MISSING LINK

Chapter 3

I awoke to the sound of muffled conversation beneath the relentless hum of a lawnmower. It marked another Friday, two weeks into Link's stay. Untangling myself from the sheets, I draped them around my body and approached the window to investigate.

Link was engaged in a somewhat heated conversation with my landscaping contractors. As I slid the window open, a rush of brisk air sent shivers across my skin.

"Is everything alright?" I called out to them.

They all turned to look up at me. "Yes, everything is fine," Link assured me.

The head contractor shrugged his shoulders, and he and his helpers carried their equipment back to the company truck.

I sank back into the bed and reached for the TV remote. It was set to the video surveillance channel, my nightly ritual before drifting off to sleep. My eyes sought out Link in the fourth camera image. He had evidently assumed the role of the landscaper, a change I wasn't mad at one bit. His curly, hair was neatly tied up in a seductive man bun, and my gaze lingered on his impeccably sculpted chest, which strained against the confines of his snug white t-shirt. 

On one side of the house, there stood a row of tall, evenly spaced spruce trees, forming a natural privacy fence. Link approached his task with the skill of a seasoned professional, expertly maneuvering the lawnmower in and out of the spaces between each tree. It was beyond a delightful sight. So much so I asked Siri, to make Friday mornings a scheduled appointment.

The thoughts running through my head were utterly despicable. A grown woman, lying in bed, deriving unsolicited pleasure from her unwitting guest. It was voyeurism at its worst, and I couldn't resist the temptation.

My excuse was that he would never know. A small indulgence of sweet, orgasmic euphoria once a week was all it was - until it wasn't.  One dreadful afternoon, Link came to my room as I lay completely exposed in bed with my hands between my legs and the TV on a video loop of him tending the lawn from the week before.

I heard several knocks at the door but thought I was dreaming; I had fallen asleep—not surprising, it was common for me to fall asleep occasionally after a good dose of self-pleasure.

"Misty?" Link had opened the door slightly to get my attention.

I clutched the sheets around me and opened my eyes.

"I...uh...sorry to wake you. I need to discuss an issue with my bathroom toilet."

"Can we talk about it when I'm up?" I replied quickly.

"Sure, but it may, mmh, how do you say, flow-over?" He explained.

"Try using the plunger under the sink," I instructed, giving him a mental image of its location. "I'll be there in a minute," I sighed.

I threw on my robe and walked wearily into the master bathroom for a quick shower, forgetting that Maria had warned me not to use it until she came to rinse the cleaning solution she had applied to the tiles the night before. All I could think about was whether Link had noticed me naked or himself on the TV screen through the slightly open door.

Stepping into the shower stall, I suddenly lost my footing, slipping uncontrollably and stumbling backward. I tried to catch myself but failed, crashing into the glass shower door and falling half in and half out of the shower.

I let out a cry of pain. I was convinced my back was broken. Attempting to turn onto my side and get up, I realized the pain was too much. I whimpered softly, hoping no one, especially Link, would hear me. But it was too late. There he was, all six-foot-three of him, standing over my naked, battered body. God knows, I wished I could lose consciousness in that moment.