From the short Story by Nigel Hare.
A twisted tale of lonely isolation, separated from community, deviancy, murder, caning, beautiful women.
I poured the three of us night caps but only two drank them. Hettie lay with her head on Monica’s lap asleep with a satisfied curl on the edge of her lips. Monica and I discussed psychopaths. She told me what she had learnt so far, along with the definitions, and I noted them and tried to figure how I could show them in characters. A couple of night-caps later, the tiredness got to us all and we called it a night. Hettie, head down, arms loose by her side went up first. Monica and I stood in the small hallway between the bedrooms to say good night.
“Thank you,” she told me, “I have not enjoyed an evening for such a long time. I am so glad we accepted your offer to stay.”
“I’m happy that I made it,” I said.
Our eyes met for a moment. I tried to read her. Did she want me to kiss her? She answered by moving her head closer to mine and our lips touched and pressed and then opened.
I went to bed happy and more aroused than a sixteen-year-old boy at a big breasted lesbian porn shoot.
In the darkness of my room, under the warmth of the covers, with my inner heating still blazing from trying to turn off with my hand, I listened to the murmurings coming from the other bedroom. I could not hear what they said, and I tried not to imagine the kissing and the touching of the hot bodies. They were just talking; I told the inner demon. They were in a strange place and as bonding as the evening had been, I was still a stranger to them.
When I had visited the masochist, I did not sleep well, woken by every sound I heard, and they were hundreds through the night. Had the chemistry been there and the bond between us been more than just pain, I may have stayed another night and have slept better. My only hope was that the British weather would not let me down and the roads would remain impassable for one or two days longer. The thick layer of sleep overcame me.
When I woke it was full, complete, and only three hours later. The house seemed silent, and my bladder was not pressing so I had no idea what woke me. A story idea was bleeding through me, and I figured I could jot notes while I drank a mug of coco to see if I could sleep again. My life had no regularity to it; I could work for days falling asleep where I sat thinking or making notes or I would go to bed while the sun was high in the sky. Sometimes I had to remember I had not eaten in days having used cigarettes to ward off hunger.
Monica stood by my open safe flicking her fingers through a wad of cash, I looked passed her and saw my manuscript was untouched. “Well, well, well,” I said so calmly.
She placed the money back into the safe. “Sorry,” she said avoiding my eyes, “I just can’t resist opening a safe.”
“That is the strangest excuse for robbing me I have ever heard. Well, I suppose it is the only one as no one has robbed me since I escaped the bullies at school.” Dressed in her night gown, and I could see the outline of her figure beneath, the fullness of her breasts and the tightness of her nipples. The lines that curved into her waist and out to her hips and her long legs and bare feet. “Would you care to explain?” There really was no point being angry. Not dressed for a rapid escape and nowhere to escape to, I could stay calm. The money would be a nuisance but if the manuscript were there, I could easily earn more. What is more I could consider this a caning offence.
I sat on the chair that sat below the safe, after I had moved the picture that had hidden my safe so well – I thought. She took a seat on the sofa. The fire crackled in the grate with the three-fold increase of gravity in the room.
“My grandfather,” she began, “was a professional thief who specialised in opening locked safes. He taught me everything I know. He told me what to look for in a room that could hide a safe and I am afraid yours was so obvious when I entered the room. My father hated my grandfather’s profession, but it gave him a superb education despite spells in jail. My father was always square, always full of his own important moral belief. Grandfather never judged him for abandoning me and always told me off if I spoke in derogatory terms about him.”
“It sounds like a whole novel in just the relationship between the three of you. Were you going to rob me?”
“Safes hold more interest than just money. People hide what is precious to them. And I like to know people and to know someone you must know what is precious. Until I saw the money, I had no interest in robbing you.”
“If you are willing to tell your family stories you can earn it.”
“I will tell. Why are you so calm and not calling for the police right now?”
She opened the door marked ‘Exploit me.’ “They would not come this far in the snow. And if I have you arrested, why would you tell me your stories. As you have already noticed I have canes.”
She forced a smile. “You want to cane me?”
I nodded slowly.
Nigel Hare 