In Hell: When Love Kills A Small Town Mystery

Chapter 12

"You know, I thought you were joking when you told me where you wanted me to drop you off," Deck said. "What'd you do, break into this place?"

"Couldn't if I wanted to. There's no lock," said Lori.

He smiled.

"Some guy named Leland said I could crash here," she said. "He's supposed to be getting my car out of the ditch, but I'm beginning to wonder if he hasn't stolen it and is chopping it down for parts even as we speak."

"Leland, huh. Don't worry about him. Wouldn't hurt a flea. He's a bit of a freak. Altar boy honest. At least, that's what they say."

"Honest Abe in a fat man's suit," said Lori. "He gives me the willies."

Deck laughed.

"Not much on décor," he said, looking around the room.

"You've never been in here before. I don't believe you," Lori said.

"Do I look like a Bible thumper to you?"

She ran her fingers along the collar of his leather jacket and into his curly hair. He bent his head down and began nibbling the soft skin on her neck.

He was slow and unhurried.

She looked into his ash-blue eyes with a longing that flipped a switch inside him. His strong hands grasped the back of her arms and pulled her close. He smiled.

"I'm a real bastard, you know," he whispered.

"I know."

Suddenly, the walls faded. She no longer saw the crude furniture or the homeliness of her monastic surroundings. Their breath quickened. A sense of urgency filled the room. They must taste each other and experience the electricity of the other's touch. He pulled up her tee shirt and slipped up the cups of her bra. His head bowed, and she felt his lips kissing her nipples. Her fingers moved to his jeans. Every nerve in her body pulsed.

Naked, they fell onto the little cot. It creaked beneath their weight. Her strong legs locked around his slender waist, and she shuttered. Like animals scorched in the flames of lust, they lay exhausted and spent. Deck's finger traced a light line on her forehead. She closed her eyes. Soon, she was fast asleep.

*****

He was standing in the trees at the edge of the clearing whistling softly when he saw the cycle's headlight turn into the church's graveled road. The driver came up the back road behind the church and parked in front of the missionary hut. He recognized the beautiful red cycle. Only one person in the whole county could afford something like that.

He had hung back and stayed at the church long after the car was delivered. He didn't mind helping out. He quietly made his way to the tiny hut. As he peered through the window at the two lovers, his face contorted into an ugly mask. His lips twitched. His hands clenched and unclenched. Sweat poured from his forehead. He dropped his head, and his eyes looked up at them through half-closed lids. A peal of thunder broke his dark reverie. He turned suddenly, running towards the inky darkness of the woods.