Patrick Donovan: "Evil Of Hammond House" (Complete)

[Ray N. Velez]

---
Patrick Donovan <dr...@world.std.com>
Amateur Romantic/Erotic Fiction
Black Angora Press
Visit my Website: http://world.std.com/~drwho/erotica.html

ABOUT DISTRIBUTION: Please feel free to archive and/or redistribute this
story electronically, AS LONG AS THE HEADER REMAINS INTACT (this includes
the original title, my name and e-mail address, AND the copyright
information). If I see this story reposted or archived WITHOUT the
header, I will be one ticked little puppy.

WARNING: Remember that these stories are copyrighted and that publication
of them in ANY media -- print or otherwise -- without my permission is
illegal. I don't mind it showing up on the 'Net, in archives or on BBS's
(as long as the header is there), but publishing it in an on-line or
printed magazine is where I draw the line. ASK ME FIRST. Hey, I'm a
pretty nice guy.

Subject: REPOST-PATRICK DONOVAN: "The Evil of Hammond House" (0/5)
From: dr...@world.std.com (Patrick Donovan)

DISCLAIMER: UNDER 18? DO NOT READ! STOP HERE!
*Intro*

This story is not like my others and I have debated for some time
as to whether or not I should post it. It DOES contain the same kinds of
loving, romantic detailed lovemaking people have come to associate with my
writing, but there is more here that is new.

This story contains violence, some of it graphic. It deals with
love and hate, envy and regret, life and death. People die and friends
mourn the loss. Unlike typical hack-n-slash, dead teenager movies, there
is a point to this story. It deals with emotions, with motivations, and
with decisions. It is about how life can suddenly, and tragically, change
and how two people have to survive and adapt.

If you are squeamish about violence, then you might want to skip
this story. I don't want people to think this is typical of my writing.
I didn't do this for people who like to jack off while reading about women
being murdered during sex. I wrote it because it was an idea that
wouldn't leave me alone until I had beaten it out through my fingertips
and into the keys of the computer. I wrote it because I wanted the hero
and heroine to survive for once. Not untouched or unscathed, and not
unchanged, but just survive.

Maybe it was a stupid idea, maybe you will think it is silly or
trite. All I know is that I had to write it.

Sincerely yours,
-PD

THE EVIL OF HAMMOND HOUSE
by Patrick Donovan
E-mail: <dr...@world.std.com>

dr...@world.std.com
(c) 1996 - Black Angora Press

ONE

"Breakdown"

Mark Petri swore loudly as he tried to regain control of the minivan.
The road was supposed to be a 'state' highway, but the state
certainly wasn't taking very good care of it. The pothole he just hit
could have qualified for 'vat' status. Even with the brights on Mark
wasn't able to see it until too late because they were rounding a sharp
curve on the climbing mountain road. Some of the passengers screamed as
the vehicle began to spin, others flailed for something to grab a hold
of. Carl was thrown against Lisa, who was thrown against Angela, who
hit her head on the window frame. Brenda hung onto Robert for dear
life. Robert, however, didn't seem fazed. Typical.

At the last second, Mark managed to throw the wheel hard to the
left, sending the van into a half-spin so that it ended up on the other
shoulder, facing the way they had come. For almost a minute there was
silence in the cabin of the van, then Mark struggled to speak up.

"Is everyone all right? Angela, are you okay?" There was
definite emphasis on the last sentence, though only Carl and Brenda
immediately understood the significance of it.

"I-I hit my head, but I think I'm okay," she responded.

"No thanks to your driving, Petri," joked Robert. He and Mark
were really good friends, but he had this tendency to ride Mark about
the slightest mistake. Mark had always assumed it was some kind of
self-defense mechanism Robert used and so he tried not to take the jibe
personally.

"I'm surprised you even noticed, Rob, since you're such a
daredevil yourself with that Trans Am of yours. I suppose you could
have jumped that hole with your eyes closed."
Before Robert could retort, Brenda broke in. "Let's just get out
and shake ourselves loose a bit. Then you can assess the damage, okay
Mark?"

"Yeah, yeah. You're right, Bren."

The six of them began to climb out of the dark-blue van.
Angela, Brenda and Carl exited from the rear door and Mark jumped out
from the driver's side. Lisa and Robert came out the right side sliding
door and stumbled away from the vehicle. Robert's movement halted
abruptly when his legs hit the guardrail and Lisa nearly knocked him
over when she ran into him. She was about to rebuke him for stopping so
suddenly when she realized he wasn't paying attention to her, but was
instead staring out ahead with his mouth wide open. As she followed hi
gaze and her eyes adjusted, she understood what he was staring at. Her
exclamation of "Holy Fuck!" got everyone's attention. The rest of them
cast their gaze to the railing and what lay beyond: a one thousand foot
plus drop into the valley below. Brenda and Angela gasped, Carl crossed
himself and muttered something in French. Mark just shook his head in
disbelief and lay it against the driver's side window.

"Petri, I apologize if I ever criticized your driving," said
Robert, "that was some damn good braking back there."

After they had a chance to shake off the shock of their
near-fatal experience, everyone moved to the safe side of the van and
took an opportunity to stretch in the nippy air. Then Brenda sat Angela
down in the opening of the side-door and look at her injury with the aid
of the light inside the van. There wasn't a cut, but a small bump was
already forming.

"Lisa, would you get me some ice from the chest?"

"I'll get it!" Mark interjected quickly and dashed for the back
of the van. He rustled around for his handkerchief and grabbed a
handful of ice in it, then tied it in a neat bundle and brought it to
Brenda. She thanked him and applied it lightly to Angela's swelling
forehead.

"Ouch!" she squawked, but tried to keep her head still.
Brenda took her best friend's hand and switched it with her own
to hold the ice. "Keep it there for awhile, okay?"

"Thanks, Bren," responded Angela, grasping the young Asian
woman's hand and squeezing it tightly.

Angela Smith had met Brenda Xu in a Latin class during their
first year at Eastern Colorado State,. Angela was from Seattle and
Brenda was from San Francisco, though her family had originally come
from Taipei. They liked each other so much they moved out of the dorms
and rented an apartment together after the first semester. They had a
lot in common, from figure skating (they went to Nationals in San Jose
in '96 and watched Rudy Galindo win the men's title) to supporting Gay
Rights (they were members of the ECSU chapter of the movement to rescind
Colorado's anti-gay legislation). Now, in their senior year, they were
studying Nursing together and had jobs lined up at University Hospital
after graduation.

Brenda let go of Angela's hand and walked away to check on Robert,
who had nervously moved back to look over the guardrail into the
valley below. She took his hand and led him away to a nearby boulder,
which he leaned back against, and put her arms around him. He returned
the embrace, seeing how cold she was. She lay her head against his
chest and they each thought about how close they had come to losing the
other.

After Brenda left, Mark began hovering over Angela. "Are you
sure you're all right?" he asked. "Is there anything I can get for
you?" His eyes seemed to plead with hers for attention.

Angela smiled, sighed and, with a hint of exasperation, said
"No, Mark. It's okay. Brenda did a good job. Why don't you check out
the van?"

Mark's expression fell, but before he could stammer an
embarrassed apology, he heard Carl's voice snidely remark, "Yeah, Petri,
why don't you check out the van and let me keep Angie company?"

Mark tore himself away from Angela's eyes to glare at Carl
Suvega, the expected-to-be class Valedictorian. His reputation was
certainly earned -- well, reputations, for he had several -- but he had
a bad habit of making sure everyone knew it. He was being courted by
MIT for masters and doctoral work, as well as for a high-paying position
with NASA as an aerospace engineer, and he was more than happy to shar
this information with anyone who would listen. He also had a
wide-spread reputation on campus as a lover with incredible endurance
and talent. Whether this legend was spread by him or his many partners
was debatable. In any event, Mark was exceedingly jealous of Carl. Not
so much because of his success -- Mark was doing quite well and had a
promising career as a musician and composer -- but because Carl seemed
to be getting most of Angela's attention on this trip and Angela was the
whole reason Mark agreed to take them in his van in the first place.

Without responding Mark stormed away to look at the front of the
van. Angela smirked at Carl.

"You didn't have to be so mean," she admonished him.

The mulatto smirked back at her defensively. "Hey, you're the
one who said he was a pest."

"I didn't say he was a pest. I said I wish he wouldn't try so
hard to get my attention. There's a difference."

"Listen, baby, it's not like you're ever gonna screw him, is it?"
Angela looked down for a moment. Carl took it as a 'no.'

"Then what are you fussin' about?" He sat next to her and put
his arm around her, pulling her shoulder against his. "Once we get to
the hotel, you an' me can get down to the business we started last
night, all right?"

Angela remembered how her heart had raced when Carl took her
hand walking back to the room. She had been hoping all week that he
would make a move, but was worried that maybe he was still pining for
Lisa, with whom he had an on-again/off-again relationship. Lisa had
assured her that their 'spoken for' status was off now, but nothing
quelled Angela's concerns until Carl slipped his hand into hers on the
way back from swimming in the pool. She had been watching his movements
carefully as he took dive after dive into the crystal blue water. Of
course his tight Speedos made it all the more difficult for her
attention to wander and left little for her to imagine. Then, as they
had reached the door of his motel room, he brought her roughly to him,
her haltered breasts pressing firmly against the solid muscles of his
chest, and kissed her deeply. Their eyes met and the word 'yes' was
silently spoken between them. Unfortunately, it was very late and they
had needed to be up early in the morning, so they were forced to
postpone their consummation until tonight, when they could better
arrange to be together.

"All right..." Angela tilted her head up to receive Carl's
kiss, but their moment of pleasure was interrupted by a curse from the
front of the van.

"Aw shit!"

Robert, his hands roughly massaging Brenda's tight bottom, broke
away from his kiss with her to see Mark thumping the hood of the
minivan.

"What's up, Mark?" he called.

"Come here and have a look. We're stranded."

The others walked around to the far side of the van to see what
was going on. Mark pointed the flashlight he had recovered from the
glove box at the passenger side tire. It was flat and the wheel-rim was
bent.

"You've got the spare, that shouldn't take too long to put on,
should it?" said Lisa.

"Yeah, Petri, what're you all flustered about? Rob and I can
have that fixed in ten minutes flat," added Carl.

Mark sighed and glared at Suvega. He did that a lot when Carl
was around. Actually, a lot of people did that when Carl was around.

"I thought that too, until I checked the driver's side wheel
again, Carl." The Jamaican walked out in front of the van a little
ways, taking Mark's comment as a challenge.

Mark passed the light back and forth over both wheels. "You're
engineer, you figure it out," snapped Mark, for good measure.

Carl's face fell. "He's right, guys. We aren't goin' anywhere."

The others walked out to Carl's vantage point and their faces
fell. The wheels weren't even closely aligned anymore. The impact must
have yanked right wheel out of alignment and burst the left tire. It
was a complete mess.

Well, now what do we do?" moaned Lisa. "Walk?"

The prospect of walking along the highway in the mountains
through the long, cold night was not a pleasing one. The road wasn't
used much, as the interstate ran through the valley and was much
quicker, but they had wanted to take the scenic route. They'd hardly
seen any cars on it since they turned off at 2:00. It might be hours
before they could flag anyone down.

"Wait a minute!" cheered Brenda. "I've got my cell phone!"

A murmur of relief ran through the group as Brenda reached
inside the van and rummaged through her bag. She pulled out a
flip-phone and checked to make sure the battery was charged up. It was.
She popped it open, not unlike Captain Kirk would have done when faced
with a hundred man-eating tribbles, and activated the search function.

Nothing. She tried again.

Nothing.

"It's got to be the mountain. Stand by the rail, Bren," said
Angela. Mark just sat in the driver's seat and hugged the steering
wheel. He knew she wouldn't be successful, that would be too easy.
This had to be hard because that was his life story. All these people
were relying on him to get them back to school before vacation was over,
so something *had* to go wrong.

Brenda walked to the very edge of the precipice and stood at the
rail. She tried again, several times, but the phone simply couldn't
make a connection to a transponder. After ten minutes, she gave up.

"Well, I guess we're walking after all," moaned Lisa.

After a quick discussion, the group decided to send Robert and
Carl up the road a ways to see if they could spot any houses. The
others would remain at the van getting things organized either for a
move to a nearby house or for a night in the van. The women were
apprehensive about letting their loves go out into the night like that,
but they definitely agreed that Mark shouldn't go on his own, even
though he offered too. It was just too dangerous for anyone to go
alone.

Mark and the women hadn't been working more than a half-hour
when the guys returned with news of a large house about a mile up the
road. They quickly grabbed their packs and Mark locked up the van,
leaving behind a note for anyone, especially a State Trooper, who might
happen upon the scene of the accident. Then they took off. It was
about 9:15.

Though it only took them twenty minutes to reach the place on
the road spotted by Robert and Carl, it became quite evident they had
further to go. There was a little-used gravel drive, closed off by a
large wooden swing-gate, leading up toward some lights, but it seemed to
Mark to be quite a ways up the slope of the mountain. Still, it was the
only sign of life anywhere nearby, so they climbed over the gate and
started up the slope.

An hour later, as the nearly-full moon was beginning to rise,
they collapsed, exhausted, at the base of a huge iron gate guarded by
two stone lions. Through the bars of the gate they could just make out
what lay beyond: a huge house, a mansion. Several windows were
illuminated -- what they must have seen from the road below -- though no
outside lights were visible. It looked decidedly UN-inviting.

Mark played the beam of his flashlight over the columns that
supported the gate and the lions. The one on the right bore a large
bronze plaque, nearly overgrown with ivy. He struggled to his feet and
walked over to the column, brushing back the leaves and vines to reveal
the words:

HAMMOND HOUSE

There was a mottled and battered box on the column beneath the
plaque, also covered in vines. After struggling to pull the clingy
strands away from it, Mark discovered what it was: an intercom. Without
bothering to bring it to the others' attention, he pressed the button
and waited for a response.

There was none.
He tried the button again.

Still nothing.

"Mark, what are you doing?" asked Lisa.

He pressed the button once more. "I found an intercom, but it
doesn't seem to be working. No one's answering."

Lisa stood up and walked over to him. "Great, first we nearly
plow over a cliff, then we find out the van's ready for the scrap yard,
then we walk for God knows how long up this God-damned mountain in this
tit-freezing air and, when we finally find a sign of civilization,
there's no one at home!"

At that moment there began a strained, mechanical whirr.
The rusting gate suddenly split apart and then slowly creaked
open. Mark raised an eyebrow at Lisa.

"And just how long have you had this power, Miss Bonham?" he
said in a mock-German accent.

She flashed him a knowing smile and grabbed her pack, following Carl
through the gate. Mark brought up the rear, tucking his flashlight
into his pack, and made it through just as the gate began to close.

It took them another five minutes to reach the front porch of
the mansion. On the way up they looked the place over, taking in the
breadth of its beauty. The architecture put the two-story structure as
probably having been built in the 1920's. Carl guessed it had about
fifty rooms, plus there was a four-car garage in a separate building at
the near end of the house. At the far end there was a fenced-in area
that looked to Angela, from what she could make out in the light of the
moon, like it might have been a private graveyard, but no one was
willing to go over and check.

They approached the columned porch. When Robert stepped onto the
stone surface, several lights clicked on. Several members of the group
jumped.

"Motion sensor," noted Carl, calmly.

When they reached the door it was already beginning to open. By
this time some people were getting very jumpy. Something about this
place just didn't feel right...

They entered the foyer. It was an extravagant room, with marble
tile on the floor and walls; Mexican onyx lined the ceiling rim. There
were several columns made of gray marble and trimmed with gold leaf. Two
large, elegant hallways, one on each side, exited from the foyer and
there were two smaller doors on each side of the back wall, probably
leading to some kind of dining or living room. There was a gorgeous
three-tiered crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling. The far wall
was adorned with a grand staircase that rose halfway up the back wall,
then split into two staircases, going right and left up the rest of the
way to the second floor. There was a mezzanine coming off of each
staircase, flanking the foyer, with hallways going off in each
direction.

"Wow! This reminds me of my uncle's home back East," admired
Robert.

Robert Koss's parents died just after he was born and his uncle
Louis and Aunt Sandy raised him as their own in a grand house on Long
Island. Louis had built a lucrative auto parts empire starting back in
the late 50's and was still riding high on the profits. Robert was at
ECSU studying business management so that he could take over for Uncle
Louis when he retired. Robert had met Mark during their freshman year
and they established a friendly rivalry, eventually becoming best
friends, though it was sometimes hard to tell.

Suddenly there was a startled cry from Brenda. Standing in the
small doorway at the left side of the back wall was a gray-haired,
middle-aged man, dressed in a white dinner jacket and suit, holding a
large brandy snifter. It was nearly empty.

Brenda, always being the diplomat, tried to smooth things out.
"We're sorry to intrude, sir, but --"

Get to the point, young lady. I don't have time for pleasantries,"
he snapped, cowing Brenda.

Mark tried to take over for his unnerved lover. "We were looking
for a phone. Our van broke down and --"

"I don't have a phone, young man. You'll have to go elsewhere."

Mark heard a quiet sniffle and looked behind him. Angela was
holding her hand on her face and he could see her mouth contorted in a
sob. Tears were beginning to stream down her face. He walked over to
her and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Angela, are you all right?"

"What's the matter with her?" the man asked, a hint of
compassion suddenly appearing in his voice, and he began to walk over
towards her.

Mark looked up at him. "She hurt her head when our van hit a
hole in the road. We almost went over the cliff. Everyone's pretty
shaken up..."

But the man wasn't paying much attention to what Mark was saying.
Instead he reached out and touched Angela's chin, tilting her
head up.

"Let me see that, miss, I..." he started to say, but his words
after that trailed off. It was obvious, to Mark anyway, that he was
caught off guard when he saw Angela's face. He recovered quickly,
though, and began looking at the bump on her head in earnest.

"Hmmm. It doesn't look to serious. Still, I probably ought to
have a proper look at it." He turned to address all of them. "I'm a
doctor, Dr. Olias Hammond. I'm sorry about being so abrupt earlier.
I'm not used to having guests, especially so many. Please forgive me."

Brenda spoke up again. "It's all right, Dr. Hammond. We
understand. We did sort of drop in your lap and it is pretty late."

He waved off her apology. "No need to worry."

"Can you help us, Dr. Hammond?" asked Robert. The doctor turned
to face him.

"I'm afraid I still don't have a phone, young man. I used to,
but now I live alone and don't like to bother much with the outside
world. I try to avoid it as much as possible."

Robert nodded as if he understood, but Carl seemed suddenly
to be very curious.

"How do you get food and supplies?"

"I usually send for them, have them delivered. I have quite a
stockpile of goods as well. I also have help that comes in weekly to
clean the place and keep up the grounds, but other than that I take care
of myself."

Lisa was looking impatient. "Isn't there any way you can help
us, Dr. Hammond?"

The doctor thought for a moment. "Yes, my dear, I can. I have
a car in the garage that I use from time to time when I want to get out
and about. One of you may take it into the valley for assistance."

"It's gonna be pretty late by the time one of us gets there and
gets back. I doubt there'll be any repair shops open," noted Carl.

The doctor waved his hand again. "I wouldn't normally do this,
but you all seem like such nice young people and you have had a bit of a
rough night. You're welcome to stay the night here at Hammond House.
There's plenty of room."

There were several expressions of relief and gratitude from the
people in the group, especially Angela, whom Dr. Hammond seemed to have
impressed with his kindness. Mark, however, was still uneasy. Why was
the doctor suddenly being so polite and accommodating?

Their host showed them back the way he had come. It was a living
room as equally ornate as the foyer had been. The walls were lined
with cherrywood panels and braced with solid mahogany columns.
The ceiling was vaulted to a rectangular panel of mahogany, which had
been etched and carved with a variety of Gothic images. Just above
their heads the room was criss-crossed with red-stained oak beams that
supported the elaborate ceiling. At the far end of the room was a huge
fireplace, logs currently alight, with what looked like a family
portrait hanging above it. Facing it was a large U-shaped, red leather
sofa set. It was to this that Dr. Hammond escorted the exhausted
troupe, offered and distributed drinks (only Mark declined), and
attended to the knot on Angela's forehead. Afterwards he excused
himself and retreated from the room. Everyone had already dropped their
bags and coats and crashed, sinking into the ample leather and sipping
their chosen beverages. The fire and the alcohol began their work very
quickly and, within a few minutes, everyone was feeling quite a bit
better. Except Mark...

No one in the group really knew how to deal with Mark's
brooding, paranoid nature. He was really a nice guy with quite a bit of
talent, but a very low level of self-esteem. His family life had been
bad, or so was the general rumor, and he was more than happy to move to
Colorado from the Midwest to go to school. He was also overweight and
hadn't had any decent relationships with women in his life. In fact, he
was still a virgin, though only Robert knew it. Robert knew the jibing
rivalry they shared was just a front for hiding their emotions, but he
was trying to ease up on it, because he sensed it probably hurt Mark
deep down. Carl didn't really give a damn about Mark -- he wasn't
important to his future -- and Lisa tried to be nice to him, though she
really wasn't interested in getting to know him very well. Brenda was a
good cookie, trying very hard to be friends with Mark and giving him
good, sisterly advice. She had introduced Angela to Mark, hoping they
might get along, but his distant personality made it hard for her to
think about anything long term. She just wasn't ready to take on such a
responsibility, especially when Carl was there for the taking.

Several minutes later, Dr. Hammond returned. "I have opened up
three rooms in the East Wing for your use. If you will follow me, I
will escort you to them."

The gang got up wearily, deposited their glasses on the side
table, and grabbed their various items. Mark seemed to hesitate,
looking into the fire, before Brenda came over and nudged him along.
They all filed out of the living room, following Dr. Hammond up the
stairs and to the left. Brenda lagged behind with Mark.

"What's eating at you, brother?" she asked him. They often
called each other 'brother' and 'sister' because neither of them had
siblings of their own and they felt like they had *that* kind of
relationship.

"Sorry, sis," he sighed, looking up at Angela as she hung close
to Carl's side. "It's this house. There's something eerie about it."

"Are you sure it's the house and not something else?" asked
Brenda, also watching as Carl slipped his hand into Angela's.

Mark's voice dropped to a whisper. "All right, maybe it's not
the house. Maybe it's just that I can't stand to think of him ...
touching her."

Brenda knew how Mark felt about her best friend. Mark often
told Brenda how he thought about Angela's long brown hair and her green
eyes and the smooth skin of her face. About how he dreamed of holding
her and making love with her in front of a roaring fireplace. About how
she was the only woman he had ever felt he could spend his life with.
Brenda knew all about the pain that was in his heart, but there was
nothing she could do. Brenda tried not to liaison between them. That
kind of involvement never worked out in her experience, so she just
listened to each of them as a friend and tried to be sympathetic. She
couldn't tell Mark that Angela really did care for him, but she was
afraid she would end up hurting him because he was so sensitive. Brenda
just hoped that, sooner or later, they would be able to talk to each
other.

Dr. Hammond took them to three different rooms, scattered
throughout the upper level of the East Wing. He showed them the
amenities, each room having a king-sized canopy bed and large bath
facilities. He directed them to the linen closet so they could retrieve
towels, blankets and pillows. The rooms were somewhat bare, since they
had not been used in some years.

"When my grandfather built this house, it was for his rather
sizable family. My father maintained that tradition, but most of my
siblings have either moved away or passed on."

"Don't you have any family of your own, Dr. Hammond?" asked
Lisa, in her usually tactless way. The others in the group winced.

The doctor seemed unperturbed. "Not anymore, my dear," he
responded and turned away, stopping for a second to look strangely at
Angela (though only Angela and Mark really noticed), and headed back
down the hallway towards the foyer. "You're welcomhe kitchen.
It's in the East Wing on the first floor. I will be working late in my
study in the West Wing. I ask you please to try not to disturb me.
It's the only favor I ask for my hospitality," and with that he
disappeared around the endhallway.

Robert looked at Brenda and shrugged. Everyone seemed pretty
perplexed -- the doctor was a strange guy -- but most of them took it in
stride and grabbed some towels and accessories to make their evening
more comfortable. After all, it was only for one night.

Mark didn't pay a lot of attention to what the others did. He
grabbed some linens and walked to the furthest room. Before he entered,
though, he glanced back down the hall to see Brenda follow Angela into a
room. Beyond that door Carl and Lisa stood in the hallway talking
softly, Carl's hand touching her face. Mark heard him say something
like "Don't worry about it, I have an idea," and, after a few more words
with her, disappeared into his room where Robert was waiting. Lisa came
down the hall towards Mark, smiled at him, and entered the room with
Brenda and Angela. Mark, not even having a chance to say good night,
sulked back into his room and closed the door.

Mark took a long hot shower to get the grime off from the long
journey up to the Hammond estate. He tried as hard as possible not to
think about Angela and Carl, but the image of them holding hands was
still in his mind. Each time he tried to picture himself with Angela
the image of Carl came up in his place. Holding her hand, it was Carl.
Kissing her, it was Carl. Rolling under the covers on top of Angela's
sweaty, moaning form, it was Carl. Mark suddenly switched the water to
ice cold. That cleared his mind immediately.

After drying himself off he slipped on his sweats and crawled
into the bed. It was certainly comfortable and he imagined the others
were finding theirs the same as well. Mark picked up his book and tried
to read, but his thoughts kept wandering back to Angela in her room just
down the hall, dressed in a thin t-shirt and knickers, curled up next to
Brenda and Lisa, chattering about one thing or another.

"Probably making fun of my driving," he said to himself. No, he
knew that wasn't true. He knew they liked him.

He tried to read some more, but it just wasn't working.

"I've got to talk to her," he said and threw back the covers.

Getting out of the bed he adjusted his sweats and headed for the
door, but just as he prepared to leave he heard another door, further
down the hall, opening. Mark popped his door open a fraction and
glanced toward the others' rooms. He saw Robert, in an open bathrobe,
treading quietly towards the girls' room and knock lightly. After a
moment the door opened slowly and Angela stepped out. Mark's breath
drew in sharply as he saw what she was wearing: a cut-off t-shirt an
almost non-existent, thigh-revealing panties that were so skimpy they
left Mark no room for imagination at the beauty of her backside. Robert
gave her a quick raised eyebrow as she walked past, then started into
Brenda's room. Mark heard Angela mumble something back to him about
having a good time with Brenda, then she walked on down the hall to the
door leading to Carl's room. It opened without her knocking and Carl,
clad only in a pair of boxers, stepped out to embrace her, his brown
arms closing around her waist. Hers circled around his neck and she
drew his head down to meet with hers in a deep, passionate kiss. After
a few moments he pulled her into the room and closed the door.

Mark pulled his door gently closewalked to the bed. He picked up
his book, walked back to the door, left the room and headed
determinedly down the hall. He walked past the room Brenda and Robert
were in, not even wondering where poor Lisa had been shuffled off to
(she certainly wouldn't have come in to share the bed with Mark!). He
didn't even flinch as he passed the room in which Carl and Angela were
probably exploring each other's bodies and walked onto the mezzanine.
He went down the stairs to the foyer, into the living room, poured
himself a large brandy and sat down on the couch in front of the fire,
which he stared into for the next half-hour.

END OF CHAPTER 1

TWO

"Passion & Terror"

Upstairs, Angela's pulse was racing. She found herself laying
back on the bed next to Carl, her head spinning from all that he was
doing to her. Already her t-shirt was up above her ample,
grapefruit-sized breasts and Carl's mouth was exploring them with
passion. They glistened from his saliva, her dark areola crinkled from
the coolness of the air on her moist flesh, her nipples standing firm as
he tugged them with his teeth.

She spoke breathily. "Oh, Carl, yessss."

He moaned against her skin in response and squeezed her other
breast before moving his hand toward her underpants. Gently it passed
over the elastic and glided across the bulge of her mound. Angela
raised her hips in anticipation as his fingers slithered down onto the
slippery patch of wetness on the front of her knickers. Her sex was
already flowing with juices, aroused at the magic of Carl's touch, and
he was sliding his fingers up and down into her slit from the outside.

Angela`s breathing escalated and her hips pumped more intensely
each time. Carl took this as a signal for his next move and began
kissing his way from her breasts towards her sex. Her legs parted as
she prepared herself for his mouth. His lips kissed all around the bare
skin at the edge of her panties: above the waistband, along the insides
of her thighs, finally resting on the center of her passion. She felt
him rubbing his lips against her mound and she drove her hips up against
him harder and harder. She was so close now, so close and she wasn't
even naked yet!

"Oh, Carl! You started without me, how unfair!"

Angela sat bolt upright, totally losing her state of arousal, to
see Lisa standing completely nude in the door of the bathroom. Her curly
blonde hair was draped over her dazzling shoulders and almost covered
her huge 40dd breasts. There was only a smattering of golden silk
between her legs, which were far enough apart to make her labia quite
visible. Lisa walked towards them, shifting her luscious thighs back
and forth. It was quite apparent to Angela why Carl had found her so
hard to resist.

Lisa Bonham had been a component of the group since the
beginning. She had been Carl's girlfriend when he met Robert during
their sophomore year. She was from San Diego and had met Carl on a
family vacation to Kingston. When Carl came to ECSU for his studies,
Lisa decided the Journalism program there was good enough for her and
she joined him. Last year they broke up -- sort of -- so they could see
other people, but it was common knowledge that Lisa was in Carl's bed at
least one or two weekends a month. With whomever else they shared the
bed was a constant topic of discussion.

"Lisa, I wanted it to be a surprise for Angela!" Carl rebuked
her.

Angela fumbled to get her shirt back over her bosoms and stood
up from the bed.
"Carl, what's going on here?" she asked, her voice quavering.
Her new lover stood up and took her hand.

"Lisa couldn't stay in Brenda's room, not with Robert in there,
and she wasn't gonna sleep with that oinker Petri, so I invited her to
join us. She's very open-minded about this stuff."

He took Lisa's hand and brought it to Angela's shoulder, who
looked on incredulously as Lisa caressed her way gently down towards her
breast, swirling around the nipple and clutching the mound of jelly in
her palm. Then she lifted Angela's t-shirt and cupped the bare breast
in her hand, thumbing the nipple to hardness.

Angela closed her eyes. Yes, it felt nice and Lisa was very
beautiful, but this isn't what she wanted. She'd wanted to be with
Carl, alone, and to make love with *him*. This kind of experimentation
was something she wanted to do later on. Carl had screwed things up,
pun intended, and Angela's mood was shattered.

"Just relax..." she said, gently putting her hand on Lisa's and
pulling slowly it away from her breast. "This isn't what I wanted. I
wanted to be with you." She squeezed Lisa's hand lightly, hoping to let
her know that she wasn't upset with her. Lisa smiled back knowingly.

"Come on, baby, it'll be great. The three of us, tangled and
sweaty, moaning, shaking the bed. Petri'll be steaming when he hears it
all the way down the hall."

That did it. Angela understood it all now. Carl had no
interest in her at all.

"You bastard. That's all you wanted me for, isn't it? To upset
Mark? You don't care about me at all do you?" Angela was getting very
upset and tears began to form in her eyes.

"Hey, Angie, I just thought it would be cool to razz Petri.
Take his dream girl, fuck her brains out with another girl, make him
jealous. If he means so much to you, why don't you go to his room and
fuck him?"

Angela turned and stormed towards the door. As she opened it
she turned back to Carl. "At least he wants me for who I am," she
snapped and left.

Lisa turned to Carl. "That was pretty cruel, you know."

"Not you too, babe," he responded, reaching out to cup her
breast.

"Oooo. You sure know how to change the subject, sweetheart,"
and she pulled his chest to hers, flattening her bosoms against it, and
kissed him deeply with her tongue.

Her hands slid down Carl's back and came to his boxers. She
began to slip them down, kissing her way down his chest as she went,
until she knelt before him. His magnificent erection popped up before
her face and she dropped his shorts. He managed to just step out of
them before she plunged her mouth over his penis. He moaned loudly as
she took it almost all the way down her throat and began bucking his
hips while Lisa wrapped one hand around the base of his member. The
other hand reached up and cupped the leathery sack that held his
testicles. Lisa's mouth was moving hard and fast over him and he was
feeling the pressure building within his loins.

Carl Suvega was in heaven already, and the night had only just begun.

Angela's face was wet with tears and burning with anger. How could
Carl have been so cruel? How could she not have seen it? No, he
was good. Brenda didn't even see it, she was happy for Angela. Carl
was very good at manipulation and Lisa's behavior was proof. She would
do anything for him, even make love with another woman. Sadly, Angela
realized, she probably would have made love with Lisa for Carl too, if
he hadn't tried to play that hand so early.

Angela reached for the doorknob to her room, but then stopped
herself. She could hear the sounds of moaning and the creaking of wood
and metal. Robert. Robert and Brenda were in the middle of intercourse
and disturbing their lovemaking was the last thing Angela wanted to do.
She looked back down the hall. She couldn't go back to Carl's room.
She needed to rest. No, she needed to talk, but Brenda was otherwise
occupied.

Mark. She walked on down the hall to Mark's room and tapped on
the door.

"Mark?" She waited, then knocked again. "Mark? It's Angela.
Can I come in?"

There was no response. Carefully she cracked the door open and
peered inside. The light on the nightstand was on, but the bed was
empty. Angela slipped into the room and closed the door.

"Mark?" she called softly, her voice still choked from crying.

She walked to the bathroom. The lights were out, but hanging on
the door was Mark's bathrobe. This she took and put on, wrapping it
around herself and tying it off. She turned on the bathroom light, ran
some cold water in the sink, and splashed her face. After wiping
herself dry with a towel, she felt much better. Now she could look for
Mark.

Angela left the room and headed towards the foyer, completely
oblivious to the silhouetted figure that moved in the darkness towards
other end of the hall.

Robert arched his back and squeezed Brenda's arms with ferocity.
His whole body shuddered as he emptied his seed into the tight sex of
his Asian lover. Underneath him, Brenda could feel the pounding at the
base of his erection as he came inside her, his burning semen spurting
out in an eruption of passion. At the same time, the muscles of her
vagina clenched his member in relentless waves of ecstasy. Her bottom
thrust against his penetration, driving him deeper and deeper inside her
body.

Together they shook and quivered, trying to sustain the passion
for as long as possible, but eventually the surge of orgasm began to
fade from their loins and slowly they fell into a loving embrace, thei
lips joined in a last remembrance of the joy that had just experienced.
Slowly they moved apart, Robert's diminishing penis sliding from inside
Brenda's saturated mound. His chest brushed against her small breasts
and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a sideways embrace.

"I love you, Brenda," whispered Robert.

She touched his face and kissed his lips warmly. "Robert...
Robert..." she cooed and lay her head in his arms.

Together they fell into a light sleep, their real life passion
transferring into dreams.

Angela crept down the stairs into the foyer. She twirled
around, trying to decide where Mark might have gone. The kitchen?
Perhaps. No, the living room. She turned and went into the left-hand
door in the back wall. At first she didn't see anything, but then as
she approached the couch she saw a lone sock-covered foot hanging over
the top of it. Mark was laying on his side, sound asleep. On the floor
was an empty brandy snifter and a book.

She knelt down in front of him and looked at his face. He
looked so peaceful when he was sleeping. He really was a peaceful,
quiet kind of guy. He was very kind and a good friend, Brenda had told
her that. Why hadn't she thought of giving him a chance? Angela knew
that if she told him what had happened, he would be sympathetic and
understanding. Yes, Mark had his problems, but maybe she could be as
good for him as he could be for her?

Putting her hand on his shoulder she leaned forward and
whispered in his ear. He stirred a little. She whispered again.
Mark's eyes fluttered open.

"Angela?" his voice croaked.

"Hi," she responded.

Mark struggled to get up and to shake off the sleepiness he was
feeling. That was kind of hard when you've had a bit of brandy. Okay,
a *lot* of brandy.

"Wh-what's up?" he asked.

"Sorry to wake you up. I...I needed someone to talk to."

At those words Mark forced off the weariness and blurred vision
and motioned for Angela to join him on the couch. She plopped down next
to him and began spilling her tale. When the tears started to flow he
wiped them away, when she started to shake he put his hand in hers, when
she confessed how she really felt about him he pulled her to his chest
and caressed her hair. Then she kissed him.

The fire crackled in the silence.

Lisa's breasts swung back and forth like pendulums in the dim
light of the nightstand lamp as Carl pounded his manhood into her from
behind. Her luscious bottom was raised in the air and Carl's erection
slid easily in and out of her blood-swollen lips. His hands clutched
the shuddering globes of her cheeks as he hammered himself into her
depths. He watched his shaft move back and forth between her buttocks,
into the gaping slit just below the rosette of her anus. He slipped a
hand down there and began to tease the nether-opening with one of his
fingers. Lisa let out a sharp gasp. Then he threw his back and closed
his eyes as he began to concentrate on the smooth silkiness of her sex.

Lisa's cornsilk pubic hairs were dripping with lubricant, as
were the hairs on Carl's balls and around the base of his penis. Her
face was buried into a thick pillow as she stifled her cries. She
concentrated on clenching her vagina around him, trying to drive herself
over the edge. Then she shoved her fingers down between their bodies
and frigged her clitoris as hard and as fast as she could. She had
never been able to have a climax during intercourse with anyone, though
she could masturbate and come by herself. Something just seemed to hold
her back from orgasm during sex. Finally she fell away from Carl,
pulling herself off of him, in exasperation.

"Still no luck, babe?" he asked, laying next to her.
"So close, Carl. I was so close."
He rolled onto his back. "Let's try something else," he said
and motioned for her to climb on top of him.

She got up to oblige, but her hopes weren't very high. "We've
tried it this way before, sweetheart."

"I know babe, but let's give it another chance."

Carl held her as she climbed over him, bracing her shoulders so
she could grab hold of his enormous member. She guided the huge
mushroom head against her mound, rubbing it into her slit, and then
began to descend onto it. Carl looked down between them to witness his
penis disappearing into his lover's mons. The warmth and smoothness of
womanhood enveloped him once more and his world began to spin. He
felt her hips touch his and he knew then that he was buried completely
within her body.

Lisa felt it when the tip of Carl's penis butted the mouth of
her womb. He was all the way inside her, stretching her birth canal
because he was so big. She started to raise and lower herself, letting
their sexes adjust to the new position. She brushed her breasts over
his face. Carl's hands slid around her back and then down to her
bottom. He squeezed her rear, kneading the muscles and pulling her
cheeks open and closed. Lisa could feel her anus being stimulated by
the motions and her heat started to rise.

Oh, Carl. Carl baby, fuck me!" she cried.

She lifted her body with his upward thrusts, driving him harder
and harder against her cervix. His hands reached further behind her
bottom and parted her cheeks. He rubbed a finger along his shaft to
lubricate it, then plunged the tip of it into her anus. Lisa yelped
with delight as his digit inched its way into her rectum, twisting and
twirling inside her. Something was beginning to build inside her and
realized that this may actually be the time when she would finally
climax with her lover!

As the two of them made love, they became too preoccupied with
their passion to notice the movement in the far corner of the room. A
dark figure moved quietly out of an open panel and towards the bed,
pulling something from inside its black overcoat. It watched intently,
through eyes masked in black velvet, as Lisa's bottom moved up and down
on top of Carl's rigidness. The scent of sex and sweat and the moans of
pleasure and near-ecstasy assaulted the intruder's senses. The sides of
Lisa's voluptuous breasts could be seen shaking as the two young people
expressed their passion for one another.

"Oh," grunted Lisa. "Oh Carl, yes, yes! So close now, baby.
Make me come Carl!"

Carl arched his neck and closed his eyes again to concentrate on
what he was doing to his darling Lisa. Her vagina gripped him like a
vise as she tried to trigger her orgasm. His thrusts pushed him deeper
and deeper into her sex. So hard, she thought, that he would push it
right into her womb. The impossible image in her mind, of his glans
penetrating her cervix and entering her womb to spill his semen, pushed
her right to the edge. She just needed a little more --

There was a noticeable snapping sound. Carl thought it was just
the bed creaking, as it had been doing all night. Suddenly he felt Lisa
tense up, her body going rigid. Her breathing turned ragged and raspy
and Carl felt warmth spreading throughout her loins. Her vagina clasped
him tighter than any lover he had ever felt. It pulsed and clutched and
gripped him like a blood-pressure cuff.

"Oh baby, Lisa, you did it! You're coming, oh baby!" he cried
out and opened his eyes to meet her gaze.

Carl's expression turned from one of passion to one of horror as
he witnessed the most grotesque thing he had ever seen. A trickle of
blood leaked from Lisa's quivering mouth and dripped off her chin onto
her breast. But that drop was only a pinpoint compared to the mass of
blood flowing from the open wound below. The X-shaped steel point of
an arrow protruded several inches from her chest, right between her
beautiful breasts. Blood pumped quickly around the shaft and ran in
rivers down her stomach and over her mound, coating their sexes.

"C-Carl..." she croaked, "I-I..."

Lisa Bonham never spoke another word.

She toppled sideways, slipping off his penis with an audible
'pop', and thudded on the floor. She spasmed one or two more times
before exhaling a last gurgling breath, then her once bright blue eyes
dimmed with lifelessness. Carl tried to cry out, but his voice was
gone. Sheer terror overtook him at the sight of her life ending so
abruptly and so violently, her beautiful nakedness now marred by the
blood and the deathly stillness of her body.

"Lisa..." he hissed, "oh my God, Lisa..."

Slowly realization dawned on Carl that there was a presence in
the room. The dark image he had fleetingly seen when Lisa fell to the
floor. His shaking head turned with fear to look upon his lover's
murderer. Standing in the minimal light was person in a long black
overcoat, face covered by a black cloth mask with slits for the eyes,
and a black broad-rimmed hat. In the killer's hands was a crossbow, now
reloaded, and it was pointing straight for Carl's face. Carl began to
crawl backwards.

"No, don't. Please don't!" he begged, backing up towards the
headboard.

There was a click and a flash. Fortunately for Carl he had
little time to register the impact that slammed his head back against
the wall. The tip of the bolt had pierced his skull, driven his head
against the wall, and passed through the back of his head into the wood
paneling. It held him there, suspended in a kneeling position at the
head of the bed, his blood-streaked penis still erect. Carl's death
throes caused him to spill the seed he had been preparing for Lisa's
womb. His member throbbed and spat several ropes of thick, white semen
onto the bedspread before it began to fall into flaccidness. Then the
brain, of which ECSU, MIT, NASA, Lisa and Carl himself had been so
proud, switched off.

The stranger tucked the crossbow back under his coat and moved
towards Lisa's body. She had fallen on her side, facing away from him.
He knelt down, reached between her breasts, carefully unscrewed the tip
of the arrow, and then extracted the shaft from her body. After putting
the projectile away he turned Lisa onto her back and slid his arms
underneath, then lifted her up. Her head turned toward his
velvet-masked face. Her eyes, wide open but lifeless, caught his glance
and something like sadness seemed to creep into his gaze.

"I'm truly sorry, miss," whispered the killer through his mask,
"but I need your help."

He adjusted his grip on her body until he regained his balance
and then headed for the secret panel in the corner. Lisa's breasts and
buttocks shook as he carried her across the floor, but there wasn't
anyone around to appreciate the sensuality of their movement. Her
killer wasn't interested in anything Lisa could have offered him in
that way. His desires were far more personal and subtle than sexual
pleasure.

The flames had died down quite a bit since they arrived that
night, but there was still enough flame left to cast a beautiful glow
around Angela's breasts. She lay on her back, sprawled out in the
middle of a white sculpted rug. The fibers were smooth against her bare
back and bottom. Her panties and t-shirt lay above her head, having
been tossed carelessly onto the dark red wood floor. Mark stood before
her, slipping down the last of his clothes: his gray sweatpants. His
erection stood out for her to see, his balls hanging in a tight little
bag beneath it. The orange light cast distorted shadows of his penis on
the back of the couch. Suddenly the shadow moved downwards, towards the
shadow of Angela's raised knees, which parted for him.

Angela's light skin seemed to make her blend with the rug, but
the dark forest of hair between her legs stood out like a beacon to
Mark's senses. As her legs parted he could see her labia spreading
open, glistening like a waterfall, mesmerizing him as he knelt over her.
Her arms reached out to embrace him, pulling him down to lay on top of
her, crushing her breasts, and she pressed her lips as tightly against
his as she could. She wanted him to overwhelm her with his passion so
she could forget what had happened upstairs, and when she felt Mark's
erection brushing against her mound, the name Carl Suvega was the
furthest thing from her mind.

Mark's tongue gently pushed its way into Angela's mouth,
swirling around and caressing her tongue. Her hands roamed down his
back and over his bottom. She broke their kiss and lunged her head
upward to grasp his earlobe in her teeth. Mark gasped and then returned
the pleasure. After kissing all over her ears, he drew a line down her
throat and neck to her collarbone. Angela gulped several breaths of air
as Mark's attentions sent her into dizziness.

"Mark...Mark," she gasped as his mouth moved past her breastbone
to plunge down onto her right bosom.

Angela shifted underneath him as his mouth slid over her nipple.
His lips brushed it again and again to make it hard, then his teeth
brushed it and grabbed softly at it and then tugged it harder. She
arched her back and grunted as loud as she dare. Mark grasped her other
bosom and kneaded it, then pinched the nipple between his knuckles.
Finally, he switched his oral attentions to it. Angela's whole body
shook as he feasted on her breasts.

Leaving her chest ravaged and moist, Mark's line of kisses moved
on down past her tummy and to the top of her pubic mound. He drew his
lips along the top side of her triangle of dark silk, then along the
insides of her legs. He ran them along the short stretch of her exposed
buttocks and then brushed them in a quick motion over her open labia.
The scent of her arousal was beginning to affect him, intoxicating him
more than the brandy ever could, and Angela's whispered passions were
begging him to go deeper.

Mark wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her legs
apart. His hands reached in and pulled her sex open, spreading her
labia wide and showing him the deep shaft of her vagina. His tongue
started to draw circles around the inside of her slit, occasionally
stopping to flick her swollen clitoris, and Angela began to shift her
hips in sympathy to his motions. Slowly Mark pushed his tongue further
in as it swirled around, plunging deeper and deeper into her birth
canal. Her breathing grew harder and faster as she visualized his
tongue sliding all the way up to the entrance of her uterus, then she
felt something that made her lift her bottom off the rug: Mark had slid
a finger in between her buttocks, spreading her juices around, and
plunged it into the wrinkled pucker of her anus about an inch. She
flung her hands down to his head and grasped it firmly, then arched,
bucked and gasped as his appendage wriggled its whole way into her
bottom. Now both orifices of her private place were filled and she was
rocketing heavenward.

"Mark, uh, oh, Mark..." she grunted, pulling him hard
against her sex and grinding it into his face. She could feel her
insides twisting into a gathering storm that would soon burst into a
hurricane of orgasmic release. Her juices were already beginning to
flow and the muscles of her vagina were starting to spasm
uncontrollably. Any moment now she would come, and there would be
nothing to save Mark from her burning passion.

Mark could sense her impending climax from the quivering walls
of her rectum and from the increased flow of her lubrication over his
face and chin. He raised a thumb to her clitoris so he could plunge
his tongue in as far into her vagina as it would go, then began spinning
the finger inside her bottom around and around in big circles to
stimulate every nerve she had. This concerted attention pushed Angela
Smith over the edge and into the cavernous valley of sexual ecstasy.

She lifted her buttocks completely off the ground and kept them
raised, rotating them in time to the waves of her climax. She wanted to
restrain herself from screaming, but the pleasure was too intense. At
the last second her hand flew to her mouth and shoved a fist in.

"Uhn, Uhhhn! Mark! Ohhhh God! Yes!" she cried in a muffled
voice.

Mark was nearly overwhelmed by Angela's passionate outburst.
His finger was being clenched relentlessly inside her rectum and her
gyrating sex was spreading lubricant all over his face. One hand still
held the back of his head while she came, forcing it with incredible
strength into her quivering mons. Her explosion seemed to go on and on
as Mark pleasured her, but slowly, very gradually, the intensity of his
lover's orgasm subsided, and her hips lowered themselves to the ground.
Soon after, Angela's intense breathing and the occasional snapping ember
from the fire were all that could be heard.

Some time later Angela's fingers were twirling around in Mark's hair
as his head lay warmly against her sex, his cheek brushing against
her chestnut bush. He could still hear her heartbeat as blood raced
through the veins and arteries near her loins, but it wasn't nearly as
loud or as fast as it had been just after her orgasm. Then it had been
like a powerful ship's engine, throttle full open. Now it seemed
peaceful, gentle, restful, almost hypnotic.

"Mark?"

"Yes?" he answered quietly, so as not to disturbed the serenity
of the moment.

She sat up, then turned herself onto her knees. Mark did the
same. As they embraced, her breasts pressed against him, sending warmth
into his body and soul. His penis began to stir and Angela could feel
it starting to grow against her pubic hair. His hands dropped to her
luscious bottom, clutching it tenderly in his hands. She wrapped her
arms around his back and drew him down for a kiss. A long, wet and hot
french kiss that caused his temperature to rise, as well as his member.
Their silhouette against the fire was beautiful. Two naked forms
embraced, kissing in the dim firelight, preparing for the next step in
their act of lovemaking.

"Mark, now..." she asked, brushing her kisses over his ear.

His heart seemed to skip a beat as the woman he had desired for
so long, but could never seem to grab a hold of, lay back and offered
herself to him. Tentatively he reached out and caressed her raised
knees.

"Angela, I-I've never..."

"It doesn't matter, Mark," she consoled him.

He reached out for the bathrobe she had taken from his room and
fumbled through the pockets. After a moment he pulled out a thin square
packet and began to tear it open. Angela smiled.

"You've had that in there all the time?" she asked.

"The whole trip," he said with a shaky voice, and then added:
"Call it wishful thinking."

She laughed and then sat back up, reaching out for the packet.

"Actually, It tells me that you're very special to be so considerate."
Mark handed her the square and watched as she opened it the rest
of the way.

"The last thing I need is to be a father the first time I make
love with a woman, especially you."

Angela caressed his member, making it swell and throb. She
reach underneath and cupped his testicles, the source of new life,
massaging them tenderly. A drop of pre-come appeared at the tip of his
penis and she leaned forward, gently licking the tip of his glans and
removing the liquid. Mark gasped and shuddered. Then she slowly rolled
the ridged, lubricated condom down the length of his seven inches and
checked to make sure there was space at the tip for him to come in.
Already the thought of him climaxing was making her wet and she played
the image of his bare erection squirting its contents inside her over
and over in her mind. Then his words triggered another thought, this
time about a baby. Angela knew it was crazy, but the thought of her
belly growing with a new life inside her made her even wetter. She
imagined her womb expanding, stretching to hold the body of a new human
being. She pictured the child emerging from her birth canal and then
the doctor laying it in her arms, letting it suckle at her breast. And
in all the scenes she pictured Mark standing with her, holding her hand,
holding her child. How strange that she should envision him so easily,
even though they had never been close before.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, seeing the far-away
look in her eyes.

She blushed and looked down. "Nothing, just...imagining."

After releasing his penis, Angela lay back on the rug. Mark
fell in place next to her and they faced each other on their sides.
Their arms snaked around one another and deep, passionate kissing
ensued. They rolled on the rug together, changing positions and kissing
ears, cheeks, necks, throats and chests. She moaned as his mouth once
again found her nipples. He suckled like an infant and the image of a
baby feeding at her bosom flashed through Angela's mind once more.

"Mark, Mark..." she moaned.
His mouth moved downward, passing around her navel and arriving
at her mound. Angela raised her hips and brushed it against his mouth.
He kissed her sex several times, budidn't need to be made wet, she
was already well-lubricated. Surprised at her readiness, Mark looked up
into her eyes: she had been ready for a long time and now she wanted
him. Compelled by the pleading look in her eyes, Mark moved up between
her legs on his knees and leaned over her body. Her arms reached up to
embrace him and he lowered himself on top of her, sliding his hands
under her back to hold her shoulders. Angela's hips shifted and swirled
as Mark moved his pelvis, trying to aim his penis for her opening. Soon
she felt the rigid tip of his head probing her slit and she pulled her
hips back just a bit, allowing it to plunge right into her sex. They
both gasped simultaneously.

After a moment of rest, Mark began to push his erection further
into Angela's vagina. Slowly he moved it back and forth, easing it into
her silky passage. She felt his width pushing her sex open wide. It
pumped ever so gently in and out of her, moving deeper into her body.
Soon it would penetrate all the way inside her, touching her most
intimate depths, and Angela began shaking with anticipation. Mark
raised himself above Angela's body. This shifted his position inside
Angela and he slid the rest of the way in, bottoming out against her
cervix.

"Oh!" she cried out, then looked up into his eyes to let him
know she was all right. She could feel the fullness of his manhood
within her birth canal, the tip of his penis nestled against the portal
to her womb.

Firmly Mark began to thrust inside her. Angela's body went with
him, offering no resistance to his movements. Her breasts shook and
bounced with each motion, adding to the sensuality of her nakedness.
She even began to exhale in gasps with each thrust. Then she could feel
his balls hitting against her buttocks, making smacking sounds as the
moisture from her vagina began to spread around her cheeks and down into
her anus.

"Angela," he hissed. "Angela, God this is so wonderful."

Her eyes met his and in them she could see determination,
passion, and something else. "Mark, what are you feeling?"

He lifted his right hand and touched the side of her face,
brushing back her hair. "Warmth. Pleasure."

"Anything else?" she wanted to know what that other emotion was
that she saw in his eyes.

"Joy?" he responded, as if he was unsure.

Angela raised her hips and began to set up a counter-thrusting
motion, meeting his loins with her own each time he pushed into her. Mark
picked up the pace of intercourse, but Angela kept up with him. Soon they
were making love in a blur, the shaft of his penis pistoning back and
forth inside her womanhood. He was very close to coming and almost went
over the edge, but instead dropped his thrusting to almost nothing,
slowing down the pace of their passion dramatically. He lay his chest
against her breasts and they writhed on the floor in the disappearing
firelight, kissing deeply and lovingly as their bodies twisted into a
single soul.

Mark kissed her ears and neck, whispering to her, while she
scratched his back, nearly bringing blood tourface of his skin.

"Angela, sweet Angela...love you."

She threw back her head and tightened her vaginal muscles,
gripping him with all her might. Her bottom began to buck upwards and
her fingernails dug into his shoulder blades. Mark dove onto her
breasts, kissing and tugging hard at her nipples.

"Yes! Oh Mark, Yes! I love you too!" she cried as her body
shivered, wracked with powerful orgasms.

Mark's pace increased for the last mile, thrusting deeply into
his beautiful Angela's center of love. He felt the tensions of climax
building behind his testicles, up inside his body. Fluids began to
churn within his loins and his penis began to swell. His quivering
buttocks moved quickly up and down in the amber glow of the coals on the
hearth and Angela's breasts rolled like waves, nipples firm as gumdrops.
He held her shoulders and her hands ran to his bottom, clenching his
cheeks and pulling him deeper into her sex.

"Angela, Angela!" he howled as the moment he had been dreaming
of ever since he met her arrived.

Mark felt it first as a burning sensation just beneath his
scrotum, then as a series of pulses at the base of his erection. Angela
could then feel them as his whole penis began to throb. His breathing
became almost like screams as he started to come. Down the pipe of his
urethra came the most incredible orgasm he had ever had. The tip of the
condom suddenly puffed out as jets of hot, creamy-white semen started to
spill into it. More and more came, forcing the fluid to spread down
around the shaft of his penis.

Angela could feel the warmth spreading throughout her loins as
Mark released his seed. Her mind raced with the image of it spurting
against her cervix, then of the millions of little sperm from Mark's
testicles swimming furiously into her womb, searching for her monthly
egg. The whole baby fantasy passed through her mind again and the image
of Mark's presence in it was even stronger than before. This increased
her pleasure and arousal and triggered an unexpected orgasm, which swept
over her like a tidal wave. Just as the contractions of Mark's prostate
gland began to die down, Angela convulsed underneath him and her vagina
crushed his now-shrinking member. Soon their waves of climax were dying
together and Mark fell slowly against her glistening breasts, kissing
her tenderly.

Minutes later they slid apart and Mark lay his head on her
bosom. She caressed his face and whispered his name several times,
while he lay his left hand near her mound and, as Angela realized befor
she fell asleep, near her womb as well.

Brenda moaned as Robert rubbed another palmful of warm oil into the
smooth skin of her back. His naked body was astride hers, resting
on her small but firm bottom. She could feel the roughness of his
scrotum pressing against the cleft of her buttocks and the shaft of his
erect penis between them. His hands worked the body oil into her tinted
skin, making it silky and slippery to his touch. Slowly he brought them
down her spine and flanks, then back up again along the sides of her
breasts. Eventually he worked his way to Brenda's delicious behind, of
which Robert was so fond.

"I've been waiting for this all week," he said joyously.

"Mmmm. Do you think you're the only one?" she asked, lifting
her head off the pillow.

Robert chuckled and poured more of the oil into his hand. Gently
he applied it to Brenda's smooth globes, kneading it into her beautiful
round backside. Easily he worked his fingers down the split between her
cheeks, spreading the warmth of the liquid everywhere. As he closed in
on her forbidden spot, she raised her rump in the air to help him out.
Robert could see Brenda's forest of pitch-black silk and the entrance to
her birth canal, as well as the tiny brown flower of her anus, wai
to bud at his touch. He used on finger to smear the oil over her
sphincter, watching it open in close in response to his caress. He
applied another drop of the love oil to his finger and let it drip into
her opening, then he eased the tip of his index finger inside her
bottom. Brenda gasped loudly, feeling the digit worming its way into
her rectum.

"Oh, God...Robert," she groaned.

Once it was all the way inside her, Robert began pumping it back
and forth until it moved easily. Brenda had been learning to relax her
muscles and accept his fingers inside her, because tonight was going to
be the first time she would take his member inside that part of her
body. She had been looking forward to it all week, knowing that Robert
was very fond of that kind of loving, but she had been worried that he
might be just too big for her. That was why they had been working on
getting several fingers inside her all week. Last night they had got
three and she almost came from it. Now all he had to do tonight was
loosen her up and then they could make love.

Within ten minutes Robert had three clustered fingers buried
inside Brenda Xu's anus. She was rocking back and forth, shoving
herself over his hand while he twisted and turned his appendages inside
her. He could feel the smooth and slippery walls of her rectum with his
finger tips. They were fluttering and squeezing, trying to force him
out. Slowly, so as not to hurt Brenda, he slid his hand out of her
bottom. Then he squirted more oil on his hand.

"Are you ready, Bren?" he asked.

Her voice quavered. "Yes, yes, now Robert."

He moved up behind her body and she spread her legs apart to
lower herself into position. Robert clasped his erection with his oiled
hand and began to caress it, slicking it up carefully. Then he spread
the last of the oil into her anus and put the tube away. He grabbed the
base of his penis and guided the head towards her buttocks, wedging it
between them. Then he took his hands and parted her cheeks, opening the
flower of her bottom, and used his thumb to guide his glans to it.
Brenda could feel his swollen cockhead touching her nether opening. The
lubricant made it easier than she thought and the helmet-tip of his
manhood began to disappear inside the sphincter.

"Uhn, Robert. Oh God, it's going in!"

Her lover put his hands on her hips and slowly pulled her back
over his penis. He watched as her beautiful Asian body glided back over
him, her beautiful smooth globes, parted in the middle, consuming his
manliness. He seemed so huge compared to the width of her body, it was
amazing that he could fit inside her at all, but in just about a minute
it was completely swallowed by her rectum and now lay nestled within her
lower intestine.

"Oh, Bren. God this is incredible. You're so tight. Are you
sure I'm not hurting you?"

"No, Robert," she gasped, "it's wonderful, it's so wonderful."

He began to pump his hips, sliding the shaft back and forth
inside her. The more he moved the more she was able to relax her
muscles, and then she started to use what she had learned all week and
began to clench her anus around him, driving him mad.

Soon they found a perfect rhythm for their congress and pleasures
were running high. His testicles were slipping and sliding against
her dripping vulva. Brenda's hand wandered to her swaying breasts,
clutching them and pinching her nipples, then Robert took over that
duty for her, so her hand slid directly to her sex. She found her
throbbing clitoris and began to massage it. Momentarily she was
frigging it hard and fast, driving herself right over the precipice
without stopping. Her body began to buck and jerk in tremendous
convulsions and Robert felt his penis being clamped and crushed by the
muscles of her bowels. Her gasps and grunts were absorbed by the pillow
her face was buried into, but none of it was lost on Robert. He
listened intently for every 'Robert' and 'love you' she uttered and
thrust deeper with each one. Soon he felt his own pleasure centers
beginning to stir and the moment of his joy was soon at hand.

"Oh, Bren, my God, Bren. I'm coming Bren, I'm coming! God damn
it!"

He reached for the base of his penis and held it as he pulled
out of Brenda's body. Quickly she flipped onto her back and slid down
so that he was between her legs. He beat his erection furiously and his
balls jiggled and slapped against her sex. His member swelled before
her eyes and the head looked like it was going to burst, then it did.
The eye-slit of his urethra opened and the first of several jets of
semen sprayed out of it, sending a foot-long rope of ejaculate across
the side of Brenda's face and throat. Another gush spattered his
reproductive fluids across both her breasts. Then he aimed higher and
sent a stream of his passion into her open mouth and down her chin.
Several more spurts scattered semen across her bosoms, tummy and,
finally, the last pulses of his orgasm created puddles of his love in
thick pubic hair forest. Moments later, his penis was limp and he
was exhausted. He toppled onto his side, next to his loving Brenda.
She lay there, panting almost as much as he was, covered in semen and
sparkling like a Christmas tree in the light of the small table lamp.
They let themselves rest and breath for a while, worn out from the night
of intimacy and love.

"Robert, Robert," she moaned after several minutes went by.

He turned on his side to see her eyes, blazing with passion,
staring directly into his own. He caressed her face.

"I love you, Robert. I love you more than anyone I've ever
known. Why are you so good to me? Why do you make such good love to
me?"
He kissed her softly on the lips, savoring the sweetness of her
lips mixed with the saltiness of his come.

"Because I love you as much as you love me. You mean more to me
than anything, Brenda. No one can ever take away what we have."

They began kissing and touching again, cooing and whispering to
each other. They looked over each other's bodies and wondered how they
could have given and taken such punishment in one night.

They lay together for several more minutes, holding each other,
but Brenda was beginning to feel grimy and sticky from all the passion
and she thought a quick shower would help her relax and get her ready to
sleep. Robert told her he would take one after her and then they would
go out and fetch a few more sheets to replace the ones they had soiled
with sweat, oil and semen. Brenda rolled off the bed and Robert watched
her swaying bottom as she walked into the bathroom. She turned to him
and blew a kiss, passed a hand over her breast in a teasing manner and
disappeared through the door, closing it partway. It was the last time
she would ever see Robert Koss alive.

Angela's eyes flickered open. She groggily looked for a clock
and saw that the one on mantle said 2:15. Realizing they were still in
Dr. Hammond's living room, she stirred her lover and then tried to
accumulate her underclothes and the bathrobe she had stolen from Mark.
The two of them dressed as quickly as they could and straightened the
rug, then their hair, trying to make things look as normal as possible.
They turned on other lamps in the room and looked around for anything
they might have left behind. Mark put the brandy snifter back on the
side table and disposed of the condom, still filled with his semen, i
the fire place, watching it crackle, hiss and wither. Then Angela
handed him his book and they headed for the door to the foyer, with
plans to spend the rest of the night in Mark's comfortable bed. As they
were leaving, though, Mark looked back at the fireplace.

"What is it?" she asked, realizing he'd stopped.

"It's that picture, the one above the fireplace."

"What about it?"

"There's something odd about it, something familiar."

They walked back towards it.

"You know," started Angela, "it's funny, but I noticed Dr.
Hammond looking at that picture a lot when we were in here before. I
didn't really pay any attention to it because we were all so exhausted
and nervous."

The portrait was of three people, a man (obviously Dr. Hammond,
but with dark hair instead of gray), a woman (his wife?) and a teenage
girl (their daughter?).

Mark's eyes suddenly widened, then so did Angela's.
"Oh my God!" they said in unison.
"Th-That woman --" Mark stammered.
" -- looks like me!" concluded Angela.

Mark walked closer to the picture. "She's a lot older than you,
but she sure does have a lot of your features. Look at her nose and the
shape of her eyes."

Angela assented. "She looks even more like my older sister, Lucy."

"If you age that well, I'll be a lucky guy!" joked Mark. Angela
just stared.

"Did you notice how Dr. Hammond looked at me when he first saw me?"

"Yeah, and when he left us upstairs, after Lisa asked that
idiotic question about his family. I wondered what his deal was.
That's why I was beginning to get creepy feelings about this place."

Mark looked around the room and then seemed lost in thought.
Angela waited for a moment to see what he was thinking, but suddenly
the silence was pierced by a heart-stopping scream.

END OF CHAPTER 2

THREE

"No Way Out"

Brenda bathed herself in the soothing rain of the shower,
cleansing her body of all the exertions and passions she had
experienced that night. She cleaned herself thoroughly, doing
her face and neck, under her breasts, her stomach, her bush and
inside her sex, and also between her buttocks. The pleasure of
Robert's entry into that forbidden part of her body still glowed
within her and she became aroused once more. She lay her shoulders
against the wall of the shower, allowing it to support her as she
prepared to enjoy herself.

Leaving one soapy finger remaining within her anus, Brenda let
her other hand find its way back to her sex. She spread her labia apart
with trepidation. She rarely masturbated, having been raised to believe
it was wrong, but on rare occasions, when the urge was too great, she
relented and allowed herself the joy of self-pleasure. Now she was
exploring herself, rubbing her finger over the hood of her sensitive
clitoris and into her vagina. Her buttocks stiffened, making her anus
tighten around her invading finger. She made it move all the faster in
and out and the tension inside grew.

The hot water cascaded over Brenda's perky little breasts, the
ones Robert found so tantalizing. Sometimes he liked to make love to
them, straddling her chest and rubbing his huge member between them
until he came. The semen would run down around her neck like a liquid
chain. He called it a 'pearl necklace.' That name always made her
laugh. Now, instead of laughing, she was moaning. Her hands were
making love to her most intimate places. She managed to get a second
finger into her anus and was pumping them back and forth as hard as she
could. Her other hand had three fingers inside and she was pounding so
hard she was almost fisting herself. Flashes of color were beginning to
explode around her head as her automatic reflexes took over. Ripples of
pleasure coursed through Brenda's loins. She could feel the muscular
walls of both her vagina and rectum undulating relentlessly. Her bottom
smacked against the wet tile as she bucked and wriggled. The orgasm
seemed like a machine gun, several quick spasms followed by a brief rest
and another series of spasms. This went on for several minutes, nearly
causing her to black out. Finally, though, her body began to calm down
and she was able to remove her hands from her openings. Her arms
trembled after the release of so much energy and she could barely stand
up.

Brenda switched to cooler water, trying to snap herself to
consciousness once more. She had generated a lot of heat during her
lovemaking with Robert, let alone during what she had just done, so she
needed to cool off anyway. After awhile she was beginning to feel like
she was ready for bed.

As she reached for the knobs, she heard a soft thud. Turning
off the water she grabbed a towel and began to dry off. Stepping out
of the shower stall, she called for her lover.

"Robert?"
There was no reply.

"Must be getting the new sheets," she said to herself and
continued to dry off.

After about ten minutes she was getting concerned. She hadn't
heard him come back into the room. She figured she was dry enough, so
she grabbed her nightshirt from the hook and opened the bathroom door.
When she looked towards the bed, Robert was sitting upright in it.

"Robert? Why didn't you answer me?" she asked, moving around
the side table.

Then, suddenly, she realized why he hadn't answered her. He couldn't.
She dropped the nightshirt. Shock and disbelief swept over Brenda as
she stared at the scene before her: the feathered shaft of an arrow
was plunged right through Robert's throat. Blood had poured out of
the wound, but now there was very little flow. Now the shock gave
way to horror and grief.

"Robert!" she cried out, tears beginning to stream from her eyes.
She lunged for the bed and hovered over her lover's body. What
should she so? What *could* she do. She should be remembering her
medical training, but panic gripped her. She flailed her hands
helplessly and a cry of grief welled up inside her lungs.

At the moment she let out her scream, she was grabbed from
behind and her cry of loss turned to one of terror. A hand covered
her mouth and an arm wrapped across her ribcage, the hand accidentally
clutching her left breast. She struggled with all her strength to free
herself from the grip of the person she knew *must* have killed her
Robert.

"Please," spoke a muffled voice, "please don't struggle, miss.
It will only make things harder."

Brenda felt a sharp edge against her throat and she ceased her
struggles. If she cooperated, maybe the others would have time to get
here and stop this madman.

I'm sorry, truly sorry for what I have to do, my dear."

He gently relaxed his grip on her mouth.

"Why? Why did you have to kill Robert?" she cried softly, tears
rolling down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, miss, but it was necessary." He paused for a
moment. "You loved each other, didn't you?"

She was so overcome with grief that all she could do was nod her
head.

"I loved someone once, very much. Now she's gone, but I can get
her back. You can help me."

He tightened the pressure on the blade at her throat.

"Please, please, don't kill me. I-I don't want to die. Please,
whatever it is you want I'll do it. I'll do anything."

The voice paused, as if to consider, but its reply wasn't any
consolation to Brenda.

I'm sorry, miss. Please forgive me. This is the only way I can
let you help me."

Brenda felt the sharp edge jerk across her throat. Tremendous
spurts of blood shot out across the bed, covering the sheets and
Robert's body with red raindrops. Brenda tried to cry out, but only
managed to create a gurgling sound as she exhaled through the gash in
her throat. She gasped for air, drawing in blood and making it harder
to breathe. She started choking. Brenda Xu knew she was about to die
and her thoughts turned towards the others, especially Angela and Mark,
and she prayed with the last power of her dying mind for their safe
escape from that terrible place.

The young Asian beauty shuddered in the killer's arms, then her
head lolled to one side. The fountains of blood from her severed throat
were reduced to a flow. The hand clutching her breast felt the beat of
her heart grow slower and slower, then finally, and sadly, stop. Brenda
was a small woman and he had no problem lifting her in his arms. For a
moment the killer turned, as if he had heard something, then carried the
naked form into the corner and disappeared down a long, stone corridor.
The panel slid closed and the room, with it's grisly scene of death, was
emptied of life just as there came a heavy thud against the door.

"That was Brenda!" shouted Angela.

Mark dropped his book and bolted through the door, rounding the
bottom of the grand staircase and swinging his way onto it. He took the
stairs in threes and Angela was far behind him. For someone in poor
physical shape, he was doing pretty well.

When Mark reached the mezzanine, he stopped just short of the entrance
to the East Wing. He started to step out, but Angela caught up to him
and pulled him back from the corner to hand him something. It was an
ornately-decorated dagger, gold handle inlaid with gems, with a
foot-long blade.

"I grabbed this from the wall in the living room. I thought we
might need it."

Of course Mark had no idea how to handle the thing, but there
wasn't time to worry about it. He waved her to stay back on the
mezzanine while he advanced down the hall. It was probably a
chauvinistic move on his part, but Angela was too scared to argue.
The cry had been one of such terror that both of them thought the
situation to be anything but benign. If Mark was trying to protect
her, she couldn't fault him for that. But, at the same time, she
wasn't just going to hang out in the hallway. She followed Mark,
but at a safe distance.

Mark was torn between rushing in to help Brenda and Robert and
rushing in and getting them hurt. He was beginning to panic that
he had waited too long when he gave in to his concern for his
friends and grabbed the door handle.

It was locked.

Mark realized he had probably already alerted whoever was in the
room to his presence so he did the quickest thing he could think
of: he kicked the door by the lock. The second kick splintered
the door and the third one broke the door frame. He threw his
body against the remains of the door and it crashed open easily,
sending Mark tumbling to the floor.

"Mark, are you all right?" he heard Angela call.

He shook his head and started to push himself off the floor,
then realized he had put his hands into something sticky and warm. He
lifted them and looked at the red liquid running down them, then also at
the sanguine splotches on his sweats. He was streaked all over. As he
stood up observing himself and the room, his gaze was cast to the bed
and the horrible sight it contained.

"Oh my God," he whispered to himself, then called out: "Angela,
stay out in the hall. DO NOT come in here."

Mark Petri moved slowly towards the bed, staring at the lifeless
form of his best friend, Robert. The blood seemed fresh, some of it
still dribbling out of the arrow wound in his neck, but the most
disturbing thing to Mark were the eyes. There was a look of complete
shock and bewilderment on Robert's face and his eyes seemed to stare
right into Mark's.

"Mark, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Angela, please!" he cried, his voice choked with welling grief.

Mark reached out and closed Robert's eyes, then some of the
uneasiness left him. He tried to gain control of himself. He had
to be of use here, he couldn't panic. Someone had murdered Robert
and that meant everyone else was in danger, including Angela. He
had to be in control. He shut his eyes hard, took a deep breath,
and then opened them again. It didn't make the painful scene go
away, but it did make him feel stronger.

Mark searched the bathroom. Someone had taken a shower recently
-- evidenced by the wet tub and towel -- but there was no specific sign
of Brenda. He washed his hands in a hurry and walked out. On his way
across the room he stooped down to pick up Brenda's blood-stained
nightshirt and then realized something about the patterns of blood on
the floor and bed. The blood from Robert's wound couldn't have caused
all the blood on the floor because he hadn't been moved. If he had, the
blood on his neck would have run down the sides before he was sat
upright. Nor could his injury have caused the spatter pattern on the
bed, because the spots there spread out from a series of large streaks
originating near the side of the bed. Unfortunately, that meant someone
else had to have been bleeding and that wasn't news he wanted to pass on
to Angela.

Mark tossed the nightshirt into the bathroom to keep Angela from
seeing it and walked to the hallway. She was standing just outside,
looking back down the hall. She heard him approach and started to turn.

"I'm worried about Lisa and Carl. They would have heard
Brenda's scream and been here long before we --" and then she saw the
blood on his clothes. "Mark! Oh my God, what happened?"

He took her hand and held it, trying to find a way to tell her.
There were tears already on his cheek and she knew it was something
awful.

"Robert's dead," he tried to say flatly, but with little
success. "S-Someone killed him."

Angela's mouth hung open and her chin quivered with shocked
grief. Robert, dead? Why would someone murder him? What was going
on in this place?

"Brenda," she said after a moment, "where's Brenda?" She tried
to push past Mark into the room.

"She's-She's not in there, Angela," he responded, trying to stop
her. "We need to look for her. Let's go and check on Carl and Lisa and
then see if we can find Bren, okay?"

She continued to fight him. "I'm a nurse, damn it, Mark! Maybe
he isn't dead. Maybe I can help him!" She broke free of his grip and
dashed into the room. He followed.

"I think he's beyond any help, Angela," he added softly, as she
stopped in her tracks.

The sight of so much blood was not unfamiliar to her, nor was
the sight of a deceased human being, but this wasn't a way in which she
was used to seeing it: the savage murder of someone she knew and cared
about. It took her a moment to find the strength, much in the same way
Mark had done, to move on. Angela went to the head of the bed and knelt
carefully next to Robert. She put her fingers on his neck and then his
wrist, confirming the absence of a pulse. Under the circumstances, that
was enough for her and she walked back to Mark and embraced him.

I'm sorry," she said through a flood of tears.

"No, no," he consoled her. "You did the right thing. I jumped
the gun thinking he was dead. I was just worried about Brenda and the
others. Come on, we need to look for them."

Reluctantly she left the room and followed Mark down the hall
towards Carl and Lisa's room. When they reached the door, he held up
the dagger and told her to wait. Every instinct she had wanted to tell
him to stuff it and let her go in with him, but she resisted the urge
when she saw that he was shaking so bad he could barely hold the knife.
He was as terrified as she was.

Mark carefully turned the knob and opened the door. This one
wasn't locked. Why had Brenda's door been locked? She and Robert may
have done it to keep the others out of their room, but if that was the
case, how did the killer get into their room in the first place? And if
the killer locked it upon leaving, how could he have done it so fast and
yet taken Brenda hostage or, God forbid, been carrying her body? Not to
mention there wasn't any blood on the floor in the hall. Too many
questions and too much for Mark to think about at the moment. For all
he knew, the killer was stalking them at this very moment and, from the
looks of it, he had a weapon that could kill them at a distance. Mark's
heart began to pound in his chest.

The door creaked open and revealed a familiar gruesome scene. Mark
turned his head away for a minute and sighed. Angela, realizing it
was safe for the moment, moved past Mark into the doorway. The sight
of Carl's stiffening body hanging from the wall with the arrow through
his skull made her bile rise, but she forced it down. There was blood
on his legs, abdomen and genitals. They moved into the room together,
then Mark went to check out the bathroom and Angela went to the bed,
checking Carl in the same way she had Robert. He was dead, of course,
but cold and bluish, as if he had been dead for several hours, and
rigor had begun to set in.

"No sign of Lisa or anyone else," observed Mark as he left the
bathroom.

"There's a lot of blood on the bed and the floor and on Carl's
... Carl's ... body, but it didn't come from him," she reported.

Despite how clinical she was trying to be, Angela couldn't hold
back the grief and fear. She knew, in her heart, that the blood was
Lisa's, but she didn't want to face that right now. Mark gripped her
shoulders and looked into her teary eyes.

"You're doing good, kid. Hang in there. We have to get through
this."

Angela wiped the rivers of grief away, but the emotion of anger
remained with her.

"This is insane, who would do this? Why? These were good
people. They were our friends," she cried.

Her words hit him to the heart. Mark had never been fond of
Carl, but he respected his intelligence and would never have wished
something so horrendous on him or Lisa, let alone on Robert or Brenda,
whom he loved as dear friends. Why someone would do this was a question
he couldn't answer. Who, on the other hand, was a different issue.

"Hammond. He's got to be the one behind this," he finally said.

"What do we do, Mark?" she asked, frantically. He took her
hand and pulled her towards the door.

We get the hell out of here and come back with the police," he
answered and led her down the hall.

They stopped back at Brenda's room where Angela, trying to ignore
the dominating presence of Robert's body on the bed, grabbed her
bag and, at Mark's request, found her roommate's cell phone, plus a
thing or two on her own initiative. Then they retreated to Mark's room
to change into clothes better suited to a plan of escape. Angela jumped
into her black nylon track suit and Mark, relieved to be out of the
bloodied sweats, dug out and donned his black ones. As they prepared to
leave, Mark asked her to check the cell phone but, as expected, it
wouldn't connect to a service. They were on their own.

Mark peered down the hall and, seeing it was clear, they started
on their way, creeping along slowly and quietly. When they reached the
mezzanine, Mark pulled out the dagger Angela had given him and held it
out in front of him. She noticed it wasn't shaking any less than
before, but felt a little better assured when she pulled out her own
weapon.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, in a barely perceptible whisper.

Angela held aloft a stun gun and pressed the trigger, sending
an arc of electricity across the contacts.

"It's Lisa's. When I was getting the cell phone I remembered
she had brought it with her on the trip."

"Good girl. Always the resourceful one. I'm glad I've got you
with me." Mark, of course, would have preferred that everyone in the
group was with him, but he tried not to think about that.

They crept down the stairs and into the foyer without interference.
Angela moved towards the door, but Mark grabbed her hand.

"We might not get ten feet outside the house," he whispered.
"Hammond's probably expecting us to do that. I want to surprise him."
He led her instead into the lower level of the East Wing.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"The kitchen," he replied, curtly.

It wasn't hard to find. A huge room at the far end of the wing
with enough cooking facilities and equipment to feed a small army -- or
a large family as had been the original purpose. Mark looked around for
what he wanted and pulled Angela after him when he found it.

The pantry?" she asked.

"It's only a hunch, but this is where my family always kept the
keys to the cars...and it's close to the garage."

Mark's plan suddenly dawned on her. "We're going to steal one
of Dr. Hammond's cars and head back to the valley!"

"Close. I just want to get somewhere that the damn cell phone
will work so we can call in the cavalry."

They searched the room, but to no avail. There weren't any keys.

"Damn!" swore Mark.

"Now what?" asked Angela, her anxiety obviously returning.

Mark paced for a moment. "I refuse to believe he doesn't have a
phone around here. What if he needed help? You know, an emergency or
something?"

That made sense to her. "What about his study? He mentioned it
before we went to our rooms. It might be there. Maybe the keys will be
too."

This idea made Mark very nervous. Into the lion's den, so to
speak? It was dangerous, but probably no more dangerous than just
making a run for it. He decided it was a better plan than anything else
he could think of.

"All right. So where do you think it is?" he asked.

"He said the West Wing, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but which one. Upper or Lower?"

Angela thought about this for a moment and then remembered something.
"When he left us upstairs I don't remember hearing him going down
the steps. They're made of stone, so I think we would have heard
them."

"Very good. You're running up a good score on me. Keep your
mind that sharp and we're bound to get out of here alive."

As hard as he was trying to keep her mind on their survival and
off the horrible events of the night, Mark was hard-pressed to do it
himself. Robert had been his best friend for four years and Brenda was
like his sister. Dealing with grief had never been easy for Mark and
tonight was the worst. Still, the task of keeping himself and Angela
alive, plus the hope of finding Brenda and Lisa safe and sound, was
doing a fair job of keeping him steady. At least for now. Hopefully
soon he would be able to collapse and grieve a little, then get some
sleep. His ability to cope with things was always better after a good
night's rest.

They made their way back to the foyer.

"Still no sign of Dr. Hammond," Angela observed. "He's got to
be around here somewhere."

She followed Mark up the stairs to the Upper West Wing.

"It seemed like a fair amount of time went by between Carl's and
Robert's murder. I hope that implies Hammond had to take Lisa somewhere
secure and do whatever he had to do to her and then return for Brenda.
If I'm right -- and there's no guarantee I am -- we still have a little
margin of safety before he comes looking for us."

They walked carefully down the hall, looking for open rooms or
any other clue that would direct them to Hammond's study, as well as
listening for sounds other than their own. Their search turned up
nothing until they reached the last room on the right. The door was
ajar and a light was still on. Mark held the dagger out and used it to
open the door. It swung open effortlessly to reveal a Victorian-style
den with a large oak desk on the far wall. The light came from a green
banker's lamp on the desk and, next to it, lay a modern, multi-line
telephone.

Mark and Angela moved quickly but quietly towards the desk,
expecting someone or something to lunge out at the last minute and foil
their attempt at calling for help. But no such attack occurred.
Instead, the other typical thing they'd expect in this situation
happened: the phone was dead. They punched every button and checked
every line, but it was hopeless. The phone had been disabled.

Mark had to restrain himself from slamming down the receiver.
Angela, though, was a little more level-headed and started searching
Hammond's desk for car keys. The third drawer was a charm for her as
she extracted a handful of jingling metal. Mark took the keys, made a
checkmark in the air in front of her and then motioned her to stay at
the desk while he checked the hall.

"Now all we need to do is get out to the garage and get out of
here. Should be simple enough," he said as he stepped out into the hall
and turned to motion for Angela to join him.

"Not so simple as you think, Mr. Petri," came the mask-muffled
voice from the figure holding a crossbow at point-blank range to
Angela's chest. Behind them there was an open panel in the wall of the
study and, beyond, a dimly-lit stone passageway.

"Convenient, you must admit, having secret passages in one's
home. I told you my grandfather built this house, but I didn't tell you
how he managed to afford it. Booze, young man. My grandfather was the
biggest whiskey-runner in these parts during the Prohibition days and
this place made it easy to produce and store all the bootleg liquor you
could want. Pretty profitable stuff back then. Now it's just as common
as water, but far deadlier..."

Mark's fury grew as he realized they must have been easy targets
from the very beginning. There were probably access panels to every
room in the houseand that's how Robert and Carl had been killed.

"The game's over, Hammond. Stop acting it like you're in a
silent melodrama. You don't play the moustache-twirling villain very
well."

The figure reached a hand up and removed the mask. Indeed, it
was Dr. Olias Hammond underneath. Once a healer, now a maniacal
butcher. Mark moved towards him, but the flash of the arrow pointed at
Angela's breast stayed him. Angela's eyes pleaded with Mark for him to
save her, but he honestly didn't know how at this point, except to play
for time.

"What do you want, doctor?"

"I have most of what I want, Mr. Petri. I have the blonde and
the young Asian woman, now I have Miss Smith."

Angela's hopes went up at these words, but Mark was still doubtful.

"You said you had most of what you want. What else is there?"
asked Mark.

"No witnesses," replied Hammond and, in a blur, swung the
crossbow towards the door, firing.

Three mistakes were made at that moment. The doctor fired while
swinging the weapon, thus spoiling his aim. The bolt slammed into the
door frame. Mark, not waiting to find out about his accuracy, dove out
of the way. Unfortunately he dove to the left, effectively trapping
himself at the end of the hallway on the second floor. The third
mistake? Hammond was temporarily relieved of his only weapon.

Angela lunged at the doctor and drove the surprised physician against
the wall near the door. The impact dazed him a bit, though not
enough to keep him from trying to fight her off. Angela continued
pounding on him, but in her fury she was giving him all sorts of
opportunities to lash out and do some significant damage. She was just
beginning to wonder why he seemed to be holding back when he swept her
leg out from under her. She fell to her knees and he struck her hard on
the back with the flats of his hands, winding her and causing her to
fall on her stomach. This gave the doctor time to grab another bolt
from his coat and reload the crossbow. He flew out the door at the same
time he cocked the weapon. Mark had just gotten up off the floor and
turned, dagger raised, when Hammond came into the hall. Mark let the
dagger fly from the tip, but it embedded itself in the paneling about
two feet from the doctor's chest. Hammond smiled and raised the crossbow,
pointarrow right at Mark as he stood by the large stained-glass
window at the end of the corridor. The killer smiled.

"Why are you making it so difficult? The other men, they didn't
put up a struggle. They accepted their fate, like all of their kind
should."

Mark's ire welled up. "Who are you to judge them? They were
our friends. Robert was my best friend and you snuffed his life out
like it was no more than a candle!"

Hammond's eyes took on a glaze, like madness. "They're all the
same! Drunken, lecherous college brats who have no respect for
themselves or others. No sense of responsibility to those around them
or those they preport to love. They're evil and they deserve to be
stamped out!"

"My friends were not -- "

The doctor exploded. "I've heard enough from you. Now shut up
and die!" and he raised the crossbow.

At that moment there came a hell-raising scream from the study
as Angela charged full steam at Hammond. His finger tightened on the
trigger and it snapped back just as she careered into him, stun gun
crackling. The bolt flew from the weapon and sped towards Mark's chest.
There was an audible 'thunk' as the projectile hit home and Mark's body
was hurled backwards into the window. The multi-colored panes of glass
spider-webbed and shattered, the lead borders twisting under the impact
and his weight, and Mark Petri went tumbling from the second floor to
the ground below.

"Mark!" screamed his lover. "You bastard, you killed Mark!"

She tried to drive the stun gun into his neck, but he began to
wrest the weapon away from her. She had already hit him with it once in
the side, so he was weakened, but still strong enough to fight her.
Suddenly they both lost grip on the gun and it flew several feet away.
Angela pulled away and tried crawling for it, but Hammond thrust his arm
around her neck and pulled her back to him. As she struggled against
him he fished around in his coat pocket for something, finally pulling a
wadded cloth out of it and stuffing it over the young woman's face.
Within seconds Angela ceased fighting him and passed out in his arms.

The doctor fell back against the wall and caught his breath.
After resting for a while he knelt next to Angela and checked her pulse,
then he lifted her up in his arms.

"Now, my dear, let's hope you haven't been injured during all
this. I need you to be in good health so you can help me bring back the
dead."

END OF CHAPTER 3

FOUR

"Resurrection of the Lost"

Angela's eyes fluttered open several hours later. She was very
weak, her muscles feeling like lead. It took her several minutes to be
able to focus her eyes and even longer before she could attempt to sit
up. Once she accomplished that, she started to take in her
surroundings. She was in what looked like a hospital room, though one
without a window. She had been laying in a standard hospital bed and
was dressed in a hospital gown. She was nude underneath.

What had happened? Had she been rescued from -- from what?

Then the memories came flooding back to her, carried on a wave of grief
and shock and horror. Robert's body and the bed covered in blood. The
arrow through Carl's head, his abdomen and groin caked in drying brown
gunk. Brenda, Lisa and ... oh God, Mark! Tears came gushing out of
Angela's eyes as she remembered his body twisting, then crashing into
the glass. The slow-motion replay of his fall out the window hammered
at her emotions. She grabbed her head and shook it, willing the image
to stop, but she only managed to push it into the background. She had
to do something to keep herself occupied, so she tried to stand up. Her
legs almost gave out when she got her feet on the floor, but after a few
moments of disorientation she was able to start walking. As she moved
around, trying to get her circulation going again, Angela realized that
the room lacked a lot of the accommodations and features of a proper
hospital room, so she was pretty certain she was still in the mansion,
or at least still in the hands of that bastard, Hammond.

There was a door ahead of her and one on her right, which led to
a bathroom. Realizing she hadn't peed for quite a long time and that
she desperately needed to, Angela took advantage of that door. She sat
down on the stool and tried not to think of anything as she relieved
herself of at least one annoying problem. Feeling much better she stood
up, but caught herself just before flushing the toilet, realizing that
the sound of the water flowing through the pipes and the typical
high-pitched whine of the tank refilling might alert her captor that she
was awake. After she finished, Angela decided to look for her clothes
and other articles, just in case he had left them, but no such luck.
The closet was empty: no clothes, no bags and, of course, no stun gun.
Hammond was insane, but he wasn't stupid. God what she wouldn't have
given for at least a pair of panties. She didn't feel like tackling a
mad scientist in her birthday suit and what amounted to a paper apron.

Despite her fear that Hammond might have locked her in, the door
opened without resistance. Angela looked around carefully before
stepping out. It definitely wasn't a proper hospital. None she had
ever been in had a patient room attached directly to the operating
theater. That would tend to disconcert the patient. The room contained
several tables and two examination benches, one of which seemed to have
been set up for a gynecological exam. A horrible thought crossed
Angela's mind.

"What did he do to me while I was unconscious?" she whispered to
herself.

Her hand went instinctively to her sex and she probed herself
carefully. She had felt a little sore when she went to the bathroom,
but she thought that was because of her lovemaking with Mark earlier in
the morning (she tried not to bring up the memories just then, but it
was very difficult). Perhaps it was something else. There was
something of a dull ache further up inside her body, like what she might
have experienced from a pelvic exam. Had Hammond taken smear or
had he done something worse? Had he raped her? No, a rapist would want
his victim awake so he could experience her terror. What had he done to
her? Panic began to rear its head, but Angela fought to keep it down.
She went on to explore the room and hopefully find a way out.

On one wall of the room was a large window, which seemed to
offer a view of the operating room from some kind of control center,
like in a TV or music studio. It didn't seem like a standard operating
room observation area because that would be up on the second floor. The
'control' room was full of monitors and computer terminals and Angela
wondered about something, so she looked around the operating room. Yes,
there were a number of cameras placed around the walls, as well as some
free-standing ones on tripods in one corner. Angela shuddered to think
that Hammond might be watching her at that very moment, though, of
course, there was no one in the control area.

The far side of the room seemed to double as a lab, with
numerous pieces of equipment for testing and analyzing samples. There
was a high-power Macintosh on one table and displayed on its screen was
a 3D-like graphic of Angela's nude body! Horrified she seized the mouse
and rotated the image. It showed her body in very graphic detail, down
to the scar on her stomach from her appendectomy fifteen years earlier.
It also showed, much to her disgust, a graphic representation of her sex
organs.

It was as if Hammond had placed a camera inside her vagina and
scanned her birth canal all the way up to her cervix. But when the
travelogue of her genitals passed *into* her womb, Angela's disgust
turned to fascinated revulsion. That bastard had used one of those
micro-video probes to enter her uterus! Her hand went to her groin,
clutching the area just above her pubic hair, and she shuddered at the
thought of that device being inside her. The image showed the wrinkled
walls of her womb and even ventured part way down both fallopian tubes.
While the thought of having been invaded in such a way outraged her,
Angela also found herself intrigued by the beauty of her reproductive
system. Perhaps it was tied back to her pregnancy fantasy with Mark,
but there was something arousing about seeing the forming place of her
potential children. The memory of Mark brought her back to reality and
Angela looked in the computer for more information about what Dr.
Hammond was up to.

Within a minute she found another part of the answer: a series
of reports about her health. Most of them, she realized, were from her
personal physician back at school. Hammond must have gotten them from
Dr. Yates at University Hospital over the InterNet. Highlighted in red,
apparently by Hammond, were the results of her latest blood screen, as
well as those of the pelvic exam and HIV and Hepatitis B & C tests she
had had done only a month before. There was also a note appended to the
last report that read:

Thank you for your inquiry concerning Angela Smith. I
agree, she has all the skills needed for a good hospital
nurse, as well as the compassion and discretion required
by such an environment. Since you were able to provide
a confidentiality-release statement from Miss Smith, I
am forwarding to you a copy of her Mental Health
Assessment. As you can see, Angela has no record of any
kind of mental illness and the Nursing Review Committee
recently found her to be competent and emotionally
suitable for her line of work. I personally find her to
to be charming and an eager worker who strives beyond the
requirements of her duties.

I wasn't aware that Angela had applied to MedPark, but
she certainly deserves to work in such a prestigious
medical facility. I hope you can offer her a position.
If I can be of any further assistance, Dr. Burgoyne,
please feel free to contact me.

Sincerely yours,

E. B. Yates, MD
ECS University Hospital

What was this madman up to? Why was he so interested in her
medical and psych profiles?

One last file turned up. It seemed to be the results of tests
Hammond performed on her while she was unconscious:

PROBABILITY OF CURRENT PREGNANCY: .8%
VIABILITY OF REPRODUCTIVE SYSTEM: Excellent
OVULATION STATUS: Ovulating

"Good thing Mark used a condom last night," she said to herself,
then regretted it.

Angela stood up. She had to find a way out of this place. She
spotted a door to the left of the lab area and passed into what looked
like a storage area. There didn't seem any other way out of it, but she
seemed drawn to a large metal door with a pull handle on it. There was
a window, which she peered into. It was a refrigerated storage area,
but the evidence of that isn't what caught Angela's attention. It was
the two gurnies left side by side in the middle of the room that did.
They were both covered by sheets, but it was obvious that there was
something underneath those sheets. A voice inside her head told her not
to go in there. It was Mark's voice, trying to protect her even in
death, but she had to go in. She had to know.

The door pulled open and a rush of mist and cool air hit Angela
in the face. She left the door open and walked toward the gurnies.
Her gown did nothing to protect her from the cold and she shivered.
Her nipples stiffened in the chill air and her feet felt like ice.
Suddenly, much sooner than she wanted to be, she was standing next to
the left-hand table. Now she could see greater confirmation of what she
hadn't wanted to believe. There were bodies underneath those sheets and
they were, by obvious evidence, female bodies. The one she was next to
seemed to be greatly endowed compared to the other, which made her next
move only slightly less difficult. She lifted the sheet.

It was Lisa.

Angela stifled a cry as she saw the large, circular wound
between her friend's once attractive breasts, the same ones she had seen
moving sensually the night before when Lisa had been offered to her by
Carl for a night of passion and experimentation. Part of Angela
regretted not taking the opportunity to express her feelings for Lisa
because now it was too late. The cold air made it difficult for any
tears to form, but Angela was no less grieved by the senselessness of
her friend's death. She reached out and took Lisa's cold and stiffening
right hand, squeezing as she had done the night before, hoping that the
beautiful young blonde would understand her sorrow, wherever she was
now.

Angela's eyes fell on the next gurney, the next body. She tried
so hard to steel herself for the moment, but nothing could prepare her
for the grief that overwhelmed her when she threw back the sheet
covering the corpse of her best friend, Brenda Xu. Until the very
moment she saw her face, Angela had hoped that Hammond's words the night
before, about having her two friends, might have at least held hope for
Brenda. Obviously they were more important to his purposes dead.

The sight of Bren's dead eyes and the horrible, deep slit across
her throat, revealing the open ends of blood vessels and her windpipe,
made Angela so sick she couldn't fight off the wave of nausea that swept
over her. She turned away and doubled over, heaving and crying, but not
managing to purge much of anything. It had been too long since she had
eaten.

After a few minutes of fighting off the grief and trying to
compose herself again, Angela turned back to the body and took the left
hand. It was cold, but not as stiff as Lisa's had been. She held and
caressed it, looking into the beautiful almond eyes that she had been so
fond of, eyes that had been so full of life and happiness, love and
wisdom. Tears now rolled from Angela's chin and fell on Brenda's
breasts. She leaned over, caressing her roommate's hair, and softly
kissed her cold forehead.

"I love you, Bren," she whispered and then rested her cheek
against Brenda's.

Angela stood up a few moments later, not wanting to let go of
the hand, but forcing herself to. She placed the arm back at Brenda's
side, took one long look at her and then faced the door.

"I'll get you for this, Dr. Hammond. I swear to God that you
won't get away with taking everything I loved away from me."

As she reached down to pull the sheet back over the body, Angela
noticed a small cut on Brenda's lower abdomen, just a little ways above
and to the right of her pubic mound. She had never seen it before and,
upon closer examination, she figured that it was recent for there wasn't
any sign of healing. I must have been made after she died. Curious
about this, she walked back to Lisa's body and pulled the sheet down to
reveal her matted, golden triangle. There was a cut identical to the
one on Brenda's body in the same relative place. Trying to remain
objective and pushing down her emotions, Angela bent over to look more
closely at the incision. The mystery only seemed to deepen as she began
to realize the significance of the location.

"What is he doing it for?" she asked herself aloud.

"Perhaps you should ask me, Miss Smith. I might surprise you
with an answer."

Angela whirled around to see Hammond, out of his 'masked killer'
get-up and dressed in a white lab coat. His eyes fell upon her with a
tenderness like she had seen the night before when he tended her injury.
It was such a jarring contrast to the kind of person she knew him to be.
Her emotions were all in turmoil, now that she was confronted with him.
Her chance for escape was gone, but at the same time here was her chance
for revenge.

"The only thing I want to know, Dr. Hammond, is how you justify
killing people. What possible reason could you have for doing something
so horrible," her voice choked and grew louder as she pointed towards
Brenda's still form, "to someone so special? Someone who never did you
any harm? HOW COULD YOU?"

The doctor moved towards her slowly, but Angela backed off, moving
around beside Brenda's body.

I know you won't understand, Miss Smith, but I want you to.
This isn't the place to discuss it. Please, come with me."

She was incredulous. He was talking to her as if she weren't
standing over the body of her best friend, whom *he* had murdered.

"I'm not going anywhere with you. You're evil and I don't want
any part in your work. Whatever it is you're doing here it's monstrous.
Why do you have all that information about me in your computer?"

Hammond looked passive, no sign of malevolence at all.

"I needed to make sure you were in good health. All your
reports show that you are and that your family has very little history
of physical or mental illness. You're intelligent and have a strong
personality. Dealing with all this," he waved his hand around to
indicate the girls' bodies, "has been proof of that. Those and ...
other factors make you the perfect candidate for my work. I need you,
Miss Smith."

The explanation, of course, was insufficient for Angela and only
raised more questions, but maybe she could keep him talking until an
opportunity to escape or, if Justice was with her, to kill him came
along.

"Look, I know this has something to do with your wife, or
whoever the older woman in that painting in the living room is."

Hammond's eyebrows raised. His estimation of her went up a few
points.

"Was. Yes, that was my wife, Margaret. You're really very
perceptive, Miss Smith. You're quite a bit like her in a lot of ways,
not just appearance. But this isn't so much about her as it is about
Stacy."

"Who? The girl? Was that your daughter?"

"Yes." He was silent for a moment. "She was killed when she
was eighteen. My wife died the following year of breast cancer. I've
been alone ever since."

Angela, despite her fear and anger, was becoming interested in
the doctor's story.

How did your daughter die, Dr. Hammond?" She tried to sound
assertive and in control.

"She was -- she was a freshman at university and she was dating
a medical student named Hickman. He was a highly-respected and talented
student. I knew him and thought he was a kind, compassionate man. An
ideal doctor. Then, in one night, he proved my judgment wrong and
destroyed my entire life." Tears began to come to his eyes. "He got
drunk at a Christmas party and went to my daughter's apartment,
demanding sex. When she tried to calm him down and get him to sleep it
off, he beat and raped her. She died three days later from internal
bleeding and infection."

Angela watched as he contained his tears and repressed his anger.
Now she knew what he had meant the night before about college
men and alcohol. He saw Mark, Robert and Carl as the same kind of men
as the one who had killed his daughter. This only made her angrier.

"Mark was right last night when he told you the others weren't
like that. They were good people, especially Mark. I finally realized
last night that I had loved him all these years and then you killed
him!"

He looked genuinely hurt.

"I'm sorry this has caused you such pain, Miss Smith, truly I
am, but I needed you to feel my pain so you would understand why I must
do this."

Hammond withdrew a syringe from his pocket, pulled the cap off,
flicked the cylinder a few times with his finger and tested the stream,
then he moved toward her. Angela tried to put the gurney with Brenda's
body on it between them, but it wouldn`t move. The wheels had been
locked down. Hammond rushed around the side, but she ran the other way
and headed for the door. Unfortunately, the doctor had closed it and
she was struggling to get it open again when he ran into her, trapping
her against it.

Angela fought hard against him, but he was pressing his weigh
into her back, pinning her chest to the door. With his right hand he
lowered the syringe and plunged the needle into her right buttock.
She yelped and kicked her feet, but he managed to press the plunger
and inject the fluid into her before she could dislodged it, then
he let her go.

"Bastard! What have you done to me?" she yelled, trying to open
the door.

"You need to rest, Miss Smith. I still have to prepare some
things before the procedure this afternoon."

"What procedure?" she asked, beginning to tire from grappling
with the door.

"I'll explain it all later, I promise."

Angela felt herself growing weary, her muscles weakening. She
was beginning to lose her self-control and tears started to flow down
her cheeks. Soon she was crying in great choking sobs.

"Brenda, I'm sorry. Forgive me. I couldn't stop him," and s
slid to the floor and began to lose consciousness.

"Mark, help me," she whispered and then everything went black.

Angela was floating above a bed. A hospital bed. Laying in the
bed was a young woman. She looked familiar. Sound flooded her ears
and suddenly a man and woman were beside the bed, the woman's head
was buried against the young woman's chest, she was sobbing. The
man just stood there, his hand on his wife's back, a far-away look
in his eyes. The young woman was dead and the man was angry. He
looked familiar.

The scene shifted. Angela was nude, laying in a large, comfortable
bed. It was dark and someone was in the bed with her. A hand
began to caress her. She felt safe. A man's body moved against
her and she felt a hairy chest pressing against her bare breasts.
She was being rolled onto her back and the man was on top of her,
sliding his huge penis inside her. She felt pleasure. The man
was moving, Angela was moving, the bed was shaking. They were
kissing, they were moaning, they were making love. She felt joy.
The man thrust himself deep into her body and climaxed over and
over again. She sensed it, bursting inside her like a tidal wave.
She felt love. The man's ejaculation ceased, his sperm began their
journey, entering her womb and searching, searching. An egg was
found, penetrated, it divided and grew. She felt whole.

The scene shifted. Angela was laying on a table, her eyes
closed, trying to ignore the pain. She bore down hard one last
time and felt something give. There seemed to be a lot of motion
going on around her, though she couldn't see anything. Suddenly
there was a slapping sound, followed by the wail of an infant,
then someone placed a moving bundle in her arms. It was a baby,
still wet from birth, and it was crying. No, *she* was crying.
It was a girl, Angela knew it was.

The scene shifted. Angela was back in her apartment at school,
sitting in a rocking chair with the baby in her arms. She was wearing
her bathrobe, the one Brenda had brought her from Hong Kong, and it was
open for the baby to suckle on her milk-swollen breast. Everything
seemed peaceful, but she felt like something was missing. Like
*someone* was missing.

Dr. Hammond was carrying a piece of equipment over to the main
exam table when Angela began to come to. He stopped what he was doing,
went over to a side table and poured a glass of water. He brought it
over to Angela and held it to her mouth while she drank thirstily from
it. Surprisingly, she thanked him when she finished it.

"You were out for several hours. That particular tranquilizer
dries out the mouth severely, so I was prepared for you to be very
thirsty. Let me know if you want any more."

He returned to his work with the equipment and she started to take
in her new situation. She was on the examination table that had
been set up for a pelvic exam earlier. It was tilted up a little bit,
so she could get a view of herself, naked except for the restraints.
She was strapped to the table by a piece of flexible but strong fabric
across her breasts and upper arms. Her forearms were loose, though her
wrists bore handcuff-like restraints with long cables attached to the
table. She could move them pretty freely, just not very far. There was
another band of the fabric across her abdomen, just above her pubic
hair, but there were no other restraints. Her legs were free, though
currently resting in the leg braces used for pelvic exams and delivering
babies. Despite her captive situation, it seemed as though the doctor
had every interest in making her comfortable.

Angela also noticed there were several leads and sensors in
place on her body. Some were attached to contacts that went through the
cloth restraints, others were directly on her skin, including a few in
the genital area. All the wires seemed to run into a patch bay beside
the table and a large cable connected the patch bay to a plug on the
wall underneath the control room window. It appeared as though Dr.
Hammond was going to monitor whatever procedure he was planning from
there. Angela felt as though she should be completely terrified about
whatever he was going to do to her, but maybe the shock of everything
that had happened in the last twenty-four hours was finally consuming
her. Or maybe she was just too tired to fight it anymore.

Dr. Hammond seemed preoccupied with setting up the current piece
of machinery. Standing vertical, it was triangular in shape (with a
side at the top), but the lower three-quarters of it were bent out at a
forty-five degree angle. The whole thing was about the size of a large
briefcase. The doctor was currently mounting it to a sturdy metal pipe
that ran from the floor to the ceiling. Several observation lights were
C-clamped to the same pole. Once the device was secured, he moved
behind Angela and began to adjust the exam table's position. When he
was finished, the angled tip of the device was pointed right between her
thighs.

"You promised to give me an explanation. I figure I ought to
know before you dissect me or whatever it is you're going to do to me."
She was amazingly calm.

The doctor finished hooking cables from the device to the patch
bay and turned the unit on. It hummed softly and lights on it blinked
on and off.

"I had hoped you would realize by now, Miss Smith, that I have
no intention of hurting you."

She sighed. Yes, she had figured that out, but it didn't lessen
her anger at the other things he had done.

"I just find it hard to believe that someone who professes to be
a doctor and is compassionate to me could also be capable of murdering
five innocent people."

He stopped for a moment, then went on into the control room.
After about five minutes of checking instruments and readouts, Dr.
Hammond returned with two small vials, one was about half-an-inch long,
the other looked to be about four times that size. The larger one
contained a clear, viscous substance and the smaller one held a
pinkish-red fluid. The doctor set these on the side table and opened an
access panel on the triangular device. He started making adjustments.

"When my daughter died," he began, "I managed to obtain a small
sample of tissue from her stomach. I immediately preserved the tissue
in order to keep too many of the cells from dying. I have since been
researching and gathering data on cloning. I knew that, if I could
replace the nucleus of an ovum with the nucleus from one of my
daughter's cells, I could impregnate a woman with the modified egg and
she would give birth to a baby identical to my Stacy. Sadly my wife was
to old to bear another child and, since human cloning experiments are
illegal, using a surrogate mother posed problems. So I had to try and
arrange for a 'private' procedure. Unfortunately my wife unexpectedly
developed breast cancer and died before I could make the arrangements.
After that, well, it seemed pointless to continue. Part of my
motivation was for my wife, because she missed Stacy so. I abandoned
the plan several years ago and secluded myself here at Hammond House,
never thinking of it again."

"Until last night," finished Angela.

"Until you arrived, yes. The first thing I did last night after
seeing you to your rooms was to open up this room again -- we're in a
secret room off the basement of the house -- and check on the viability
of Stacy's cells. Enough of them were intact to make an attempt, but I
needed ova to prepare them for use."

Now she had the answer to another mystery. "That's why you cut
into Lisa and Brenda's ovaries. To harvest the eggs."

"Again you prove yourself to be a very talented person, Miss
Smith. Well-spotted. They provided me with enough viable ova to make a
number of attempts."

Then Angela let loose. "SO WHY DID YOU HAVE TO KILL THEM?! Why
didn't you just use my eggs?"

He rounded on her. "Because I couldn't afford to have
witnesses. Your friends would have stayed around until your
disappearance was explained. I had to get rid of them. I
couldn't risk being discovered until the baby was born."

"Did it even occur to you to just *ask* me?" she responded,
forcing back the tears.

Dr. Hammond seemed thrown off by that question and it took him a
moment to formulate a reply. "No, it never occurred to me. I wouldn't
expect most women your age to drop everything to have a baby, especially
one in this kind of circumstance. Stacy's cells wouldn't be viable for
much longer and I had to act."

Angela kept her voice calm. "Believe it or not, Dr. Hammond,
last night I was thinking a lot about having a baby. You could have
saved yourself a lot of trouble if you had just asked instead of acting
out of fear and impatience. Five people are dead because of your fear
of being discovered. Now you'll be going to prison and you'll never see
your Stacy."

The doctor made his last checks on the machine and closed the
access panel. He picked up the vials from the side table.

"Once the baby is born, it won't matter. I don't care what
happens to me, just so long as Stacy is born."

This surprised Angela, throwing her off guard for a change.

"I don't understand."

Hammond looked at her. "What happens to me is of no
consequence. I only want Stacy to live and grow and be loved
by a good family. I don't want her to know about me, about
what I became to try and make her live again. I realized
long ago that I had turned away from what I had been when
she was born. I just want her to live and have the life that
was taken from her."

Angela found herself considering his words. She was still angry
and resented him, and yet part of her sympathized with his pain and
wanted to help. They could both get what they wanted. But how could
she live with the reminder of his deeds growing in her womb?

"You aren't worried that I'll have a problem dealing with the
memories of this place and what you've done? Take it out on
the baby?"

He shook his head. "You're a strong woman, Miss Smith. You're
too sensible and logical. You'd know it wasn't her fault. You'd
love her and treat her with respect. It simply isn't in your
nature to hold a grudge."

He was right. Even now, the idea of having her dream of being a
mother fulfilled was appealing to her. And, of course, she really had
no choice in the matter. She was his captive and she wasn't in any
position to fight him right now. She would have to worry about escape
and, if necessary, abortion later on. Besides, she could always claim
the baby was Mark's and, maybe, she could eventually convince herself
that it was the truth.

Angela debated the issue a few more times, but always came to
the same conclusion: there wasn't anything she could do right now and
he *wasn't* threatening her life. There was no point in resisting.

I realize that I don't have any say in the matter, but for what
it's worth, I've decided not to resist."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Don't get me wrong, though, doctor," she growled assertively,
"I hate you for everything you've done to me and I will kill you if I
get the opportunity. I can never forgive you for what you've taken away
from me."

He handed her the vials. "Fair enough," he said.

Angela turned the glass cylinders over in her hands. They had
rubber caps on one end so the contents could be extracted with a needle,
just like a standard medicine bottle.

"What are they?" she asked.

"The small one with the red fluid contains the modified ovum
which will be injected directly into your uterus. The fluid itself is a
nutrient solution that will be absorbed into the endometrial layer of
your uterine wall. That should increase the egg's chances of survival
dramatically."

Angela looked at the small vial with awe. Inside that suspension
was a fertilized ovum, just waiting to be implanted in her body.
How many woman could have experienced the feeling of holding
their child before it had born? She felt something stir inside her.
Was she really ready to do this? Again, she reminded herself, she
didn't have much of a choice at the moment.

"The larger vial," continued Dr. Hammond, "contains an inert
protein suspension, with some antiseptic qualities, that will be
injected into your vagina. A small amount will be released before the
procedure begins its third phase, the rest will be released during
Phase Five. It will help keep your upper birth canal and cervix
sterilized during and after the procedure, to prevent infection from
setting in. It also provides effect."

"Effect?"

He took the vials from her hand and carried them to the
triangular apparatus. "This device will inject the ovum into you." He
flipped a switch and a cylinder protruded from the front of the angled
part of the device. It looked very much like a slim-line vibrator, but
had a small nozzle on the end. "I could simply have impregnated you
with standard laboratory techniques, but I wanted the woman who was
going to give re-birth to my Stacy to have a special experience, so I
built this device to act as a surrogate father and deliver the egg to
the uterus."

He took the small vial and plugged it into a socket on the panel
of the machine. "During the machine's operation a thin tube will pass
through your cervix and into your uterus." He saw her wince. "Don't
worry, the device will coat the tube with a local anesthetic before the
it passes through. I assure you, there will very little, if any, pain.
In fact, I think it will be a very sensual experience for you."

Well, she thought, at least I'll be getting something more than
nine months hard labor out of this.

"At a specific point the machine will inject the ovum and
nutrient solution into your womb, where we hope the egg will embed
itself in your uterine wall. At the same time," he plugged the
larger vial into another socket, "the machine will inject the
remaining sterilizing protein suspension, warmed up to body
temperature, into your vagina. The effect is also to simulate
ejaculation."

The idea seemed simple enough to Angela, though Hammond made it
seem convoluted and unromantic. But she still had some questions.
"What if the egg doesn't implant?"

"I have enough ova to try for several months. They'll stay
frozen until we need them. I only wish the tissue sample from Stacy
could have been preserved so well, but the nuclei were breaking down.
Probably because I had neglected them for so long."

"Well, I hope it works right the first time, doctor." She took
a deep breath. "I'm ready."

"All right, Miss Smith," he replied and went to the door. He
turned out most of the lights and dimmed the rest, leaving the
room in a dim glow, very much like the glow from the fireplace
when she and Mark had made love that morning. Mark...

He returned and checked the sensors that were attached to
Angela's groin. Then he took a tube of K-Y Jelly from the side-table
and opened it, smearing some of it on the probe at the front of the
impregnating apparatus and some he applied, giving her his apologies, to
her labia and inside her vagina. It wasn't any thrill to her to be
touched by him. In fact, it was probably worse than her last pelvic
exam.

When he finished Dr. Hammond walked to Angela's right side, put
his arm across her chest and leaned down to her ear. "I know how you
feel about me, but please let me say, from the part of me that was
Stacy's father, how grateful I am that you're doing this willingly now.
Thank you, Angela." Then he tried to kiss her on the forehead, but she
turned away from him. He stood up, shook his head in understanding and
walked towards the control booth.

"Doctor," she called after him.
"Yes, Miss Smith?"
"I don't want you watching me."

"Only on the readouts and the video probe. The room cameras
will be off and I will be too busy monitoring the machine to look out
the window. I knew you would want to keep this a private thing, Miss
Smith. I will do my best to respect that."

He left the operating room and entered the control booth, turning
out the booth's lights and switching on all the controls. He was
ready.

END OF CHAPTER 4

FIVE

"Redemption"

The sound of ocean surf came up quietly in the background and
Angela tried to use the effect to calm herself. Dr. Hammond must have
put on an environments CD to help her relax. She liked the sea. She
imagined herself walking naked on an empty beach at night, the full moon
casting an oil painting glow on the water. Suddenly someone was there,
next to her. It was Mark.

No, no. Not Mark. She couldn't handle that right now.

He took her hand.

"No, Mark, please not now. This is hard enough," she said to
him in her mind.

He pulled her to his chest, feeling her breasts flatten against
it. A rush of warmth flooded her loins.

"Mark..."

"Shhhh, you need me now. Let this happen, Angela, so you can
think of the baby as mine."

"I-I wanted -- last night, I wanted -- I thought about -- about
you, making a baby -- inside me."

"I know," he told her and lowered his mouth to hers.

Angela accepted the kiss and wrapped her arms around him, their
tongues diving and circling one another, and she felt his sex growing
against her own.

Dr. Hammond checked the readouts and saw that Angela was becoming
aroused. The video camera on the impregnator's probe showed her
labia parting as her sex filled with blood. He pushed a button and
entered a command into the computer. Slowly the image of Angela's
sex filled the screen as the probe descended towards it.

A wave ran over Angela's feet and she slipped in the sand, bringing
Mark down with her. He fell beside her, pulling her towards him.
Their passionate kissing continued as she felt his penis sliding
over her labia, back and forth, and brushing her clitoris. Her
desire was so intense that she couldn't wait for anything else and
she urged him to come to her. She rolled onto her back in the wet
sand and Mark loomed over her, moving between her open legs.

Z:\> run phase1.exe

Phase I: Vaginal Penetration Sequence Commencing...

The probe slowly parted Angela's lips as it moved into her. The
lubricant served its purpose well, the probe seeming to cause her no
discomfort at all. Her hips gyrated, helping to adjust the mechanism's
angle. As the first inch or two of the probe disappeared inside her,
she let out an almost primitive, lustful gasp. According to his
instruments, Dr. Hammond's procedure was going well. The camera showed
the glistening walls of her vagina convulsing occasionally as his
patient shifted her pelvis and clenched in response to the pleasure.
Within minutes the tiny dome of her cervix, with its dimple-like mouth,
was in sight.

Mark's erect penis plunged into Angela's burning sex. She cried
out with relief as his member pushed her wide open, touching every nerve
in her. She concentrated on it as it began a long, slow descent into
her birth canal, the glans widening her as it went. Eventually it
touched her womb, when he was fully inside her, and she let out another
cry. Then Mark began to make love to her, pumping himself in and out of
her body, sending her nerves into a frenzied overload.

Z:\> run phase2.exe

Phase II: Thrusting Sequence Commencing...
Transferring 1cc of Sterilizing Protein Suspension to Probe...

The probe was in place and the outer cylinder began to slide
back and forth, while the inner cylinder, containing the camera, the
nozzle for the protein suspension and the impregnation filament,
remained stationary. The thrusting motion sent Angela's readouts even
higher and the sensors near her genitals registered the increased nerve
activity. Then Dr. Hammond triggered the release of the initial
injection of the sterilizing protein suspension. The monitor showed a
spurt of the clear fluid spraying directly onto her vaginal walls and
cervix. He was ready for the next step, but he wanted to give her just
a little bit more time to experience the pleasure.

Mark's thrusts pushed Angela's bottom into the sand, creating deep
impressions of her globes that were washed away with each wave that
came crashing over them. Mark held himself above her, his hands slowly
sinking into the sand, and her hands rested on his lower back. Her eyes
were locked onto his and she could see the same emotions in them as she
had the night before. Warmth. Pleasure. Joy.

No, there was more. Something she had seen at the end last night.
Yes, after he came and had lay next to her. It was Love. She
saw Love for her in his eyes.

"Mark ... Mark ..."
He pushed deeper.

Z:\> run phase3.exe

Phase III: Cervical Penetration Sequence Commencing...
Set Filament-Control-Mode: Manual or Auto? (m/a)

Z:\> m

A tiny, wire-like flex-tube began to extend from the front of
the inner cylinder of the probe. It slid towards Angela's cervix, then
stopped right in front of it. Dr. Hammond was operating the tube by
remote from the control booth, his fingers moving with a surgeon's skill
on the trackball of his computer. The program offered him a
targeting-like capability overlaid on the view from the video probe.
With delicate care he aimed the tube and eased it forward, resting it
right in the dimple. He left it there for a few moments to allow the
local anesthetic to take effect, then he would be ready for penetration.
The front of the tube was beveled and slightly rounded, so it should
enter fairly easily, but the fact that Angela had never had a baby was
going to make things more difficult. The tube started forward again
slowly, but it met with resistance. Hammond checked the readings: no
indication that Angela was feeling anything. He increased the force of
the tube a bit and, after a moment, it slid past the mouth of her womb
and into her uterus. There was a jump in the readings from his patient,
but they died down immediately. Everything seemed to be working to
plan.

Angela felt Mark's penis hit her cervix hard and she cried out,
arching her back, but the discomfort died away instantly and she was
able to concentrate on his thrusts once again.

Mark was looking down at her body, taking in how it moved and
shook with him. Her breasts rolling back and forth, her hips lifting up
to meet his, her hands squeezing his back every time he pushed inside.
He lowered his mouth to her breast and began tugging at the nipple with
his lips. She gasped.

Her hands traveled to his buttocks and clasped them, feeling
their muscles tighten and relax with each thrust. She wanted him
deeper, ifwas possible. She wanted him inside her womb, which
wasn't. In any event, the thing she wanted most was for him to come.
She wanted him to come inside her.

A light came on next to the sensor readouts. Angela's nerve
activity sensors indicated that she was reaching a key point in the
preparation of orgasm. Now came the feature Dr. Hammond had hoped would
make the experience most satisfying for her. He entered another command
into the computer:

Z:\> run phase4.exe

Phase IV: Orgasm Triggering Sequence Commencing...
Clitoral stimulator on-line...
Anal stimulator on-line...
Activate? (y/n)
Z:\> y

Her lover's action was pushing Angela to the edge. She had never
experienced lovemaking like this, not even the night before with
Mark. The power and intensity of his movement was causing her to
shudder and quake as pressure built up inside her body. Blood
engorged the vessels of her loins, making her sex organs ache
for release. Her breathing was heavy and each exhale was used
for a cry of pleasure. Her heart had become a bass drum. If
she didn't come soon, it would burst.

Suddenly Angela spasmed, as exquisite pleasure shot through her
abdomen. She cried loud and deep, over and over again, as the
waves of ecstasy surged through her. Her vagina clenched Mark's
erection repeatedly with incredible force and she lifted him off
the sand as a wave crashed over and around them. Mark was doused,
water running down his back in rills, and his hair tangled and
dripping, but his thrusts continued. Angela bucked again as
another orgasm zapped her body like a lightening bolt. This
time she felt a rush of liquid leave her body. It didn't feel
like it came from her vagina, but from her urethra. Another
orgasm sent another gush from her. What was happening? Was
this what she'd heard about some women being able to squirt if
they came the right way? It was an awesome feeling, being able
to come like a man, feeling the fluid of her passion shoot out
of her body. Like Mark was about to do. Which she longed for
him to do.

Angela's scream caused Dr. Hammond to look out the control room
window. He saw her laying there, the probe moving in and out of her
vagina, her hips rocking and bucking in time to the indicators on the
monitor, which showed the timing of the tiny jolts of energy the
computer was sending to the nerves of her genital area. Her body,
though restrained, was free enough to move comfortably during the mock
intercourse. The probe was also designed to allow for her movements,
pivoting on its support shaft to adjust for sudden changes of angle.
The internal monitor showed her vagina clasping the probe with furious
intensity, rippling and convulsing. There were no signs of bleeding or
any indication that Angela was experiencing anything but exquisite
pleasure, so he returned his gaze to the monitors, preparing the system
for Phase Five.

Angela's thoughts turned to Mark's climax. He had to be close,
the way he was grunting and pumping. She had felt his penis swell
several times, but each time he had backed off, waiting for her to
come. Now she had come, and come, and come. The fluid from her urethra
had showered all over their joining, making it incredibly slick, and
Mark had picked up the pace when she did that. His balls were slapping
against her bottom, brushing her anus, as his member drilled her like a
piston. It was soon, so soon, and Mark's seed would burst inside her,
coating her walls and the portal to her womb. Soon the seed would
begin to flow into her, searching...searching...

Z:\> run phase5.exe

Phase V: Impregnation Sequence Commencing...
Transferring Ovum/Nutrient Solution to Probe...
Transferring Remaining Sterilizing Protein Suspension
to Probe...
Activate Ejaculation Sequence? (y/n)

Z:\> y

Dr. Hammond's finger paused over the <ENTER> key. This was it,
the moment he had worked toward for years. All that he had done, all
that he had felt compelled to do, came down to pressing this one button.
The life his daughter had never finished could start again. Even if she
never knew who or what he was, she would have a life and a mother that,
he believed, would love her and care for her. He had to do this. He
would pay the price for it later. Somehow, he felt that justice would
find him.

He closed his eyes and pressed the key.

Angela felt Mark's body tense up and she knew the moment was near.
Suddenly, and with unnatural energy, he grabbed her hips and pulled
himself to his knees with her legs still around him. His penis was
still moving inside her as he adjusted his hold on her, clutching
her buttocks, keeping her suspended above ground. She tightened her
abdominal muscles to help keep her balance while she threw her hands
to his shoulders. Now she was bouncing on his erection, feeling it
butt her inside again and again. She cried out as another wave of
orgasms swept over her, juices gushing from inside her body and
hitting Mark's abdomen. His penis began swelling again, then
pulsing, then throbbing. Then he came. He came, inside her, like
a hose turned on full.

The probe moved faster as the program triggered the
mock-ejaculation. Inside Angela's uterus, the filament began
moving side to side, spitting streams of pink fluid over the
blood-coated walls of her womb. Outside her cervix, the probe
unleashed the remaining protein suspension, sending it out in
numerous semen-like spurts against the puckered dome and the
glistening-pink walls of her vagina. Hammond watched on the
monitor with deep satisfaction and pride.

"Mark! Oh God, Mark! Come, come! Oh God please come!"

He uttered a deep, passionate cry as he emptied his semen inside
Angela. Another wave rolled over them, as if in time, but she was
oblivious to it. She was experiencing another wave instead, as the
proof of Mark's love was spilled inside her body. Each spurt sent a
jolt coursing through her soul, each explosion charging her with
passion, each impact reminding her of what was to come: the tiny,
featureless embryo that would grow within her womb. Soon it would have
arms and legs, hands and feet, eyes and a nose. Soon it would begin to
turn and kick inside her, letting her know she it there. Soon it would
be seen on a sonogram screen and Angela could view her little girl for
the first time outside her dreams. Soon it would emerge from her
vagina and be placed in her arms, wet and wrinkled, crying and yawning.
Soon it would be nursing from her breast, like ... like ...

Angela realized that Mark was suddenly laying on his side in the
sand, his mouth tenderly suckling at her left nipple. She ran her hand
through his wet, sandy hair. He slid his hand down to her abdomen and
lay it there, as if knowing what was going to be. After a moment he
stopped suckling and lifted his head, looking into her eyes.

"Mark. Oh, Mark," she whispered. "I love you, I love you so
much. I can't wait until she's here so we can --"

He raised a finger to his mouth and silenced her.

"Just remember, my sweet Angela, that I will always love you. I
will always be with you. Never forget. Never forget. Never forget..."
and as he spoke those words, he slowly faded, until there was nothing
there, not even an imprint in the sand.

"Mark? Mark! Come back! I love you! Please don't leave me
alone! Please!"

Dr. Hammond was shutting down the computer after having
withdrawn the filament and probe when he heard Angela crying out.
He ran out of the control booth and to the exam table. She was
calling out for Mark, the man he had killed, the one whom she had
only just learned that she loved. Tears were pouring down the sides
of her head as she struggled against the restraints. He put his
hands on her shoulders and shook her gently.

"Miss Smith? Angela? Wake up, wake up. It's over, the procedure's
over."

Angela's eyes flickered open. "Mark, where's Mark? Oh God,
that was so -- take your hands off me!"

She tried to raise her arms to ward him off, but then remembered
they were still chained. The doctor lifted his hands and then
proceeded to remove the restraints and lower the leg supports.
She rubbed her wrists and stomach, as well as her arms and chest.
She must really have strained against the bands to have caused
such dents in her skin. It must really have been as good as it
seemed in her dream.

"I'm sorry," he tried to explain. "You were having a nightmare.
I didn't want you to hurt yourself."

"Yeah, all right. Just please, never touch me again."

Angela sat up slowly. As she did so Dr. Hammond turned to the
side table and picked up a fresh hospital gown. He handed it to her
and she pulled it over her front, tying it behind her. Then she
tried to stand up, but her legs buckled underneath her and the
doctor instinctively tried to help her up.

"I don't need your help, doctor," she warned him, but her
attempts to stand simply failed. Her legs were asleep. "All right,
this one time," she finally conceded.

Hammond put his arm around her back and another under her
legs, then carried her to the patient room. There he put her
to bed, provided her with another glass of water when she
requested it, and left behind the jug if she wanted more. He
showed her the intercom in case she had a problem, told her he
would be in the control room for awhile reviewing data, and bid
her good night. After that she lay back, but doubted she would
get any rest. Within three minutes, though, she was out and
dreaming about her trip to Yosemite National Park with Brenda.
A tear rolled down her cheek as she slept.

Dr. Olias Hammond rubbed his eyes. It had taken him several
hours to go over the data from the procedure and to review the video
from the probe. It all seemed to have worked just fine. No abnormal
readings during any part of the procedure. Now it was done and Angela
was resting. All he had to do was make a few tests over the next few
days to see if implantation occurred and things could go from there.

He held his head in his hands, finally finding a chance to rest for
the first time in almost two days. He began to think about all that
had happened. All that he had done to make this work. He remembered
the early days of the project, his research and experiments on animals,
then the later days when he tried to arrange for a surrogate mother.
Then there was Margaret's death. That day the project died with her.
He remembered the day he closed down the lab, putting the samples into
deep freeze and dumping all his files down to CD. Then there were all
the empty, lonely years. Lonely and without happiness, until the night
they came.

Dr. Hammond saw Angela's face the way she had looked that night.
Frightened and tired. So much like Margaret had been when they met.
Then he began to see other faces. He tried to turn off the memories,
but they just flooded in. He saw Lisa's body tumbling to the floor,
the feathered shaft sticking out next to her spine. He saw Carl's
face of shock and grief, heard his pleas for life, saw the bolt
pierce his brain. He also saw Robert's expression of total surprise
as the projectile's impact with his throat woke him from a nodding
sleep. Then there was the Asian woman. What was her name? Brenda.
Thank God he hadn't seen her face when she died. He could remember
the feeling of her breast in his hand and her buttocks wriggling
against him as she struggled. Her pleas for mercy were burned
into his mind. He woul never forget the fountainous spurts of
blood as he pulled the knife across her throat, nor would his
dreams allow him to forget her heartbeat dying under his hand.
His surgeon's hands. Lastly there was that man, the one Angela
had loved, the one who fought so valiantly save her. Mark. The
vision of that man's death and the look in Angela's eyes afterwards
were interconnected and he would never be able to remove them from
his memories. What had he done? How could he go on living after
this? Was Angela right, was he really insane?

Now there was a new face in front of him. Or, rather, an old
face he hadn't seen in years. A face he once loved and cherished
more than any other.

"Stacy," he called to her.

"Daddy? Daddy, what have you done? How could you do this,
daddy?"

"Darling, my darling Stacy, I did this for you. I did this to
bring you back ... so you could have what was taken away from you."

"Daddy, look what you've done. Look what you've become. I
don't know who you are anymore. My daddy would never have hurt anyone.
He swore an oath. You're not my daddy. You're just a cold-blooded
murderer. I don't want anything to do with you -- ever."

He jerked awake, tears running down his cheeks. He grabbed his
glass of brandy and drank the last drops. That was better. Wait, what
was that noise? At first he thought it was his imagination, but then he
heard it again. There was definitely someone moving around out in the
operating room. Dr. Hammond got up to investigate.

"Miss Smith, why didn't you use the intercom. I would have brought
you anything you need."

There was no response and the sound had stopped. Looking around
the room, which was almost entirely dark except for the light from the
computer over on the lab tables, he noticed that the door to the house
was open. He had closed it, he was sure. Maybe Angela had gone into
the houseto look for him -- or to try to escape! He ran to the door,
but before he could get through it something smashed into his chest and
he flew back into an equipment cart, sending everything crashing to the
floor. Someone was walking toward him, carrying something in his hand
It looked like a pole or a piece of pipe. His attacker raised it again
and brought down hard across his back. The doctor hadn't been able to
move quick enough, but he managed to keep on his feet and stumbled
towards the lab table. The pipe flew again, this time smashing a whole
tray of test tubes.

"Who are you? What do you want?" cried the doctor.

"Where is she? Where is Angela?" growled the intruder.

Dr. Hammond struggled along the table, but the blows had stunned
him and several bits of glass had struck his face. His hand fumbled
for the controls on the lab table and he managed to find the switch for
table lights. They snapped on, blinding the man with the pipe, but
the doctor was too shocked to take advantage of his incapacity.

"Oh my God..." he screamed. "It's you!"

Many dreams later, Angela was reliving a visit to Cappio's, the
Italian restaurant where Mark used to work. Brenda and Lisa had taken
her there for her twenty-first birthday dinner and Mark managed had to
get himself assigned as their waiter. He had done an incredible job,
despite pushing the cork into the bottle of Chablis, and they were both
planning to leave him a big tip. In Angela's dream, Mark was just
bringing their dessert, Cappio's famous cannoli, when he suddenly
dropped the tray. Wait, that didn't happen ...

... Angela awoke to the sound of clanging metal and crashing
glass. She struggled to shake off the haze and stumbled towards the
door. Outside she could hear yelling.

"Where is she you bastard? What have you done to her?"

"You? How can it be you?"

"I'm a ghost, come back to haunt you. Now where is she? If you've
done anything to her I'll kill you. I swear it!"

Angela peered from her room to see Dr. Hammond, cut and bleeding,
backed up against his lab table. All around him on the floor
were scattered metal trays and tables, smashed pieces of equipment
and glass fragments. Standing in front of him, silhouetted in the
lights of the lab table, was a menacing figure wielding a piece of
pipe in one hand. His back was to Angela, but something seemed
familiar. That voice, that stance, that physical shape...

The joy of recognition swelled in Angela's heart.

"Mark..." she whispered to herself, stunned. "Dear God,
it's Mark!"

Her lover, however he had survived, raised his pipe and brought
it down on another batch of test tubes and beakers. It sent a
spray of glass over both of them. Hammond cringed, but Mark
didn't seem to care. Where is she?!" screamed Mark.

"She's here! She's safe! Please, just stop destroying my
equipment! Those samples are all I have left!"

Angela's hand went to her belly.

"Show me where she is," Mark ordered the doctor. "Now!"

Hammond started to move towards the patient room, but then he
saw her standing in its doorway. Mark turned with him and stopped dead
as he saw her. She was looking ruffled, her hair a mess, the bruise
still on her forehead from the accident in the van, her robe about to
fall off.

"Angela! Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded in assent, feeling too stunned at his miraculous
resurrection to speak. At the same time, though, she took in his
condition. Mark was looking worse than Hammond for bruises and cuts,
not to mention a sling for his left arm and a pronounced limp in his
left leg. His black sweats were torn and the exposed areas of skin were
scraped and bloody. It was a wonder he could stand at all.

"Miss Smith, you shouldn't be up. You need a lot of rest after
a procedure like this," said the doctor

Mark's eyes blazed. "Procedure? What did you do to her?" He
raised the pipe.

Hammond refused to be cowed. "She agreed to it. It was my
research, my work. I had to do it. No one can take that from me, not
even you!"

"What did you do to her?!" screamed Mark and cracked the pipe
between the doctor's shoulders, winding him and sending him toppling
forward into another equipment trolley. Angela stifled a gasp with her
hand. She had never seen Mark like this before.

After a few moments Dr. Hammond rolled off the cart and fell
onto his back. Blood was pouring out of his nose and mouth. Mark
raised the pipe again. He was breathing heavily, and with apparent
difficulty, as he tried to catch his wind and speak.

You killed ... four good people ... tried to kill me ... and then
you performed some perverted operation on Angela. How could you do
this? How could you be so evil?"

The doctor's eyes filled, first with sadness, then with
determination.

"Yes, Mr. Petri, I am evil. I killed your friends to protect
myself. I cared nothing for their lives. Ending them was no more
difficult to me then performing an appendectomy. You should have heard
that Asian bitch beg for her life before I slit her throat, and I felt
nothing after her heart stopped beating in my hand -- "

"You fucking pig!" Mark exploded and lifted the pipe high over
his head, ready to smite the doctor's skull.
"Mark, no!" cried Angela. "Don't do it! Don't make yourself
like him. You're not like that. He needs to live the rest of his life
in prison remembering what he did. You don't. If you kill him you'll
never be able to live with yourself!"

Mark slowly brought the pipe down and let it drop to the floor.
As he did so, they heard voices from the door leading into the houseand
several state troopers rushed into the room, fanning out. One found the
lights and turned them on. When they saw that the situation was safe,
they put there guns away and preceded to pick up Hammond and cuff him.
One of the troopers approached Mark and Angela.

"Are you all right Mr. Petri?" he asked.
Mark nodded. "Yes, lieutenant."
The trooper turned to Angela. "What about you, miss?"

She leaned on Mark and nodded her head. "I'll-I'll be all
right. I just want to go home."

Mark wasn't so sure. "Angela, you really should have a doctor
look you over. After to you --"

"Mark, I'll do that later. After we've had a chance to talk."

He put his arm around her and walked her to the door. She
turned and, for just a moment, stared at the impregnating machine. Then
she turned back and left with Mark.

On the way through the basement Mark found where Hammond had stashed
Angela's belongings, including her track suit and underwear, which
she quickly put on, making her feel one hundred percent better.
Then they went to the second floor to retrieve their items, as well as
their friends' (knowing their families would want them). The sheriff's
department and the coroner's people were already there picking up the
pieces. Fortunately Robert and Carl's bodies were covered up when they
walked in. That made it easier for both of them. Unfortunately the
officers wouldn't let them take any of the packs or other items out
until after everything had been photographed and cataloged. It looked
like they would have to stay in the area for a few days. Not a pleasant
prospect.

As they walked on the mezzanine towards the stairs, Angela glanced
down the West Wing hallway and saw the window where Mark had fallen
out the night before. She finally felt up to asking about it.

"Mark, how did you survive that fall?"

He chuckled in response. "I almost didn't. I broke my left arm,
cracked my left leg, fractured several ribs. It hurts like hell.
I was unconscious until long after the sun was up. I crawled to the
gate and managed to find a branch to use for a crutch. After that I
dragged myself to the highway and found a state trooper looking for us.
He'd found the note I left at the van. When I told him what happened he
called for back-up, but I said you were still up here and I could show
him around the place. He was reluctant to risk me, but I insisted we
look for you. I told him I would come back up here by myself if he
didn't want to go. You more or less can figure it out from there."

She put her arms around his back and lay her head on his chest,
listening to his heartbeat. It was such a safe and reassuring sound.

"Just in case I didn't say it yesterday? I love you."

He kissed her, though it hurt, and started down the steps with
her help.

"Just for the record, you did say it, but it's always good to
hear it again. I woke up from that fall thinking it had all been a
dream."

She let go of her smile for just a moment. "I wish some of it
had been."

They walked silently out of the house.

The sun was beginning to go down when they emerged. The darkening
driveway of Hammond Housewas filled with state police and sheriff's
cars, ambulances and the coroner's wagon. People were everywhere,
photographing this, measuring that. Many of them had been in the
house and were now bringing out numerous items, including Hammond's
black overcoat costume and the crossbow he'd used to murder Lisa,
Carl and Robert. They also had the knife that ended Brenda's life.
Then they started wheeling out their friends' bodies. Angela let
the tears flow, no point in stopping them any longer. She needed to
get it out, and it was comforting to look up and see that Mark, too,
was crying.

Several officers wanted to talk with them. They tried their best
to tell the story of the killings and of the fight with Hammond.
Angela wasn't ready to discuss what had been done to her in the
lab and the officer wouldn't press her right then.

After finishing the extensive interviews, they walked around a
little bit. An EMT wanted to look at Mark's injuries, since
some of the wounds were still bleeding. With reluctance, but
at Angela's insistence, Mark complied. They sat there, holding
hands, while the technician did his work. Occasionally Angela
helped out, since the EMT's partner was looking at the damage
Mark had done to Hammond. Watching him across the driveway,
Angela began to wonder about the things he had said just before
Mark tried to kill him. Had he really meant that about not
caring about what he had done?

Hammond was bustled into a car to wait out the investigation.
More questions were asked of the couple, but much of Angela's time
was spent holding her abdomen and thinking about what she had been
through. She looked up at the house and wondered if she could ever
forget the place. Its stone edifice seemed to remain in her vision,
even when she closed her eyes. It was going to be a long time before
the pain would even begin to fade.

Suddenly there was a commotion. Angela opened her eyes and saw
officers scrambling around the yard.

"He's escaped! Hammond knocked out one of the deputies and got
his handcuffs off!"

"Where is he?"
"Check the house. Keep looking!"

While everyone was running around, trying to figure out what was
going on, a man wearing a sheriff's jacket approached Mark and Angela.
With the sun going down behind the trees, they found it hard to see him
clearly until he was within a few yards. By then it seemed too late.
It was Hammond, and he was holding the crossbow in his hands, the point
of the bolt aimed straight for Mark's head.

"No!" Angela shouted.

The sound of several guns being drawn out and a shotgun being cocked
was heard.

"Drop the weapon, Dr. Hammond. Put it down nice and easy."

The doctor seemed to be wrestling with himself, a look of
resignation finally came to his face.

"Good-bye, Angela," he said. Only she and Mark heard it.

Hammond started to lower the crossbow, but then he brought it up
sharply and pulled the trigger. Three bullets and a shotgun blast
ripped through the physician's body in an instant, making him twist
and splatter blood as he fell. Angela's scream died away slowly.
Then all was still.

Mark was unharmed.

Angela was the first to kneel beside the dying body of Dr. Olias
Hammond. Amazingly, he was still breathing. His eyes looked
searchingly into hers.

"Margaret, Margaret..." he croaked.

"Oh my God," she heard Mark say.

He lifted the crossbow from the ground where the doctor had
dropped it. The arrow was loose. It had never been locked down.
The crossbow hadn't been cocked when he held it on them.

"He-he did this on purpose," Mark stuttered.

It all began to make sense to Angela now. When he had told Mark
those things in the lab about not caring, he was goading Mark into
killing him. He wanted to die so he could be punished for what he
had done.

"Margaret, Margaret..." cried the doctor once more.
Angela, against all reason, took his hand.
"I'm not your wife, Dr. Hammond."
"Please forgive me. Please forgive me for what I've done."
More tears began to come to Angela's eyes.

"I'm not the one to ask forgiveness from, Dr. Hammond. I can't
do that. You need to ask your wife and daughter when you see them.
You need to ask God. I can't give you absolution. My soul will
never be the same after what you've done."

He nodded with a jerk. "I understand."

The EMT came over to help, but it was obvious the doctor wasn't
going to last very long. He did what he could.

Angela released Dr. Hammond's hand and it fell to the ground.
She started to stand, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

"Angela, wait, please." He coughed up some blood, which the EMT
tried to clean away. "Please, promise me -- promise you won't let my
Stacy die. Please. I beg you. Don't let her die."

She glanced at Mark, who gave her a quizzical look. Then she
looked down at the ground. Finally she looked at Dr. Hammond.

Doctor, whose egg did you use for the procedure?"

His eyes glazed over.

"Doctor! Whose egg did you use for the procedure?"

His mouth moved, but she could barely hear the word. She put
her ear to his mouth.

"Brenda," he gasped.

She sat up and watched as his eyes fluttered and his body shook.
In a moment he would be dead.

"All right, Dr. Hammond. I'll take care of Stacy."

She felt his hand tighten around her wrist. The doctor managed
a smile in his last moments.

"Thank you," he croaked, then turned his gaze skyward. "Forgive
me, Stacy..." he uttered, and then stopped breathing.

The EMT turned to the troopers. "He's gone," he said, and
packed up his equipment, leaving the officers to sit around
the body of their prime suspect.

Angela turned to Mark and helped him stand up. Together they
walked to the ambulance and crawled inside. Sitting in the
back she lay her head on his shoulder and they held hands.
Twenty minutes later the EMT found them sound asleep

Eventually Angela and Mark returned to Eastern Colorado State,
where news of the murder of four students rocked the University
and surrounding community. Prayers were said, candlelight
vigils held, articles written and scholarships started. Some
people drank to forget, others went to student counseling for
help in dealing with the pain and a few even dropped out of the
semester. Among those, not surprisingly, were Mark and Angela.
Their lives were turned on end for weeks after the incident.
Telling the story -- what they would tell -- over and over again
was a great strain on them, especially Angela, who seemed to be
ill quite a bit of the time. Exceptionally stressful were the
funerals and talking to the families of their friends. Lots of
time was spent in planes and trains trying to get everywhere.
They flew to San Francisco for Brenda's funeral and stayed with
the Xu family, then took a train to San Diego for Lisa's. Her
parent's were particularly devastated as she had been their only
child. The day after that they flew to New York and met with
Robert's uncle, Louis. They were unableto make it to Carl's
funeral in Kingston, but they did get to speak to his mother
when she came to the school to collect his things. With all
they had to do, it was several weeks before Mark and Angela
really had a chance to grieve.

Angela moved out of the apartment she had shared with Brenda and
put her furniture in storage. It was too much too soon after her brutal
death to remain in the place. Though Mark had asked her to move in with
him she refused, telling him she needed time to herself. She wanted to
go home to her family. Mark was inclined to do the same thing, but he
was loathe to be away from Angela. She was often quiet and aloof and
refused to talk about what had happened to her. Then there was to
problem of her being sick much of the time. Mark was very concerned,
but refused to pressure her into talking. Finally, a month after the
tragedy, Angela told Mark what Dr. Hammond had done to her.

At first he was angry, swearing and shaking his fists in
frustration, but then his anger gave way to tears. He apologized to
Angela for being so selfish and wanted to know if he could to anything
for her. She took his hand and asked him to promise to always be there
when she needed him. He promised.

The next day the parted, Angela flying to Seattle and Mark to
St. Louis. She spent several months at her sister Lucy's housenear Mt.
Rainier and he stayed with his mom and dad in their condo by the
Mississippi. Both of them had their trouble talking to people. Angela
couldn't talk to anyone but her sister. Her parents just wouldn't
understand. Lucy was shocked at what had been done to her baby sister,
but she managed to be understanding and reasonable in helping her come
to a final decision about things. Mark could talk to his parents and
they tried to understand. He was thankful they at least tried. Though
they both missed each other greatly, Mark and Angela did benefit from
their time away from school and the reminders of that night.

Mark returned to ECSU after a month in Missouri. He tried to
pick up with his composing, but the inspiration just seemed to be gone.
Maybe when Angela got back it would return. If she came back. Part of
him felt he would never see her again.

A few months later, after a long night at work, Mark stumbled
into his apartment and threw off his clothes, not even bothering to fold
them or hang them over anything. He crawled into bed and fell soundly
asleep. Sometime later he stirred when he felt someone crawling under
the covers with him. He was still groggy, but he felt the warmth of
bare, soft skin against his back. He turned over gradually and
smiled as he recognized Angela's face. He put his arms around her,
pulling her naked form against his, and kissed her tenderly. Her
breasts rubbed against him and he let his hand wander down to them,
caressing the firm balloons. She moaned, rolling onto her back. It was
then that Mark realized something was different about her. Her abdomen
had grown. He reached up and turned on the light.

"So you've decided?" he asked.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Lucy helped me work it out. I believe
it's important for me to keep her."

Mark nodded absently as the debate in his mind continued. He
thought he had made a decision, but his self-doubt couldn't seem to
leave him alone. He had been wrestling with what he would do if Angela
decided to keep the baby. He loved her and he had promised her would be
there for her, but could he see the baby and not think about Hammond and
his evil? He had come to the conclusion that he could accept it and
would, if she decided not to abort it. Could he still keep to that
choice? Yes, he had to.

"What have the doctors said?"

She smiled. "They did a lot of tests, which came out fine. I
got an ultrasound done last week. Would you like to see the picture?"

"Yes. How clear is it?" he asked as she rolled over and grabbed
her pocketbook off the floor.

Pretty clear," she answered, rummaging through the folds of her
purse. "Here she is."

He looked at the black and white photo. She watched his eyes
light up at the sight. His gaze swept from the picture to her
tummy and back. A huge smile, the kind she loved to see on
his face, spread across his mouth. He propped the picture up
on the nightstand and rolled over to put his head on her breast.
Then he marveled at the beauty of Angela's swollen belly, running
his hand down over the bulge in her tummy.

"It's so beautiful," he told her as he continued caressing her.

"I can't wait until you can hold her. I think she's going to be
a darling."

He scooted up closer to her, laying his head on the pillow with
hers. "Have you decided on a name?"

Angela cast her eyes down and began tracing her finger along
Mark's hand. "I was thinking of Brenda. I thought that seemed
appropriate, since it was her egg that Dr. Hammond used."

He took her hand and squeezed it. "I think that's a wonderful
idea. Part of her will live on in your daughter."

Angela's face fell. "I was hoping, well, praying really, that
you might start thinking of her as 'our' daughter."

Mark picked up her hand and kissed it. "I promised I would be
here for you and I will. If you want me to be more than that, well,
I've thought a lot about that, too. I know it will be hard to deal
with the memories, for both of us, but there is help we can get for
that. If we can work on it together, then I think I can handle it."

She put her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to
hers. Mark's hands brushed over her breasts as he reached
around to pull her towards him. Soon they were facing each
other, breasts against chest, belly against belly, sex against
sex.
Angela kissed near his ear. "I know I wasn't ready to be
intimate with you after all that happened, but I hope you'll let
me make it up to you now."

"Now?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Now. Make love to me now, Mark."

His mouth moved towards her breasts, eliciting moans from his
lover. Then it descended over her belly, lacing it with kisses, and
into her dark forest. Laying still on her side, Angela lifted her top
leg up and allowed him access to her moist sex. Moments later his hands
were clutching her buttocks and his tongue was deep within her vagina,
her body rolling in ecstasy. Her legs gently held his head as she
rocked her hips. It had been so long since he had touched her, and she
had been thinking about him a lot while she was away. His touch was
very powerful and she came quickly.

Soon he was moving between her legs. Angela remained on her side,
which was more comfortable for her, and Mark straddled her bottom leg,
lifted the top one, and guided his manhood towards her waiting mound.
It parted her soaked labia, penetrating deeply, and Angela felt him hit
her inside and she quivered. He began thrusting, moving inside her.
He clasped one of her buttocks in one hand and rested the other on her
beautiful pregnant belly. His balls rubbed against her inner thigh.
Her whole body trembled as she built towards another climax. She felt
her organs writhing and tugging, straining against the rush of blood in
her loins as it released another orgasm. She cried out, bucking her hips
and clenching his penis firmly. Another jolt went through her and this
time she gushed from her urethra. Mark was caught off guard, but she
encouraged him to continue. He pumped a few more times and she gushed
again, the fluid of her orgasm coating their bodies and soaking into the
sheets.

"Mark, oh Mark. God Mark, I love you!"

Finally, his pelvis slamming into her again and again, Mark felt
himself starting to come. His testicles released their hoarded sperm and
sent them into his seminal vesicles, from there his prostate gland began
to clench, forcing the sperm and semen to mix and rush down his urethra.
They could both feel his erection throb and pulse as ribbons of semen
gushed out of the head of his penis and into her birth canal. Six,
seven, eight spurts of his thick white cream filled her body. Angela
felt it cascading against her cervix and warming her insides as Mark
rocked and rolled with her body.

"Oh, Angela! Angela! I love you, too. I love you!" he cried.

The throbbing of orgasm slowly dimmed in their bodies, allowing
them to relax and collapse together in each other's arms. They slept
that way peacefully, all night.

Six months later, Brenda S. Petri-Smith was born. But hers was
not the only new life to begin that day...

END OF FINAL CHAPTER

---
Patrick Donovan <dr...@world.std.com>
Amateur Romantic/Erotic Fiction
Black Angora Press
Visit my Website: http://world.std.com/~drwho/erotica.html

ABOUT DISTRIBUTION: Please feel free to archive and/or redistribute this
story electronically, AS LONG AS THE HEADER REMAINS INTACT (this includes
the original title, my name and e-mail address, AND the copyright
information). If I see this story reposted or archived WITHOUT the
header, I will be one ticked little puppy.

http://world.std.com/~drwho/erotica.html5

WARNING: Remember that these stories are copyrighted and that publication
of them in ANY media -- print or otherwise -- without my permission is
illegal. I don't mind it showing up on the 'Net, in archives or on BBS's
(as long as the header is there), but publishing it in an on-line or
printed magazine is where I draw the line. ASK ME FIRST. Hey, I'm a
pretty nice guy.
_________________________________________________________________