sick.”

“No.” I raise the gun higher, my voice cold. “You’re going to tell me everything, and right now. Or I will shoot.”

<Did he even remember about the safety switch?>

I laugh. “It’s a Glock, which means no safety switch. It’s all automatic. When I pull the trigger, it will fire. And you will be dead.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You just wondered if I switched the safety off.”

“I didn’t.”

“Clever. You’re playing with my mind. You want me to believe I’m crazy. But I know what you’re doing. You’re stalling. Waiting for your guys to come.”

She gestures to her cellphone on the coffee table. “Let me call the cops. If you’re right, they’ll protect you.”

I hesitate only for a moment. “Fine. Call them.”

She picks up her phone and dials the number.

“Put it on speaker. I want to hear.”

After getting through the automated recording and reaching a human operator, Lily responds to the standard “what’s your emergency” question: “Someone’s breaking into our house. Right now. And we’re inside.”

“Can you leave the house? “ the police dispatcher asks.

“We can’t.”

“I have your address. Hide somewhere for now. I’m sending a patrol car right away.”

I check the time on the TV. It’s almost eleven. If her goons come earlier…

“Let’s go,” I say.

“Go where?”

“To the panic room. I don’t want to risk your guys coming before the cops.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t want to be locked up with a lunatic inside.”

“You have to.” I aim the gun at her head.

“Do it.” She looks fearlessly into my eyes. “You’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

I hesitate. “Why did you do it? Why did you hire these guys? Couldn’t you just… leave?”

“Leave?” She laughs. “You’re babbling.”

“Why?”

“Honey… I’m not planning to kill you. You’re paranoid.”

“But—“

“Did you hear that? The car engine? That was fast. The cops must have been nearby.”

Someone bangs on the front door.

“Satisfied?” she says. “Let them in. You’ll feel safe.”

Does she really think I’ll go to the door and leave her here alone?

“Use your remote thingy,” she says, as if now she were reading my mind.

I reach for my phone with my free hand, check the camera outside the front door to make sure these are the cops, then deactivate the alarm and remotely unlock the door.

The footsteps grow louder, closer to our room. I position myself so that I can keep my eyes on her and still be able to glance at the door.

Lily smirks. <Right on time. He even opened the door for them. Idiot. And the fake 911 call?>

Terror overpowers me, but I’m still able to glance at the door.

Two figures in police uniforms burst into the room. Time seems to slow down.

<Did they steal these uniforms or borrow them?>

I would’ve thought they were real cops if Lily hadn’t just exposed them to me. In what feels like slow motion, they raise their guns.

I have seconds to decide what to do.

“Drop it!” one of them yells.

My heart races. Doubt erodes my will.

A sudden wave of powerful emotions awakens a fierce predator within me.

These are the killers who want to shoot me in my house!

A booming voice inside my head gives me even more confidence.

<You can do it! You can take them both!>

A primitive drive to fight back forces my hand to raise the gun.

A barrage of bullets hits my chest. Strangely, I feel no pain.

I hear Lily’s voice inside my head. <Oh, Eric. You’ve always been such a fool. So easy to manipulate. Of course, with the pills Daniel gave you, I had the edge. These are the ones he never explained to you. The third version. They let you manipulate the other person’s thoughts and feelings—if you know how to do it. I’ve been practicing with him for weeks. I can feel your emotions. Surprise. Disappointment. Regret. Beginning of hate? Wow! Raising your gun at two armed and very real police officers was especially moronic of you. Of course, I helped. You said you loved me—you don’t even know what it means. But I don’t want to be cruel. I don’t want hate to be the last thing in your mind when you die. It’s not fair. We had some good times together. Even if I’m with Daniel now. By the way, he doesn’t like when I call him that. He prefers his second name—Walt. I can feel how you’re fading away. You’ll be dead in a moment. So consider this a parting gift. I’ll let you feel now what you have never felt in your life. What I feel all the time with Daniel.>

In my mind, I try to form a desperate ‘why’ to send to her, but I have no strength to do that. Instead, I receive Lily’s final gift.

A thrilling yet delightful feeling washes over me, envelops me in ecstasy and leaves gasping for air.

Or is it the slow suffocation from the bullet wounds?

Complex emotions tinge the world with vibrant hues, making the ordinary seem extraordinary.

While my vision fades to black.

Could this be love—this fire inside me, making me feel more alive than ever before?

Or am I just close to death?

Why has this love evaded me until now? I cling to it as it fills my very being.

In this last breath, I’m forever changed.

THE END

I hope you enjoyed this story. Please leave comments.

Chapter four

The next day, I act casual. I resist asking when she came home last night—the security app shows three a.m. I make her breakfast and enjoy her smile. Sipping coffee, I probe, “Any plans tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“I thought we could spend the evening together.” I’m ready to insist if she declines.

She frowns, considering, then grins. “I was to see Jennifer, but I can postpone.”

“We can watch a movie or something.” I give a hopeful smile.

“I’ll be home at seven.”

“You’re leaving again?”

“You said tonight, and it’s morning. You don’t want me inside all day.”

“What about our garden? The pool?”

“In this cold? Don’t worry. I’ll be back before seven.”

It takes nearly an hour to prepare everything for our dinner together. Since I’m not a cook, I search online for restaurants, selecting the most delicious cuisine.

When the food is delivered, I take the time to arrange all the dishes on the table, making sure that each of us has a plate, a bowl, and two wine glasses. The wine bottles stay off the table so I can add the pill unnoticed. Two candles adorn the center for extra ambiance. Slipping into my finest jacket, I stash the pill in one of its pockets.

At half past seven, just as my patience begins to wane, Lily enters the house. “I’m so sorry, honey. Linda stopped me. I had no choice but to talk to her. You’re not angry, are you?”

Gritting my teeth, I lie, “Not at all.”

She glances at the dinner table. “Wow! Looks amazing. I’ll freshen up and be back in a jiffy.”

Ten minutes later, she's back, her hair still damp. She’s even wearing my favorite dress. Guilty conscience? Was it really Linda or some guy she wanted to see?

My newfound powers help me banish these intrusive thoughts. The darkness is soothing.

“So how was your day?” Lily asks, interrupting my mental exercises. She reaches for her empty glass, looks around, and frowns. “Where’s the bottle?”

“I forgot.” I grab our glasses and head to the bar. First, I fill mine. Then, with my back to her, I pour her favorite wine, reach inside my pocket, retrieve the pill, and empty its contents into the red liquid. I give it a stir and return to the table. “I’m sorry. To our night together?” I hand her the glass and down mine in one gulp.

“So fast? Not your style.” But she mirrors me, drinking her wine in one go. “Pour me another one, please.”

I swallow my pill as I refill our glasses. From now on, I must pay strict attention to my thoughts.

Chapter five

“I’m so drunk,” Lily slurs, taking another swig from her glass.

I concentrate, attempting to listen to her thoughts. If I ask her something now, even if she lies, correct answers are bound to pop up in her mind.

I worry when nothing happens after twenty minutes. Did I miss something?

<I want to go to bed.>

“It’s still early,” I answer, then I realize she hadn’t said it aloud—it was her thoughts. “I mean, you can’t be that drunk. You have way more experience with this than I do.”

“You think so?” Her eyelids flutter as she picks up a single olive from her plate and pops it into her mouth. <Please, don’t ask me to have sex.> She yawns.

My mind races. If I can hear her thoughts now, she can hear mine. Where’s my darkness when I need it? Damn. I have to keep talking, so even if she hears something, she’ll think I said it aloud.

“What did you say?” She looks at me, squinting.

“I was admiring how beautiful you look tonight.”

<Oh Gosh. He’ll certainly want to fuck.>

I keep a straight face. “We finally get to spend some time together.” I attempt to sound happy. “I have your favorite dessert.”

“You do?” A radiant smile lights up her face. “Hand it over.” <At least we won’t have to fuck right now.>

My face burn, so I dash to the fridge and put copious amounts of her beloved brand of ice cream and her cheesecake on two plates. This thought-reading is hard on me.

“How was your day?” I place her plate in front of her, satisfied my hands don't shake. “Everything okay with your friends?”

“Lilly-white,” she uses her favorite expression. <Except that Linda wants a divorce, and her bastard husband refuses to sign the papers.> “I really dig the cake. Your making?” <Why do I even ask?>

“I… ah… ordered it, to be honest. I didn’t have enough time.”

“I know how hectic things get.” <Sits at home all day and doesn’t have time to learn how to bake?> “Did you get much work done today?”

“Some.” I stuff too much ice cream into my mouth, causing my teeth to freeze.

“Poor you. It’s so sweet of you to have done all this for me.” She beams. <At least he knows how to order.>

“Your friends….” My teeth and tongue finally unlock, allowing me to speak again. “How come you have so many? I have none.”

<That’s because you park yourself in the same spot all day and never go out.> “I don’t know. People just like me.” Her grin glows brighter than the sun. <Especially Walt.>

I freeze. Who the fuck is Walt?

Fortunately, her full attention centers on her treat, or she’d hear me screaming in my mind. I take a deep breath to calm myself. “So, is it mainly ladies? Or guys, as well?”

<Another interrogation. But he’s not wrong.> She devours her cake in a single bite. “Mainly ladies. And their partners if we visit them at home. But outside, it’s strictly girls.” <Unless we sprint naked on the beach… Or make love in the dunes… Fucking sand, finding its way everywhere… Wonder what Walt’s doing now? Reading in bed? Fantasizing about me?>

The sound of breaking glass interrupts our conversation.

“What was that?” Lily asks, her eyes glued to the floor near me.

I look down. “Clumsy me. It’s nothing. Just a plate.” I crouch down to gather the shattered pieces.

“Never mind. We have too many dishes, anyway.” She gets up. “Bathroom.” And then she’s gone.

Make love in the dunes? With Walt? That bloody hag! I’m going to slaughter her! So I was right all this time. She is cheating on me. But how can I force her to come clean? Should I just tell her I can hear her thoughts? But then I’d have to admit I gave her the pill.

I discard the remains of the plate, seize the dustpan and brush, and start sweeping the floor.

At least it’s not Chang…

“You wanted to watch some movies?” She’s back from the bathroom a few minutes later.

I have to control my thoughts—no room for error. I plaster a smile on my face. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

<Better than pretending to have an orgasm in bed.> “Not at all.” <It would be so embarrassing if they caught us while he fucks me.>

What? Who are they?

She gives me a strange look, as if she noticed something.

I summon my darkness, but it ignores me.

“So, what’s on tonight?” She glances at her watch. <Ten twenty. They said they’d come between eleven and twelve.>

What the fuck? Who’s going to come?

“Now I need a piss.” I head toward the doorway. “Just… check what's on while I’m gone.”

“Will do.” She moves to the couch and grabs the remote.

I pick up my cell and rush to the bathroom. Then I check the home security app on my phone. My breath catches in my throat. The alarm is deactivated. DEACTIVATED!

I aim my finger at the ON button, but it takes three attempts to press it—my hands are shaking so much. Did I forget to turn it on when Lily came home? Or has someone else switched it off? But only Lily knows the code. Did she do it when she was in the bathroom? But why?

With just a couple of walls between us now, I try to focus on her thoughts. Chang didn’t mention the range of thought reading, so I’m not sure I’ll hear anything. But after a minute of trying hard, I succeed.

<Or maybe I should fuck him? For the last time. My alibi would be more credible then. Husband shot dead, making love to his wife. Wife mysteriously spared. Beautiful headlines! Damn, I’d be famous!>

My blood turns to liquid nitrogen as I struggle to comprehend her thoughts. Fucking bitch! Must've noticed my mind-reading, and she's amusing herself at my expense. Because if that’s not the case... It would mean… she hired someone to assassinate me tonight!

NEXT: Duplicity - part 4

Chapter two

“You look fine,” I tell my wife as she scrutinizes her reflection for the third time. “No need to change again.”

I sneak a glance at my watch. Almost eight. The witch woman will be here any minute. Should I reschedule? “Where are you going, anyway? You’ve never been obsessed with your outfit like this before.”

“You don’t notice these things.” Lily slips out of her dress once more. “And stop staring. We’ve argued about this before. I’m not staying.”

If only she knew I wouldn’t care this time. “At least tell me where you’ll be, in case I need to reach you.”

“Knowing you, you’ll call me until I answer.”

“Because I worry something will happen to you.”

“No. You’re paranoid and treat me like a child, not your wife. That's why.”

“I care about you.”

“If you cared, you’d want me to enjoy life instead of freaking out whenever I leave. Go out yourself sometime.”

“I’m not freaking out. You know how many criminals are on the streets nowadays?”

The skin-tight blue dress she wears now clings to her curves too suggestively.

I cross my arms. “Now you look like a hooker.”

Lily’s eyes flash with anger. She shoves me from her room, slamming the door.

I yell through the thick wood. “You’re not going anywhere dressed like that!”

The door flies opens, and Lily storms out in the ‘hooker’ dress. “I’ll wear what I want!” She brushes past me and races down the stairs.

“Someone will rape you!” I shout after her, but she’s already gone.

Chapter three

When the doorbell chimes, I check my home security app to see who’s outside. The camera shows the witch woman, so I disable the alarm and let her in. Of course, I’ve researched her background before inviting her. She seemed harmless, if a bit eccentric.

The short woman, perhaps in her late fifties, wears a flowery dress under a long overcoat, paired with quirky boots.

“You’re late,” I say as she follows me to my office.

“My grandson needed a hug.”

“A hug? You’re late for our appointment because of a hug?”

She looks me over, shaking her head. “You could use some meditation, my friend.”

“I’m not your friend.” I gesture to one armchair, taking another for myself. “Teach me how to clear my mind.”

“Let’s discuss the payment first.” She eyes my luxurious office. “You said you’d pay me whatever I want.”

“If it’s reasonable enough.”

“Five hundred.”

“For two hours?”

“I had to cancel an evening with my grandson for you.”

If I had a grandson, I’d pay more to stay away from him. But I’m not going to argue with her now. “Fine.”

“I need it now.”

“Do you suggest I’m going to rip you off?”

“Meditation can play curious tricks on the mind.” She arches one eyebrow. “I wouldn’t want you to forget your promise to me.”

I grind my teeth, pull out my wallet, and slam the money down on the table.

She makes the payment disappear as if she was an actual witch. “I think we better sit on the floor—“

“The chairs are fine.”

“As you wish. So, first…”

Half an hour later, she still hasn’t shown me what I need.

“I don’t want to meditate.” I glare at her. “I only need to clear my mind.”

If she rolls her eyes one more time, I’m throwing her out.

The first time I close my eyes and slow my breath, my wife’s face comes into focus before me. I try to clear my mind, but her image stays. It’s so hard not to think.

Calling our marriage a mess would be an understatement. It’s not my fault, unless marrying a much younger wife counts. My mistake was to expect her to stay with me rather than go out with her friends. Despite the luxury I provided for her. Every day, she’s off to yoga, meditation, horse riding, movies, theater, and who knows what else. Not to mention shopping where she spends a fortune. Sure, I can afford it, but that’s not the point. She should be with me, her husband, not her friends. Yes, I don’t go out, but it’s not safe out there. She should be more accommodating.

As for our sex life... Well... She must’ve found someone else. The private detective I hired discovered nothing, but he was a moron.

I yelp when something strikes my head. My eyes snap open. “What the fuck!”

The witch woman holds a heavy book in her hand.

“You hit me with that?” I scowl, shooting her a fierce look.

“Did you clear your mind?” Her lips curl into a smile.

“What?!”

“Your concentration isn’t bad… I had to use this to wake you up.” She raises the book, and I flinch away.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” I snap, still uncertain if I should kick her out. “Put it away!”

“You want me to teach you, but you don’t listen to me. You were supposed to clear your mind. What was so important that you couldn’t forget it?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Maybe if I knew—“

“Let’s try again.”

“If anything enters your mind, push it away. Got it?”

I clench my teeth and nod.

My thoughts consume me this time. I try pushing them away, but the memories flood in—meeting Lily, our first night, our wedding, and honeymoon.

I disregard the woman’s instructions and imagine darkness taking over my mind. It’s like a thrilling battle, overpowering my opponent with impenetrable black fog. It works, and I feel peaceful for the first time in years.

“Wake up!”

I open my eyes. “You interrupted again.”

“Did you clear your mind?”

“Kind of…” I describe my trick with the darkness.

“Not what I told you to do, but it’s a start.” She checks her watch. “I must go.”

“We’re not finished yet.”

“Practice every night, and you’ll clear your mind without this silly darkness. I promise.”

I don’t need her promises. I need guarantees. And the darkness is… mine.

It nears eleven, so I show her out, ignoring her offer of more lessons.

Once alone, I access the service I’ve discovered, and try locating my wife. The GPS I hid in her car shows she’s in the garage—she must’ve found the device and removed it again. Damn it.

NEXT: Duplicity — part 3