


Last Wish

by slyc_willie



Category: Erotic Couplings
Published: 2008-05-14
Updated: 2008-05-14
Packaged: 2017-04-27 02:45:28
Chapters: 1
Publisher: literotica.com
Story URL: https://www.literotica.com/s/last-wish
Author URL:
https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=748325&page=submissions
Summary: Condemned man gets one last chance at life.
Erotica Tags: Brunette, Exhibitionism, Last Wish, Megan, Oral, Religion,
Salvation
Average Rating: 4.76






        Last Wish


_In the near future, prison overcrowding has led to some changes in the
judicial system of the United States. In the case of capitol crimes, a new
alternative sentencing has been introduced. The condemned has the option of
foregoing all appeals in exchange for at least thirty days of relative
freedom, under what is considered "invisible surveillance." This new option
has become known as the Last Wish._  
  
_There is a hitch, however: at some point following those thirty days, the
condemned man or woman will be killed. They do not know how or when they will
meet their fate; all that is certain is that they will._  
  
_The following is the story of an ordinary man named James Mailer, and how he
lives out the last days of his life._  
  

*****

  
  
"Will the defendant please rise."  
  
With a deep, nervous breath, James took to his feet, shrugging the wrinkles
from his suit. He wondered yet again if the decision he had made was the right
one. It was difficult to convince himself that thirty days or so as a free
man, followed by certain death, was worth the sacrifice of the rest of his
life behind prison bars.  
  
The judge was a middle-aged man who had scowled all through the trial. There
was always the chance he might overrule James' request, if only out of spite
or principle. James was uncertain as to whether that would be a good thing.  
  
"It is your request that you forgo all further right to appeal by taking the
Last Wish option?"  
  
James nodded heavily. "Yes, your honor."  
  
The judge looked down upon James with narrowed eyes. "Tired of living?"  
  
James frowned. "Not at all, your honor."  
  
"Current life expectancy in the United States is eighty-three years," the
judge continued. "Even though it may be spent in prison, you could still make
a contribution to the community over the next five decades or so. Why decide
to end your life, instead?"  
  
James hung his head, contemplating his words. A hundred pairs of eyes and more
bore into his back, many belonging to friends and relatives. Their hatred and
desire for retribution weighed upon him. Finally, James lifted his head and
stared directly at the judge.  
  
"I deserve it."  
  
The judge pursed his lips, thinking. He leaned back, drumming his fingers upon
the polished wood of the podium that all but surrounded the man. "Far be it
for me to question the wisdom of a condemned man," he said at last, taking up
his gavel. "Sentence so ordered. You got your Last Wish, Mr. Mailer."  
  

*****

  
  
The world sped by outside the car. James stared at roaming cattle as they
grazed on dry grass, at the looming grey clouds that waited above the horizon.
The landscape, the skies, everything seemed out of focus to James, as if he
looked at everything through a clouded lens.  
  
"So, you could have picked anywhere in the country to go," the US Marshall
said as he drove. "And you wanna go to BFE, Texas?"  
  
James smiled ruefully. "My grandfather's cabin," he explained simply.  
  
The stocky lawman chuckled. "Okay, kudos for nostalgia," he said. "Still, if
it was me, I'd be living it up in Vegas. Tequila, tits and twat. But that's
just me."  
  
James self-consciously rubbed the ring on his finger. "You didn't murder your
wife."  
  

*****

  
  
The cabin was small, essentially a single large room with walls constructed of
red oak, dominated by a brass-framed bed and a grandiose Victorian-era couch,
both draped by dust covers. A fireplace occupied one wall, a kitchenette the
other. French doors at the rear of the small dwelling looked out upon a lake
that was popular with bass fishermen and weekend wakeboarders.  
  
The Marshall lead James into the cabin, looking around cursorily. He took a
small metal rectangle from the pocket of his jacket and glanced around for a
suitable place. He finally chose a section of wall that was not covered by
framed pictures of an elderly man holding up various prize fish. Pressing a
few buttons on the device, the Marshall then set it against the wall. It
adhered itself instantly.  
  
"You want a quick and easy way out, there you go," he drawled as he came back.  
  
"What do you mean?" James asked with a frown.  
  
"That's part of how we keep an eye on you," the Marshall explained, removing
James' cuffs. "You can't go more than five miles from that device. If you do,
you'll hear a pinging in your ear."  
  
James self-consciously touched the small welt behind his left ear.  
  
"If you hear that, you have one hour to get back inside your safety zone. If
you don't, the small charge that was implanted in your head will do a pretty
good job of turning your brains into strawberry jelly."  
  
James winced at the comparison.  
  
"Also, tampering with either that device, or the implanted charge, will set it
off. So, like I said, if you want an easy way out, there you go. Give it a
good whack with a hammer, and bye-bye Mr. James Mailer."  
  
James swallowed thickly. "Got it."  
  
The Marshall stepped back. "No matter what you do or where you go, we're gonna
know about it. You step out of line, and we can remote activate that brain-
bomb at any time. But, be a good boy, and you'll never see us again. Is that
clear?"  
  
James nodded, massaging his wrists. The handcuffs had become a bit snug after
hours of driving. "I understand."  
  
The Marshall glanced around at the sheet-covered furniture. "Been a while
since this place was used, huh?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject.
James new the man was being amiable only out of professional courtesy, not
because he truly cared or was interested in the details of James' life.  
  
James nodded. "My grandfather passed away a few years ago," he said, smiling
nostalgically. "When I was growing up, I'd come visit him in the summer. He
always brought me here to teach me to fish."  
  
"I saw the pictures," the Marshall commented. "Looks like the old man was
pretty accomplished."  
  
"Champion bass fisherman," James said proudly.  
  
"You any good?"  
  
James chuckled. "I couldn't catch a cold if I tried," he remarked dryly.  
  
The Marshall laughed, then extended his hand. "Well, enjoy the last days of
your life, Mr. Mailer."  
  
James' smiled faded. He said nothing as he shook the lawman's hand, nor as the
man left the cabin.  
  
_Thanks for the reminder._  
  

*****

  
  
The first several days were spent in a melancholic daze. James called a grocer
just a mile away, in the small town beside the lake that catered to the
weekend tourists and sportsmen. They delivered, and he ordered enough food to
keep him supplied for a few weeks, perhaps more depending on his appetite. At
first, his appetite had not been particularly healthy. His time was divided
between philosophical meanderings and prolific weeping.  
  
By that Monday morning, however, nearly a week after his arrival, James had
fallen into an equilibrium. Introspection and self-pity had come together
under the umbrella of acceptance.  
  
Late spring in the Texas hill country was warm and humid to the point of being
uncomfortable at times. Without air conditioning in the cabin, all James had
to cool himself off with was a pair of standing oscillating fans. They did an
adequate job, for the most part, except during the middle of the day, when the
heat and humidity was oppressive.  
  
He watched a squirrel foraging for acorns as he sat upon the stoop of the rear
patio, and tossed it pieces of the crust from his ham and cheese sandwich. The
small act of kindness gave James a hint of a smile. The squirrel, at least,
appreciated his generosity before scampering away with its booty.  
  
_This is too peaceful_, James thought as he stared out across the glimmering
water. A small boat floated lazily on the lake, just close enough that James
noticed the two young women with their bikinis and bronzed skin. In a general
way, one of them reminded him of Angie. Blonde and voluptuous.  
  
Sourly, James reached for the glass of orange juice beside him. _Almost._  
  
He heard the rhythmic crunching of feet along the lakeside before the woman
appeared beyond the trees that bordered the cabin's property. Long brunette
hair was confined in a ponytail that bounced behind her head as she jogged.
Her skin was lightly tanned and shimmered with sweat, which had soaked into
her plain white halter. Both the top and her tiny red shorts clung to her
body, outlining the shape of her small, firm breasts and her rather inspiring
backside. Lean, toned legs quivered with each pounding footfall . . . until
she noticed James and stumbled to a halt.  
  
"Oh! Where did you come from?" she asked breathlessly.  
  
James laughed softly under his breath. "This is my cabin."  
  
The woman – she appeared to be in her mid-twenties – frowned, placing her
hands on her hips. She did not seem to care that her soaked top was nearly
transparent. "Did you know Jerry?"  
  
James smiled. "My grandfather."  
  
She cocked her head, a curious smile stretching her lips. A few cautionary
steps brought her closer to James as she studied his face. She finally smiled
broadly. "Yeah. You have the same nose. And eyes."  
  
He nodded, setting aside his sandwich and juice. Although the woman's presence
made him a little unnerved – he had not wanted any real human contact – his
sense of manners bade him to introduce himself. "I'm James," he said, offering
his hand.  
  
She shook it with a firm, yet still womanly, grip. Her skin was warm and
supple. The sweet aroma of her exertion wafted off her body like perfume.
"Megan."  
  
"So, uh, how did you know my grandfather?"  
  
Megan's face warmed with a touch of fondness. James noticed that her eyes were
a pale green. "We used to talk," she said simply. "Every morning, I'd see him
standing out there with his hip-waders and fishing pole. He was a really nice
man." She suddenly smiled at a memory. "He'd always share his lemonade with
me."  
  
"Sounds like Gramps," James said, then mimicked a gruff, older voice.
"_'Freshly squeezed, Jimmy. Don't ya ever drink that Minute Maid crap! And
real sugar!'_"  
  
Megan laughed lively. "God! You almost sound like him!"  
  
James laughed as well, somewhat startled by how comfortable the sound was
coming from his throat.  
  
An awkward moment of silence fell between them as their mirth was born away on
the breeze. As if suddenly conscious of her appearance, Megan crossed her arms
over her breasts.  
  
"It wasn't the same for a while after he passed away," Megan finally said. "I
changed my route. Just didn't seem right to jog through here anymore."  
  
James gritted his teeth a moment, looking down at his sandaled feet. "Yeah. A
few things changed for me after Gramps died, too."  
  
Megan glanced down the slope to the lakeside path. "Well, uh . . . I guess I
better get back to my jog," she said awkwardly.  
  
James nodded. "Nice to meet you, Megan."  
  
She smiled, backing down the slope. "My place is back along the lake," she
revealed. "Maybe I'll see you again if you're going to be around for a while."  
  
"I'll, uh, probably be here for a few weeks."  
  
Megan nodded. "Cool."  
  
He watched her resume her jog, ponytail bouncing once more as she continued
along the edge of the lake. James followed her with his eyes until the trees
once more obscured his view.  
  
With a heavy sigh, he sat back upon the steps and took up his juice. _Okay . .
. maybe it won't be so bad to talk to _one_ person now and then._  
  

*****

  
  
It had been months since he'd had the nightmare. It was always the same:
pushing open the bedroom door to find two naked bodies rutting atop the bed,
her muscular legs splayed wide as he thrust inside her again and again. Moans
and gasps of pleasure filled the air. Her long nails raked his muscular chest,
leaving red marks in their wake. Finally, the screech of sublime passion that
erupted from her lungs, signaling her orgasm, as the man grunted and shoved
deep inside, pouring his seed inside her womb . . . .  
  
James rolled up in bed and swung his legs to the floor, rubbing his face as
the cobwebs of the dream drifted away. There were times, like now, that the
dream felt like a memory. But he had never actually caught them in bed.  
  
_I wish I had_, James thought bitterly. _Then it would have been a crime of
passion, and not premeditated murder. I might have just gotten twenty years,
out in seven._  
  
With a tired huff, he stumbled to the bathroom, flipping on the light. The
glow of the morning sun was just beginning to illuminate the cabin through the
French doors, but he needed more than that to see. After splashing cold water
on his face, he stared at his reflection.  
  
_Growing a beard, Jimmy?_ He asked himself, touching the growth on his face.
He chuckled dryly, then reached for his toothbrush. _You might be a condemned
man, but you don't need to meet God looking like a homeless bum._  
  
Fifteen minutes later, following a shower and a shave, James ran his fingers
over smooth, damp skin. He touched the knick beside his Adam's apple,
considering his grandfather's straight razor in his hand.  
  
_Careful with that. The wrong angle, and it could all be over._  
  
He shook his head ruefully. _I'm going to die in as soon as twenty-one days,
and I'm worried about accidentally slitting my throat._  
  
He dropped the razor in the sink and contemplated his reflection. It may just
have been his imagination, but it seemed to him that his eyes were getting
darker every day. For a few moments, his heartbeat pounded in his ears. A wave
of anger washed over him, anger directed at himself.  
  
_You can't change your mind, now, Jimmy. You all but literally dug your own
grave._  
  
He closed his eyes and fought down the emotions. The pressure rose behind his
eyes, threatening to spill out, but with effort, he swallowed the tears.
Several deep, calming breaths did little to return a sense of calm to his mind
and body.  
  
Finally, with a frustrated grunt, James shoved away from the sink and left the
bathroom. He paced back and forth in the cabin for a few minutes, pushing down
the hysteria that threatened to consume him. He was aware that he needed
something, a diversion of some kind, to occupy him, else he would break down
again. He did not want to entertain the anxiety he felt over his impending and
inescapable fate.  
  
His eyes darted out through the French doors to the lake beyond. The air
within the cabin was cool, but it was well-insulated. The temperature outside,
he figured, was in the low sixties. _Fuck it_, he thought, grabbing a pair of
shorts from the open suitcase by the bed. Pulling them on, he jerked open the
doors and ventured into the crisp morning air. Without hesitation, he jogged
down the slope to the lake, ignoring the bites of twigs and small rocks in the
soles of his feet, and splashed into the water.  
  
The lake was nearly frigid, the water a good ten degrees colder than the air
above it. James gritted his teeth against the response of his body to the
invasive chill, driven by the nearly self-destructive impulse which gripped
him. It took only a few blundering, hurried steps before the water reached the
edge of the cotton shorts, at which point James dove in head-first.  
  
The shock of the algid water ran through him like an electrical current,
making his muscles tighten painfully. James ignored the pain and forced his
arms to swim, his legs to kick. He surfaced a good ten yards from the shore
and began dragging himself across the surface of the lake with all the
desperate drive of an Olympic swimmer going for the gold. Hands splashed down
through the water; every fourth stroke of his right arm, he tilted his head to
draw breath.  
  
After less than a minute, James slowed, then stopped, breathing heavily as he
treaded water. The lake undulated gently around him, making the shorelines bob
in his field of view. His cabin lay along a point of the lake that was
essentially a bubble of the main body, an aquatic cul-de-sac. In three
directions, the shore was only a few hundred yards away. To his left, the
north, the lake itself loomed.  
  
_I could just swim out there until I was exhausted, _James thought_. The only
people out this time of day are shoreline fishermen. They'd never see me. I
could just swim and swim, as hard as I could, until I got cramps in my arms,
then . . . ._  
  
_Then what? You wanna end it now, Jimmy, you could do it a lot less painfully
than drowning. Just go back in the cabin and beat the hell out of that monitor
until your head explodes._  
  
For several minutes, James floated in the water, allowing himself to be
carried around by the minimal current. A thousand thoughts and memories
flashed chaotically through his mind, but the soft lapping of the water and
the misleading warmth supplied by immersion calmed him. The self-directed
anger faded, replaced with self-admonishment.  
  
Resignedly, James made his way back to the shore, but at a more comfortable
pace. When he finally reached the shallows, he set foot upon slippery, muddy
rocks and emerged, dragging his legs through the water.  
  
"Hey!"  
  
He snapped his head up at the sound of the feminine voice. Megan stood on the
shore, watching him with a curious smile on her face. Her choice of colors for
the day were yellow and blue. "Isn't the water a little cold for swimming?"
she asked.  
  
James played it off with a shrug. "It's not that bad," he claimed, even as a
shiver traveled through him.  
  
She frowned with what James thought might have been concern. "Are you all
right?"  
  
He sighed, wiping away water from his face and slicking his hair back. "Just
a, uh, rough morning," he said dismissively. His eyes wandered over the young
woman for a moment, again noting the points of her nipples through a sweaty
top. The gentle bulge of her pubic mound was somewhat noticeable as well.
James wondered, briefly, if she wore such tiny shorts with the knowledge of
how much they actually revealed.  
  
"I guess . . . ." she trailed off, her own eyes appraising James' body. He was
a little soft around the middle, but not much, and possessed nicely-defined
arms and legs. A soft laugh left her lips. "You better dry off before you get
pneumonia."  
  
James nodded unconvincingly, his breathing returning to normal. "Yeah."  
  
A sympathetic look crossed the brunette's face. "Hey, look, I know we don't
really know each other, but if you wanna talk--"  
  
"I'm fine," James said abruptly, then marched up the slope to the cabin.  
  
Megan frowned after him, her mouth still open as if she was prepared to say
more. Finally, after watching James step through the doors of his cabin, she
shook her head in frustration and once more took up her jog.  
  

*****

  
  
The following morning, James sat upon the steps of the cabin, watching the
squirrel that had come once again to forage. He knew it was the same one he
had seen before by the cropped left ear, most likely a scar from a rival. The
squirrel chanced a little closer this time, intrigued by the aroma of the
toasted croissant James was eating. But just when James thought it might get
close enough to take a piece of the pastry, the Squirrel suddenly stiffened,
then sped off toward its tree.  
  
A moment later, James heard the crunching of jogging feet, and he looked up
expectantly.  
  
Megan appeared, this day clad in a lime green top and white shorts that were a
bit more loose than the previous day's blue ones. Her face shone wetly, a look
that, James realized was very sexy on her. She slowed to a stop as she
approached the slope to the cabin. Her expression was one of uncertainty.  
  
"Hi," she said softly, the ghost of a smile upon her lips.  
  
James glanced down a moment, unsure of what to say. He lifted his head and
smiled sheepishly. "Sorry about yesterday."  
  
She shrugged, approaching up the slope. "You were having a bad day."  
  
He sputtered in mirthless laughter. "Been having a lot of those," he said.  

Megan stopped a few paces away. "Doesn't take a genius to figure it out, you
know," she commented, settling her hands to her hips.  
  
James frowned as a spike of fear stabbed through him. _Does she know?_  
  
She laughed in wonder, shaking her head as if she expected him to have already
deduced what she knew. "What happened? Did she cheat on you?"  
  
The spike of fear turned suddenly cold, colder than the lake of the water.
"Yeah."  
  
Megan drew in a deep breath, narrowing her eyes as she looked out at the trees
around them. "So now you gotta figure out if you wanna leave her or not,
right?"  
  
The spike retreated. _She doesn't know. Thank God._ "Um . . . not really.
She's gone."  
  
Megan frowned. "She left you?"  
  
James swallowed thickly. "Something like that."  
  
That look of sympathy returned to Megan's features. James realized that she
really was a very pretty woman. "You've never been cheated on before, have
you?"  
  
James lowered his head, grinding his teeth. "No."  
  
"Happened to me _twice_," Megan revealed emphatically. "I should've kicked the
asshole out after the first time, but, nooo . . . I was 'in love.'" She
punctuated her statement by making quotation marks with her fingers.  
  
He studied her face, seeing the painful memories there and the resulting wall
she had constructed. "How'd you deal with it?" _Did you stab them both to
death with a hunting knife, like I did?_  
  
Megan's shoulders slumped, and she came closer, turning about and sitting down
beside James as if they were the best of friends. "Cried a lot, bitched a lot
. . . drank a lot," she said with humorless laugh. "It's the kind of thing
that can really screw you up, you know? I mean, I had some really dark
thoughts for a while."  
  
James drew in a deep breath, watching the reflection of the sun on the lake.
"Yeah. I know the feeling."  
  
He could feel her eyes on him as she replied. "I bet you do," she said in a
soft, supportive voice. "Just don't go doing anything stupid, okay? Like,
swimming out in a lake cold enough to give you hypothermia."  
  
A laugh escaped James' lips despite his mood. Being around Megan, he realized,
was good for him. He finally turned his head to meet her gaze. "I'll try."  
  
Megan smiled broadly and patted his leg. The contact of her skin sent a quick
current of excitement through James that traveled directly to his groin.
"You're a good guy, James," she said. "I don't know you that well, but I'm a
pretty good judge of character. You'll be okay."  
  
_If you only knew,_ he thought darkly, yet still he managed to smile.
"Thanks."  
  
"Trust me. I'm pretty good about these things," she declared, then stood. She
started down the slope, then paused and turned back. "Hey, uh . . . ."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Megan worked her lips a moment, as if reconsidering her thought. But then she
smiled and addressed him again. "You like barbecue?"  
  
James frowned and smiled at the same time. "Sure. I'm a guy."  
  
She laughed, then chewed her lip in contemplation. "Got anything to do today?"  
  
His chest swelled as he took a breath. He was both excited and nervous about
the tenor of the conversation, where it was heading. "Not really. I figured
I'd spend all day feeling sorry for myself."  
  
A catty looked crossed Megan's face. "Two o'clock. I'll bring the ribs," she
said. "You get the beer."  
  
James blinked. ". . . Okay."  
  
"Bud Lite," she added with a wink, then turned and resumed jogging along the
lakeside. And as before, James watched the firm cheeks of Megan's rear before
she disappeared from sight.  
  
_Holy shit. I think I have a date!_  
  

*****

  
  
In the days since he had come to the cabin, James had only opened the front
door once, and that had been to collect his delivered groceries. He found that
fact amusing as he answered the knock.  
  
"Hungry?"  
  
For a long moment, James simply stared at the vision before him. Gone were the
tight shorts and top, the sheen of pleasantly aromatic sweat. Megan was
dressed in a flattering sun dress of pale yellow with various flowers
imprinted upon it, the billowing hem stopping just above her knee. Her
lustrous brown hair was down, draping over her shoulders and past her breasts,
and her face glowed beautifully as a result of the artful application of
makeup. She had been an attractive woman to begin with, but now, she was
simply beautiful.  
  
With difficulty, James forced himself to smile without betraying his lecherous
thoughts and step aside to let her in. Megan smiled with a gleam in her eye
and a glitter of moistness on her painted lips as she entered the cabin. The
aroma of barbecue sauce wafted up from the large paper bag she carried.  
  
"You know, as much as Jerry and I used to talk, I've never been in here," she
remarked, looking around the small dwelling.  
  
James closed the door and turned to Megan, boyishly admiring her beauty. "He
got pretty reclusive after grandma died," he said. "He was always pretty
serious about his personal space."  
  
Megan's smile didn't fade. "Yeah, I could tell that about him. He sure was
eager to show me his latest catch, though!"  
  
James laughed. "Yep. Sounds like Gramps." He approached, then held out his
hand for the bag. Megan handed it over readily, then swiveled back and forth
on her feet.  
  
"So, where's the beer?"  
  

*****

  
  
Laughter rolled out across the lake. James and Megan sat on the rear steps of
the cabin, picking at baby back ribs and licking their fingers of tangy, tart
sauce. Half a dozen beers had been drained already, with Megan matching James
bottle for bottle.  
  
". . . So, there I am, butt naked in the back of Marcie's car, just staring at
the gas station," Megan was saying.  
  
James chuckled, enjoying the image that filled his mind. "Did you do it?"  
  
She nodded firmly and reached for her beer. "Yup. Got out of the car, walked
right in, grabbed a case of beer and took it to the counter. Thank _God_ there
wasn't anyone else in the store!"  
  
James grinned. "So what happened?"  
  
Megan wiped her mouth with a paper napkin, tossed a gnawed-bare rib into the
paper bag before them. "It was weird," she said with a rakish grin. "The guy
behind the counter was, like, my age. Classic geek. He just stared at me like
he'd never seen a naked girl before. I asked him how much for the beer, and he
just shook his head. God! I swear, his jaw was about to fall right off! Told
me, 'uh, don't worry about it.' So I took the beer and left."  
  
James shook with laughter. "And you got your hundred bucks."  
  
"Hundred bucks _and_ free beer," Megan pointed out. Her eyes sparkled as she
tilted the beer bottle against her lips.  
  
James let out a hearty sigh, cheeks still bulging. "And to think I wasted all
those years in business management, when I could have been a convenience store
clerk."  
  
Megan chuckled, rolling the bottle in her hands between bare knees. "So,
what's the most outrageous thing you've ever done?"  
  
He sighed, the smile slowly fading. "I've actually had a pretty vanilla life,"
he confessed. "I think the craziest thing I ever did was shoplift a couple of
candy bars when I was fourteen."  
  
Megan was quiet, studying his face, her eyes narrowed in mischievous
contemplation. James finally noticed the look.  
  
"What?" he asked.  
  
She grinned crookedly. "Wanna do something outrageous right now?"  
  
He frowned. "Like what?"  
  
Megan cocked her head toward the lake. "Let's go skinny-dipping," she
suggested, making her eyebrows dance.  
  
James took a deep, calming breath, trying to quell the immediate sense of
arousal and anxiety that welled inside. "Skinny dipping?"  
  
Megan bit her tongue, grinning. "Yeah," she said, then set down the beer and
stood before him. She crossed her arms, gripping the sides of the dress she
wore. "I guess maybe I should have told you . . . I'm a bit of an
exhibitionist."  
  
James couldn't speak as the brunette beauty pulled her dress up her body and
over her head, letting it fall to the ground. Aside from her sandals, which
she proceeded to remove, Megan was completely naked. Her exercise regime had
resulted in a toned, slender body, with only the slightest bit of softness to
her belly. A sterling silver charm dangled in her navel, like a beacon drawing
the eye down to her smooth-shaved sex. Not a single hair existed upon her
pubic mound, nor along the plump lips of her vulva. The dusky pink shroud of
her clitoris was clearly visible above slightly-protruding labia.  
  
"Come on," she cooed in encouragement, running her hands over the firm, small
mounds of her breasts. Megan's nipples were dark and stiff, with hardly any
aureoles surrounding them. She pinched them both, then giggled and spun about
on her heel, darting for the water.  
  
_This can't be happening_, James thought, even as he hurriedly rose and
stripped down. His cock was semi-erect, hanging thickly down over his thighs.
It slapped against his legs as he ran down to the lake and splashed into the
water.  
  
Megan laughed, swimming away, gliding through the water as smoothly as a shark
patiently awaiting its next meal. She treaded water, watching as James
approached, then giggled again and swam away just before he could catch her.  
  
He watched her movements as the game progressed. She would wait until James
was almost close enough to reach her, then quickly shoot back in the water
with a double sweep of her arms. Now and then, James managed to catch her calf
or foot with a questing hand, but she was too quick and slippery to snare.  
  
He finally took a chance, and as he approached yet again, dove under the water
rather than try to grab her as Megan had expected. Automatically, Megan swam
away, but stopped after several strokes of her arms to tread water and look
around. Her brow furrowed as she bobbed gently in the water, casting her gaze
across the slightly-rippling lake.  
  
"James?" she queried in a slightly worried tone.  
  
"Gotcha!"  
  
Megan shrieked as she felt the arms encircling her, one pressing across her
breasts, the other around her waist. She felt herself pulled against James'
body, a nudging cock angling up between the cheeks of her ass.  
  
For a moment, without their arms to keep them afloat, they slipped beneath the
surface. A wash of fear surged through Megan, but only briefly, before the
arms released her. She swam back up, breaking through and throwing her heavy,
wet hair back. James surfaced a few feet before her, smiling at his triumph.  
  
"You scared the shit outta me!" Megan cried, blinking away beads of water that
clung to her lashes.  
  
James' mirth faded. "I'm sorry."  
  
But then she grinned again, and slipped swiftly beneath the surface. James was
startled by the abrupt move, but not as much as he was when he felt a pair of
arms wrap around his waist, the unmistakable warmth and massaging motion of a
mouth as it covered his penis. Involuntarily, his cock throbbed and began to
lengthen, filling the accommodating cavity. He pumped his arms back and forth
more vigorously, just to stay afloat.  
  
After only a handful of seconds, however, the sweet sucking heat of Megan's
mouth left him, and she surfaced a moment later, face glowing. She playfully
spat a stream of lake water onto James' face, and by the time he had
recovered, she was already halfway to shore.  
  
Fueled by reckless determination, James chased after, smacking his arms down
hard through the water. He couldn't see everything that Megan was doing,
catching glimpses here and there as she reached the shore and scampered
through the shallows toward the cabin. But as James reached the shallows
himself and stood, he found Megan awaiting him on the steps, leaning back on
her arms with her toned thighs splayed wide in unabashed invitation.  
  
A hungry look in his eye, James emerged from the lake and walked deliberately
up the slope, his eyes locked on hers. Megan nibbled her lip seductively, body
glistening as if oiled. She said nothing as James approached, stiff cock
leading the way like the prow of a ship. With each step, his penis bobbed,
slick with water, as if it controlled his movements.  
  
As soon as he was close enough, Megan rolled forward and grabbed his hips,
emitting a guttural sound as her mouth enveloped him once more. James' cock
was impressive, but Megan proved she had no trouble with it as she swallowed
the shaft whole. She held him deep for several moments as James shuddered in
bliss, tentatively settling his hands to her dripping wet hair. His cock
pulsed in her throat as Megan's esophageal muscles rippled and squeezed him.
She eventually pulled back, lips dragging tightly yet wetly along the shaft,
and moaned softly after a contemplative swallow.  
  
"Jesus," muttered James, looking down upon the woman who pleasured him.  
  
Megan's tongue swabbed affectionately around the bulbous head of his cock. She
kissed the tip, then smiled up at him. "It's been a while for you, huh," she
remarked, as if already knowing the answer.  
  
James nodded, head swimming. "Over a year."  
  
Megan kept her soft green eyes locked on his as she licked up and down the
length of James' shaft. "I'm willing to bet, after so long, you'll probably be
up for a repeat performance or two," she whispered.  
  
James' chest rose and fell as he heaved, his mouth slack. Every fiber in his
body tingled with erotic pleasure. "I hope so."  
  
She grinned. "I wanna make you come," she said sultrily, then playfully nipped
the head of his cock with her teeth. "I wanna taste it."  
  
James' head spun. Never had a woman turned him on so completely. "Oh, God," he
muttered.  
  
Megan giggled again, then attacked his cock, engulfing it hungrily, wrapping
her lips tightly around the shaft and sucking hard. Her tongue rubbed against
the underside of the head rapidly, making James squirm. He grunted and gasped,
shaking and wincing at the sensations. His fingers dug into Megan's scalp,
urging her on.  
  
Back and forth, Megan pumped her mouth, moaning softly and yearningly,
sometimes sucking just the first few inches of James' cock, sometimes taking
him to the root and pressing her chin against his slick balls. He watched the
gliding movements of her peerless lips as his penis disappeared again and
again into her mouth. He had never believed that so simple a thing as a blow
job could feel as delicious as this.  
  
"M-Megan," he croaked eventually, once she had fallen into an urgent pumping
rhythm. Her hands roamed from his buttocks to his thighs to his abdomen, short
nails scratching here and there, electrifying the nerves in his body.  
  
"Hmm?" she mumbled around his cock, looking up at him without removing her
mouth.  
  
James shuddered, his cock pulsing as his release neared. "I-I'm gonna come,"
he managed to stammer out.  
  
For a moment, Megan paused, grinning around the tense phallus that filled her
mouth. Her eyes flashed in the afternoon sun before she resumed her voracious
ministrations, pushing and pulling with her mouth, streaking James' cock with
frothy saliva.  
  
"Oh . . . shit!" James cried, clutching Megan's head, his cock spasming
between her lips. Every thick pulse of semen was heralded by the most
incredible tingling sensation James had ever felt. Megan accepted each spurt
eagerly, sucking hard and thrashing her tongue about the ticklish head. Her
hands stroked and milked him, caressing his shaft and taut balls. Her throat
rippled as she swallowed his seed.  
  
James grunted, gritting his teeth as he held out as long as he could. Finally,
however, he could take no more of the sweet torture, and jerked back, pulling
his cock from Megan's mouth with a wet popping sound. He all but doubled over,
holding her close as he fought to keep his balance. Megan murmured and moaned
softly, running her hands all along his body, kissing his inner thighs,
abdomen, and the base of his spent cock.  
  
With a laborious sigh, James turned about and fell heavily upon his rump on
the patio. Panting for breath, he fell back, arms and legs numb. Megan giggled
affectionately, rolling atop his body and planting small kisses on his chest.
He closed his eyes as he recovered.  
  
"James?"  
  
The sound of his name, carried upon the voice of his lover, seemed to emerge
through a fog. "Yeah," he responded.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
He laughed euphorically and made the effort to lift his head and open his
eyes. He stared into Megan's face. Her eyes shone lively; her lips were sticky
and wet, and it wasn't because of the lake. A single bubble of milky semen
decorated one corner of her mouth.  
  
"I'm . . . happy," was all he could say.  
  
Megan grinned proudly, then lifted up and straddled his waist. The insistent
heat of her sleek pussy seared through James' cock, beginning to revive him.
"Good," she said, beaming upon him, her wet hair sticking to her breasts and
arms. "I liked doing that for you."  
  
James ran his hands along her taut thighs to her waist as she rocked gently
back and forth. "You're gorgeous," he said emphatically. "I don't deserve
you."  
  
Megan smiled fondly upon him. "Yes, you do," she responded, then bit her lip.
"Besides, I'm being a little selfish. It's been a while for me, too."  
  
James chuckled, then shifted his hips as Megan reached down between them and
lifted his cock, rubbing the head against her slick heat. "Well," he said,
pushing up with his hips. "I guess I don't mind being used."  
  
Megan sighed, face going slack as his cock burrowed inside her pussy. She
rolled her hips a little, working his full length inside her as it began to
harden once more. A satisfied hiss was sucked in through her teeth. "Oh, baby
. . . I'm gonna use you all night . . . ."  
  

*****

  
  
He awoke alone in the middle of the night, climbing up from the grey fog of
the nightmare that had visited him yet again. The absence of a warm body in
his bed seemed appropriate to James, making him consider, for a moment, that
what he had experienced had all been a dream. Just a vivid fantasy. After all,
women had never thrown themselves at him; certainly not nymph-like beauties
such as Megan.  
  
The unmistakable aroma of cigarette smoke reached his senses, and he turned in
bed, looking toward the open French doors. The silhouette of Megan's slender,
naked body was outlined against the pale moonlight radiating off the lake. The
sight was almost ghostly, surreal. He watched as Megan languidly brought the
cigarette to her lips, as the tip flared brightly, then as she took it away
and exhaled a plume of smoke.  
  
He smiled. _Maybe it wasn't a dream._ "You make that look so sexy," he said.  
  
Megan turned her head, shrouded in shadow. Her features were hidden from him
as she spoke, but he was certain she smiled.  
  
"Mind if I smoke?"  
  
He chuckled and slipped from the bed. Hours of lovemaking made his joints snap
and muscles ache, but it was a pleasant feeling, like that earned after a
productive workout. He padded to the open doorway, feeling the cool night
breeze wash over him. The scent of sex was conspicuous upon them both as he
sat, curling his legs beneath him. "Only if you don't have another to spare."  
  
Megan smiled, half her face glowing with the alabaster radiance provided by
the moon. She offered her pack of cigarettes and a silver Zippo. James took
one out and rang the lighter, inhaling smoke as the end of the cigarette
burned. It had been years, since shortly after meeting Angela, that he had
felt the satisfying tightness in his throat and the soothing rush of nicotine.  
  
"You're an animal, you know that?"  
  
James chuckled, blowing smoke. "Me? What about you?"  
  
Even with the pale light, the blush on Megan's face was noticeable. She dipped
her eyes, tapped ash off her cigarette. "Like I said, it's been a long time."  
  
He looked to her sideways, smiling with more satisfaction than he had felt in
years. "When I woke up, I thought you'd left," he said. He touched her naked
thigh. "I'm glad you didn't."  
  
Megan covered his hand with her own. "I feel comfortable with you," she said.  

_You shouldn't,_ James thought with dark abruptness, looking away. He pulled
on his cigarette, stared out across the placid waters of the lake.  
  
"You're thinking about her," Megan observed, reading his face.  
  
James sighed. "Sorry."  
  
She stretched out her legs, setting them upon his lap, while simultaneously
guiding his hand up her body to her right breast. "Don't be."  
  
James allowed himself to squeeze the firm mound, feeling a stiff nipple push
against his palm. But arousal was not so easily triggered, given his thoughts.
"I think I need to tell you something."  
  
Megan lifted his hand and kissed his fingers. "You don't want a relationship,"
she said in a soft, distant voice.  
  
He looked to her, brow furrowed. "Why do you--"  
  
She laughed sharply. "No one fucks like that unless they're in love, or they
think it's not gonna last."  
  
His face slowly softened. "Yeah."  
  
She smiled again, an almost sad smile. "It's okay," she said. "It really is. I
mean, you already told me you're only gonna be here for a few weeks. I'm not
an idiot, Jimmy. I knew what I was doing."  
  
He laughed suddenly, a faint, nostalgic sound. "You called me 'Jimmy.'"  
  
She grinned. "Is that okay?"  
  
He squeezed her hand. "Only my grandfather really called me that."  
  
Megan was silent a moment, smoking her cigarette and holding James' hand
between her breasts. "He was really important to you, wasn't he?"  
  
James nodded, inhaling through his cigarette. "My father wasn't the best in
the world," he said after expelling a thick cloud of smoke. "He wasn't very
nice to my mother, and not much better to me. I remember enduring nine months
of hell out of the year when I was growing up, looking forward to the summers
when I could come up here and go fishing with Gramps. He just had this way of
. . . making everything go away. All the pain, all the bullshit. When I was
here, the rest of the world just disappeared."  
  
Megan watched his face in profile. "So is the pain going away now?" she asked
at last.  
  
He turned his head and gave her a somber smile. "Some of it."  
  
She smiled back.  
  

*****

  
  
He had resisted the idea at first, but Megan was a difficult woman to refuse.
James was quickly discovering that she was a tenacious woman who brooked very
few refusals.  
  
"A movie?" he had asked, lamenting. "In town?"  
  
She had laughed. "You make it sound like being around other people is a bad
thing."  
  
"I just . . . I came up here to be alone."  
  
"Well," she said, straddling his lap that morning and gracing his lips with
hers. "In case you haven't noticed, you're not exactly alone right now."  
  
Resignedly, James gave in and allowed Megan to pick him up that afternoon in
her bra-top Jeep. Driving into town, James hid behind his sunglasses and hoped
that whatever minimal coverage his trial had received had not made its way to
this little community. He need not have worried, he realized, once he and
Megan laced their fingers together and strolled to the tiny theater in the
lakeside town. What few people were out barely noticed them.  
  
The movie they saw was showcased in a tiny venue, with barely twenty rows of
well-worn and moth-eaten seats facing a flickering screen. The only other
patrons in the theater were a small group of young men in baggy jeans and
oversized tee-shirts who occupied the front row. They did not notice as,
halfway through the movie, James and Megan abandoned casual kissing and
groping for more serious play.  
  
She breathed lustily into his mouth as she exposed his cock and stroked the
stiff member with a skilled hand, then lowered her head to lavish his
throbbing penis with her hungry lips and tongue. But after only a minute or so
of her skillful oral ministrations, Megan lifted her head and straddled him,
framing James' thighs with her own and lowering her steaming pussy onto his
length. They both moaned at the union, moans which were drowned out by the
cacophony of the film they no longer watched.  
  
Megan pushed up her loose top, revealing naked breasts which James quickly
attended to with his tongue. She hissed, riding up and down his cock, holding
his head close and growling with pleasure when he bit her nipples and slid his
fingers between the firm cheeks of her ass. Her first orgasm was heralded by a
series of muffled cries and held-back moans, as James' cock stabbed repeatedly
in her pussy, his finger probing just inside the entrance of her anus.  
  
"Come with me," she whispered, smothering James' face with kisses, pumping up
and down insistently. "Please, baby, come with me . . . ."  
  
James fell back in the theater chair, looking upon Megan as she leaned back,
uncaring to anyone who might observe them, bracing her hands upon his knees
and spreading her legs wide, sliding her clenching cunt up and down his cock.
She threw her head back in a silent wail as her orgasm tore through her, and
the visual effect was too much for James. He grunted and sighed with pleasure
when his cock erupted deep within Megan's womb, filling her with his seed.  
  
They recovered together, laughing softly and sharing affectionate kisses,
heedless to the wondering and jealous eyes of the four young men who filed out
of the theater once the show was over. None of them would ever be able to
remember what the movie they had paid for was about after the first hour.  
  

*****

  
  
For the first time in two weeks, James awoke truly alone. The absence of
Megan's warm body beside his was distressing at first, making James realize
just how accustomed he had become to her presence. At the least, however,
sleeping with Megan had apparently banished the nightmare.  
  
He rose, showered and shaved, then set a sliced bagel in the toaster while
sipping orange juice. Megan had left the afternoon before to visit her mother
in the city, leaving James with the promise of returning the following day.
James wanted to be ready for her when she showed. He found it ironic that, so
close now to end of his 'free time,' he was looking forward to enjoying more
of Megan's delights. Her explosive sexuality, he had discovered, was
addictive, especially so for a man living out the last days of his life.  
  
_If I'm gonna go, might as well go with a bang,_ he thought wryly as he spread
cream cheese across the toasted bagel.  
  
The knock at the door made him frown. It wasn't Megan, of that he was certain;
she never knocked anymore, and beside that, she almost never came through the
front door. Warily, James approached the door, seeing the distorted figure of
a man through the frosted glass. For a long moment, he paused, staring at the
blurry man on his doorstep. A sense of anxiety crept into James' mind.  
  
The man rapped his knuckles upon the door frame again.  
  
_Snap out of it_, James berated himself. _You still have a week._  
  
He reached for the handle and slowly opened the door. "Can I help you?" he
asked the skinny young man on the other side.  
  
The young man smiled broadly. He wore a white shirt, yellow tie, and was
extremely well-groomed. "I might ask you the same thing, sir," he responded
with an obvious Texas twang. "Have you accepted the Lord Jehovah into your
life?"  
  
James groaned inwardly, his shoulders slumping. _Now, how ironic is this?_ "Um
. . . yes I have, thank you," he said in a way that was politely dismissive.
He started to close the door. "Thanks for your concern."  
  
"But, have you _really_?"  
  
The tone in the young man's voice sounded subtly ominous to James, making him
pause. He frowned upon the smiling face before him, his eyes narrowing.
"What?"  
  
"There are many who say we're living in the End Times," the missionary
continued, gesturing with a small bible in his hand. "And if the end is coming
soon, don't you want to know that salvation awaits you?"  
  
James swallowed dryly, his mind whirling with thoughts. _This can't be . . .
no, it can't. I still have another week!_  
  
"I only ask for a few minutes of your time, sir," the missionary said. "Now,
what are a few mere minutes when compared to the eternity of your soul?"  
  
James looked away from the young man, feeling somewhat dizzy. "I think you
should go," he muttered.  
  
The young man leaned in slightly. "Pardon me?"  
  
"Go!" yelled James, suddenly glaring at his visitor. "Get the hell outta
here!"  
  
The man shuffled back, a stunned expression on his face. "O-of course, sir,"
he stammered. "I'm sorry for troubling you."  
  
James closed the door quickly, watching through the frosted glass as the
figure on the other side retreated. He turned both locks and stepped back,
conscious of the dryness in his throat and the slick feel of his palms. It
took him a few moments to calm himself.  
  
_Get a grip, James. That wasn't what you thought it was. It was just a kid,
just a damn holy roller looking to save another soul. Hell, you probably
should'a talked to him. Death Row inmates always get to see a priest before
they go to the chamber, right?_  
  
Suspicion crept back into his mind. _Yeah, that's right. They do . . . ._  
  

*****

  
  
"What's wrong, Jimmy?"  
  
He sat up in bed, dragging his hands down his face for a moment. The aroma of
Megan's sex filled his senses; her flavor was still rich upon his lips. But
even her sweet, seductive charms could not erase the nagging fear that had
been prompted by James' earlier visitor.  
  
"I just, um . . . I've got something on my mind," he grumbled, looking out
through the French doors at nothing in particular.  
  
Megan eased up, the blush from her recent orgasm still glowing on her chest
and neck. She ran her hand across James' back. "Wanna talk about it?"  
  
James sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I wish I could."  
  
She frowned, moving around on the bed until she faced him. Her face was full
of concern. "Thinking about your wife?"  
  
He studied her face for a moment. _God, she's gorgeous_, he thought yet again.
_And I have to meet her now, when I'm so close to my own death._ "I'm thinking
about a lot of things," he said.  
  
Her fingers touched his lips and chin. "I know you are. I can tell. Just don't
let it ruin your life, okay?"  
  
He laughed rudely under his breath. "It's already ruined."  
  
"Oh, Jimmy, don't say that."  
  
He took a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before looking
back to her. "You know, you're the only good thing that's happened to me since
. . . well, since."  
  
Megan smiled sweetly. "I'm glad. You've been pretty good for me, too."  
  
He took her hand, squeezing gently. "Glad to know I can still do some things
right."  
  
She bit her lip sexily. "Oh, you definitely do, baby," she cooed, then
suddenly rolled forward, pushing James onto his back. She straddled his legs
and stared down into his eyes. "Now it's my turn."  
  
She slid down his body until her face was hovering above his flaccid penis.
Her hands roamed across his abdomen and gathered the soft member, lifting it
toward her lips. She kissed the tip of his cock while staring into his eyes.
"I dare you not to get hard," she challenged, then slipped her tongue out,
dragging it wetly along the underside of his shaft.  
  
James sighed, automatically undulating his hips. He felt the moist heat of
Megan's mouth as it engulfed him, bathing his cock in sublime pleasure.
Despite the torrent of fears and worries plaguing his mind, his cock began to
stiffen, growing against Megan's massaging tongue. And as she pleasured him,
the fears and worries slowly ebbed away.  
  
"I don't even wanna try," he mumbled, settling his hands to her head.  
  

*****

  
  
She brought up the topic later that evening, as they sat naked on the small
patio, dipping spoons into a pint of Rocky Road. The air was cool, but not yet
cold enough to necessitate clothing. James found he enjoyed the thrill of
being naked outdoors with Megan.  
  
"You know, when I caught Mike with that bimbo," she said after sucking her
spoon clean. "I wanted to kill them both. I really did."  
  
James swallowed his mouthful, tilting his head to observe Megan's face in
profile. "I know what you mean."  
  
"I bet," she said, apparently oblivious to the look James was giving her. She
dug into the pint once again. "It's funny; you hear all about shit like that
in the news, and you think, 'man, how stupid can they be? He cheated on you!
Get over it!' But then . . . then it happens to you."  
  
James nodded, regarding his spoon as if it was an alien object. "Yeah. It
changes everything."  
  
"Did you ever think like that?" she asked, turning her head toward him.  
  
He laughed ruefully. "As a matter of fact, I did."  
  
She sucked on her spoon in a way that, under any other circumstance, would
have instigated an erection from James. "Ever wonder what would have happened
if you acted on it?"  
  
He ground his teeth. "All the time."  
  
Megan lowered her spoon and settled a hand on his leg. "Baby, I'm sorry. You
don't really wanna talk about this, do you?"  
  
James let out a heavy breath. "Maybe I need to," he said. "I mean, except for
one stupid psychologist, I haven't really talked to anyone about this."  
  
She gazed into his eyes, her own full of compassion. "Only if you want to."  
  
James laced his fingers together, balancing his elbows upon his knees. "It
went on for about two years before I finally wised up," he said, then laughed
ruefully. "All the signs were there; I just didn't want to see them. _Other_
people had unfaithful wives. Not me. No, not James Mailer."  
  
"Two years?" Megan asked, brow furrowed.  
  
He sighed heavily. "Yeah, I know. How could I be that blind, right? But . . .
we had a good life, all things considered. Nice house, modern furniture, two
cars, great careers . . . if I accepted the fact that my wife was unfaithful,
then all that would go to hell. I was such an idiot."  
  
Megan stroked his leg reassuringly. "You weren't an idiot," she insisted. "You
were comfortable. It's hard to let go after you've spent so much time making a
good life for yourself."  
  
James nodded. "Yeah," he said, his features darkening. "It was the perfect
life. Or, at least, it looked that way to all our friends. Well, the ones who
didn't already know about Angie's infidelity, anyway."  
  
"They knew?"  
  
"Some did," James admitted. "They tried to give me little hints sometimes.
'Angie working late again?' 'Oh, Angie's out of town? Never thought she'd have
to travel so much with her job.' I guess I wanted to stay blissfully ignorant.
Didn't want to give up the nice house, after all. It was sad, really; the
facade of a good life was more important than the life itself."  
  
"So what changed?"  
  
James reached down between his legs, gathering a handful of pebbles. He tossed
them out toward the lake as he spoke. "A little bundle of joy named Jasmine,"
he said at last. His lip twitched. "Except, she wasn't mine."  
  
Megan caught her breath. "Jesus."  
  
He laughed curtly. "Yeah. Funny; I had my suspicions about that, too, but I
didn't want to believe it. Not until she had to go back to the hospital, just
a few months after she was born. They needed blood tests from both Angie and
I. That's when reality really smacked me in the face. There was no way I was
Jasmine's father."  
  
Megan's features contorted with emotion. "Oh, God, James--"  
  
"That's when I snapped," he continued, interrupting Megan, his voice hard-
edged. "I felt like such a fool. Worse, even, since I already knew the truth
but I had decided to ignore it."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
James sighed, hurling the last of the pebbles into the lake. "She moved out,"
he said simply, his eyes glaring upon the still waters. "No good-bye, nothing.
Took Jazzy and shacked up with her lover. Didn't even try to explain or
apologize. A couple weeks later, I got the divorce papers. That's when it hit
me: I had married a manipulative, selfish _bitch_."  
  
He scooped up another handful of pebbles, and dropped them one by one into his
other hand as he continued: "There was this sporting goods store I always went
to. I guess I liked to think I was more like my grandfather than I really was.
Never really went hunting or fishing, but I liked the idea of it. I used to
watch that 'Man Vs. Wild' series every chance I got."  
  
Megan managed a smile, but said nothing, waiting for James to go on.  
  
James flicked a pebble out toward the lake, watching it bounce upon the ground
before plunking into the water. "The day after I got the papers, I went to
that store and picked up the biggest, nastiest, sharpest hunting knife they
had. It was a real piece of work, with a ten-inch blade and jagged teeth on
the back . . . ."  
  
He finally looked to Megan, seeing the fearful expression on her face. His own
softened. "I'm scaring you," he said.  
  
"A little," she admitted, her voice faint.  
  
He settled his hand upon hers tentatively, as if afraid she would pull back.
But she did not. "I'm not a bad person," James said.  
  
"I know you're not."  
  
He took a deep breath. "I just . . . everyone has a breaking point, you know?
That point when you stop thinking like a rational human being."  
  
"I know."  
  
His eyes sought hers. "I'd never hurt you."  
  
Her face remained blank for a long moment as she studied him. "I've never told
anyone this," she said at last. "Ted and I lived together. We had an apartment
in a kind of rough neighborhood; it was cheap. Anyway, he kept a gun in the
closet. After I found out about his second affair, I . . . ." She lowered her
eyes, then sat up and wrapped her arms around her legs. She stared at nothing
in particular as she continued.  
  
"I remember pointing the gun at him while he slept," she said, her voice
haunting. "I mean, I was _right there_, with the barrel about an inch from his
temple. We'd been drinking that night, and he was passed out . . . I could
have put the gun in his hand and made him pull the trigger. It would have been
ruled a suicide, and I would've gotten away with it."  
  
"But you didn't," James said.  
  
She sighed heavily. "No. I didn't. But the next day, I threw all his shit out
the window and texted all our friends, telling them what an asshole he was.
Still, I really wanted to kill him. If I'd been just a little more drunk, I
probably would have."  
  
Hesitantly, James moved closer to her, until his side pressed against hers.
His arm slipped around her slender shoulders. "I guess we have something in
common," he remarked.  
  
Megan laughed softly. Her eyes glittered as they looked up into his face.
"Yeah. Guess so."  
  

*****

  
  
Whatever anxiety James might have felt weeks before about venturing out into
the world was absent when he and Megan stepped into the fifties-style diner a
few days later. The closer the end of his 'safe period' loomed, the more
reckless and flippant James had become. On the one hand, he understood that
his death sentence would be carried out soon, possibly within just another
couple of days. On the other, he no longer cared. He was happy to spend the
last days of his life with such a beautiful vixen as Megan. His mind had
fallen into a philosophical mode which he had never before enjoyed.  
  
They took seats at the soda bar, easing onto buffed red velour stools before
the salt-and-pepper colored Formica bar top. The young man draped in a white
apron and matching hat took their order for two chocolate malts while
surreptitiously admiring Megan's body. James wasn't bothered by the fact that
Megan seemed to garner attention wherever they went; in fact, the reality that
such a beautiful woman as Megan was hanging off his arm and no other's fueled
his ego.  
  
Once they had their drinks, however, James happened to notice a young man
sitting alone in a booth against the window of the diner, picking at chili-
cheese fries while holding open a well-worn bible with his left hand. The
innocent, unassuming demeanor that radiated off him was all at once suspicious
and enviable to James.  

"Can you give me a sec?" he asked Megan.  
  
Her brow wrinkled. "Sure."  
  
James slipped from his bar stool and approached the missionary. As if he had
been invited, he slid into the booth across from the younger man.  
  
The missionary glanced up, his expression blank. He carefully dabbed his lips
with a napkin, then set it aside. "Can I help you?"  
  
James smirked. "That's how our last conversation started."  
  
The young man barely flinched. "Yes. I remember."  
  
"Of course you do."  
  
The missionary took a breath and sighed. "Did you sit down here because you
wanted to talk about the Lord's place in your life?" he asked. "Or do you want
to be angry with me again?"  
  
James' gaze flickered down. Every instinct he possessed told him the young man
before him was nothing other than what he appeared to be. But suspicion was a
compelling master. "It's been a difficult time for me," he said at last
without raising his eyes.  
  
"The Lord God understands that times can be trying, especially now. But his
love and guidance can overcome any difficulty."  
  
James lifted his head. "What about salvation?"  
  
The missionary nodded with unlikely sageness. "Of course."  
  
"No matter what I've done, who I may have hurt?"  
  
"Of course," the missionary repeated.  
  
James laughed sarcastically. "You make it sound so easy," he said.  
  
The young man cocked his head with a slight frown. "Why shouldn't it be? God
loves all his children, no matter their indiscretions. He forgave Saul, who
was a murderer, after all."  
  
James' eyes became hard for a moment. "But Saul was an Apostle," he remarked.
"I'm just a man."  
  
"So was Saul, before he became an Apostle." The missionary's eyes bore into
James' own, even as the younger man smiled amiably. "No one is without hope
for redemption."  
  
James rubbed his hands together, shifting uncomfortably in the padded booth.
"I've, uh, never really talked to a priest before."  
  
The friendly smile didn't waver on the missionary's face. "I'm not ordained,
sir. I can only make others aware of the flock, not help guide it."  
  
James smiled crookedly. "Right," he said. "You take your orders."  
  
The missionary thought for a moment, regarding James with assessing eyes. "If
you like, you can speak with my minister," he offered. "He will be here on
Monday."  
  
James quietly considered the young man's offer. _Monday . . . the day after my
'safe period' is over. How convenient._ He swallowed dryly. "Sure," he said at
last, his voice dry and scratchy.  
  
The missionary smiled genuinely. "I'll be looking forward to it, Mr. . . ."  
  
"Mailer." James said nothing more as he eased from the booth. He felt no
compulsion to respond to the missionary's excitement, which, to James, was
more than a little morbid. He shuffled his feet back to the counter of the
soda fountain, rejoining Megan. A confused and curious smile decorated her
sun-kissed face.  
  
"What was that all about?" she asked. "You finding religion or something?"  
  
James took up his malt and sipped hungrily, relishing the feel of the cold,
sweet liquid in his throat. "I just, um . . . he stopped by the cabin a few
days ago, and I wasn't exactly nice to him."  
  
Megan leaned close, as if to share a secret. "He's a Jehovah's Witness," she
said under her breath. "Those guys are creepy."  
  
James shrugged. "Doesn't mean they can't have something interesting to say."  
  
Megan leaned back, shaking her head in wonder. "Just when I think I got you
figured out, you surprise me, James."  
  
He chuckled, the tension draining away. He gazed upon Megan with a look that
was borderline lecherous.  
  
"What are you thinking?" she asked in a playfully guarded way.  
  
James leaned closer and spoke in a voice meant only for her. "I'm thinking . .
. that I'd really love to take you home and fuck you."  
  
Megan's eyes smoldered and she nibbled her lip. Holding his gaze, she sucked
seductively on her straw, finally releasing it with a lingering flick of her
tongue. She smiled, slowly, arousal welling up within her. "Okay," she
whispered.  
  

*****

  
  
She panted beneath him, clawing the sheets with her short-nailed fingers,
sweaty face contorted with pleasure as James pounded into her from behind,
straddling her narrow hips. Megan's thighs quivered as she held them tightly
together, pushing her hips up off the mattress to meet the deep thrusts of
James' cock. Their bodies glistened wetly in the hot, humid air; the
oscillating fans that cast a strong breeze across them could not diminish the
heat generated by their bodies.  
  
"Oh . . . God!" Megan grunted, just before her body tightened with yet another
explosive orgasm. She wailed loudly, shoving up hard against James' hips,
barely aware of the pulsing of his stiff shaft within her spasmodic tunnel.
The liquid rush that poured into her womb only heightened her ecstasy.  
  
James trembled over Megan's lithe body, relishing the release of his long-held
passion. His cock burned within the sucking depths of Megan's pussy, spitting
every drop of fluid he had to give. It felt as if his soul was being poured
forth to join hers. He finally buried himself to the hilt within her and
moaned, his last vestiges of strength devoted entirely to keeping his body
from falling atop hers. Air escaped his lips amid shuddering breaths as he
fought to keep his senses.  
  
"Mmm, baby," his lover murmured, a thoroughly satisfied smile stretching
across her deeply flushed face. Sticky, damp hair lay across Megan's cheek,
strands fluttering as she exhaled heavy breaths. "Oh my God . . . ."  
  
James shook with one last aftershock, then slipped out of her and rolled onto
his back with a grunt. Stars glittered in his field of vision as he stared up
at the ceiling. The sweet aroma of sweat and sex filled the small cabin,
sticking to them both. He gulped for air, chest rising and falling deeply  
  
Megan propped herself up on her elbows and regarded him with a dreamy smile.
"You okay, Jimmy?"  
  
He licked dry lips as his hands wandered aimlessly across his torso. "I think
. . . I'm gonna have . . . a heart attack."  
  
Megan giggled, biting the tip of her tongue. She snuggled close and kissed his
cheek. "Not the worst way to go, huh?"  
  
Mind inundated with euphoria, James laughed. "God, that'd be the best way."  
  
She nuzzled his ear with her nose. "Baby," she whispered.  
  
He managed to slip one arm beneath her slick body and hug her close. "Yeah?"  
  
Megan nipped at his ear lobe. "You're the best fuck I've ever had."  
  
He laughed again, then smoothed her hair back and kissed Megan's tender lips.
As their pulses returned to normal, James stared into her eyes. "I think I'm
in love with you," he said.  
  
Megan's smile faltered, then vanished completely as she pushed up, staring
down upon him. James wasn't sure if it was fear or alarm or something else
that shone in her face. He immediately thought to retract what he had said,
but Megan spoke before he could.  
  
"No, you aren't," she said with quick words, looking away.  
  
"Megan, I'm sorry. I-I don't know why I said--"  
  
"You're leaving," she interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest and
folding her legs together as she sat on the mattress.  
  
James nodded dejectedly. "Yeah."  
  
Silence descended upon them like a cloak. Megan's hair stirred with each pass
of the fans, dancing across her naked chest and arms. Her eyes wandered across
the walls.  
  
"I told myself I wasn't gonna do this," she said at last, her voice distant.
She looked to him with a pained face. "I didn't wanna get too close."  
  
He touched her arm tentatively. "I know. I didn't, either."  
  
Her breasts rose and fell slowly. "I really wish I'd met you under different
circumstances, James."  
  
Pressure welled behind his eyes. He felt a single tear seep out and roll down
his cheek. "So do I."  
  
Emotion washed over Megan's features. She uncurled her body and lay atop him,
touching James' face, gazing into his heart. "It's not fair."  
  
His trembling fingers touched her soft pink lips. "I want to stay."  
  
Megan sniffled, then managed a smile before pressing her lips to his in a
deep, soulful kiss.  
  

*****

  
  
The morning sun crept slowly up from the horizon that Monday morning, chasing
away the indigo of night and rousing the birds in their nests. James leaned
against the frame of the open French doors, braving the slowly-retreating
chill of the vanishing night as he watched the light fall upon the lake. He
blew smoke in the air, flicked ash of his cigarette. The sense of peace that
permeated his mind was strange, yet welcome.  
  
_This is the last day of my life,_ he thought with a rueful smile.  
  
He took a last drag off the cigarette, then flicked it out toward the water.
It bounced once upon the pebbly ground, then hissed quietly as it was snuffed.  
  
_Guess it could be worse. I could be looking forward to fifteen years of
appeals and legal double-talk, none of which would do anything more than delay
the inevitable. It really is better this way. At least I got to live, really
and truly, before I died._  
  
"Jimmy?"  
  
He half-turned his head and smiled at the sound of Megan's sleepy voice.
"'Morning."  
  
The stirring of sheets and the faint creaking of mattress springs told him
Megan was getting up. "Why are you awake so early?"  
  
James rolled his shoulders, then smiled at the warmth of the sun as it bathed
his face. "I always wanted to watch the sunrise," he said.  
  
Dainty feet padded upon bare wooden boards behind him. Warm hands slid around
his torso before Megan's body pressed against him from behind. He heard, then
felt, her sigh against the back of his shoulder. She kissed the skin there.
"You really are a romantic."  
  
James chuckled. "Sometimes. Depends on the company."  
  
Megan stepped around before him, as casually nude as he was and smiling as
well, despite the lingering heaviness of her eyes. "I'll take that as a
compliment," she said.  
  
He brushed the backs of his fingers against her soft cheek. "It is."  
  
She gave him a quick peck on the lips. "How about some breakfast?"  
  
James chuckled. "You don't have to stay awake," he said. "To be honest, I was
about to come back to bed."  
  
Megan grinned. "Then I can bring you breakfast in bed," she said bubbly. "I've
never done that."  
  
He laughed wonderingly after her as Megan bounced on her feet to the kitchen.
She flashed him a ready smile, dazzling teeth and glittering eyes, before
busying herself with the mundanity of breakfast. James turned away from the
doorway and stepped to the bed, slipping under the covers. He watched Megan's
inscrutable face as she scrambled eggs and slipped a couple pieces of bread in
the toaster. Occasionally, her eyes would flash up to him, but only briefly,
accompanied by a small smile.  
  
Finally, Megan approached the bed carrying a wicker tray laden with scrambled
eggs, toast, bacon, and a glass of orange juice. She tittered and giggled as
she sat it upon James' lap, then curled up beside him on the bed.  
  
James took up knife and fork, then paused. A sad smile crossed his face. "You
know, this is better than any filet mignon in a five-star restaurant."  
  
Megan smiled sexily, scratching lightly upon his chest. "Eat up, baby. You're
gonna need your strength."  
  
James said nothing as he smiled. He dug into the feast before him, savoring
every bite, gulping from the glass of orange juice now and then. Megan watched
him with a small smile upon her face, until only crumbs lay upon the plate and
only pulp sat in the bottom of the glass.  
  
He emitted a small belch, covering his mouth, and smiled sheepishly upon
Megan. "Sorry."  
  
She smiled adoringly. "It's okay. I guess that means I'm a good cook."  
  
"You're the best, baby," he said, then wiped his mouth with a napkin. He
frowned. "What about your breakfast?"  
  
Megan bit her lip sultrily and lifted the tray, setting it at the end of the
bed. She pulled down the covers, exposing him, then slid her hand up his thigh
toward his quickly-stiffening cock. "Yeah," she whispered sexily, stroking him
slowly. She lowered her head a moment, licking away glistening bubbles of
fluid as they seeped from his cock. "What about it?"  
  
James chuckled, then stretched out, getting comfortable as Megan kissed and
licked all around his groin. "Guess it's my turn to serve you, huh?"  
  
"Uh-huh . . . ."  
  

*****

  
  
Megan answered the door after the polite yet insistent knock, finding two men
upon the landing before her. One was the young man she had seen in the diner;
the other was older, on the edge of being considered elderly, clad in a short-
sleeved blue shirt with a yellow tie. Both men smiled in an overly friendly
way.  
  
"Good morning, young lady," the older man said. "My name is Avery. Is Mr.
Mailer available?"  
  
Megan frowned, momentarily considering closing the door. The older man's use
of James' formal name made her reconsider, and she looked back over her
shoulder to where James sat just outside the French doors. "Jimmy?"  
  
He looked up, then, noticing the two men in the doorway, pushed himself to his
feet. For a moment, the color drained from his face. He stared, his features
blank and unreadable. Anxiety made his heart palpitate, but only briefly,
before a sense of resigned calm washed through him.  
  
_I guess it's time_, he thought. He approached the door, stopping a few paces
from the men, and addressed Megan, forcing out his most disarming smile. "It's
okay," he said. "I asked them to come."  
  
Megan nodded, stepping back to allow the men to enter. The older man regarded
James with a grandfatherly look. "I am glad you have decided to accept
salvation," he said.  
  
James' difficult smile remained, even as he ground his teeth. "Can you give me
a moment?"  
  
"Of course," the minister said with all the patience of Job.  
  
With a polite nod to his guests, James took hold of Megan's arm and led her
outside.  
  
"What's going on, Jimmy?" she asked as he quietly closed the door.  
  
He smiled fondly upon her. "It's nothing," he said. "I just . . . look, I'm
not all that religious, but sometimes . . . you know. I figure it couldn't
hurt to talk to someone."  
  
Megan screwed up her face. "I guess," she agreed reluctantly. "You, uh, want
me to go?"  
  
James shrugged and tried a casual laugh. "Maybe, um, you could grab some beer
or something," he suggested. "This probably won't last long." A feeling of
dread coursed through his mind as he considered his own words.  
  
"Okay, sure," Megan said with a roll of her shoulders, apparently oblivious to
the growing anxiety James felt. She lifted up to give him a quick kiss, and
was somewhat startled when he kissed back with passionate meaning and
finality.  
  
For a long moment, James held her against him, enjoying the warmth and feel of
her body, the sound of her breath as she panted softly in his ear. "I love
you, Megan," he whispered.  
  
She stepped back, face flushed and chest swelling as she breathed in. She
brushed a stray strand of sun-kissed hair behind her ear and met his gaze. She
seemed nervous, scared, perhaps even perturbed. "Uh . . . I guess I'll get
that beer," she said awkwardly, then turned and began walking away, down
toward the road which lead toward town.  
  
James watched her go, berating himself for not having said something more
poignant. _Guess it doesn't really matter,_ he thought grimly. _Last words are
never as eloquent as you want them to be._  
  
He inhaled deeply, then let it out before turning to the door. _Okay, let's
get this over with . . . ._  
  

*****

  
  
Megan's pace slowed as she returned along the road, stepping onto the gravel
driveway of the small cabin. She watched the minister and the young missionary
get into their dark blue sedan, thinking how much it looked like the typical
government car always seen in movies. For a long moment, she stood motionless,
watching the car back out and turn around, the weight of the six-pack hanging
in the bag off her hand digging into her fingers.  
  
The sedan's tires crunched on the gravel as it approached, and the car slowed
briefly. Both the older man and the missionary regarded Megan with sad and –
to her – apprehensive looks. But then the car was gone, turning onto the road
and disappearing beyond the trees.  
  
Her heart fluttering, Megan jogged to the door of James' cabin, pushing the
door open. "James?" she called.  
  
Silence was the only response.  
  
_Oh, no, _she thought dreadfully. "Jimmy?" she called again, closing the door
and stepping into the cabin.  
  
"Out here." His voice came from beyond the French doors.  
  
Megan sighed with relief and stepped to the doors. James sat off to the side,
holding a cigarette. His face wore both concern, wonder, and relief. His gaze
drifted out across the languid water of the lake.  
  
"Are you okay?" Megan asked, sitting down tentatively beside him.  
  
He chuckled softly. "Yeah, I think so," he said. "It wasn't a bad talk. I told
them everything, and . . . you know what?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"He forgave me," James said, his voice caring a tone of quiet astonishment. He
smiled upon Megan. "He actually _forgave_ me."  
  
Megan blinked once, her eyes round and wide. "Is that what you were looking
for?"  
  
James smiled. "I think so."  
  
She smiled slowly, then touched his face. "God, you actually had me worried,"
she said. "The way you were acting . . . it was like I was never gonna see you
again or something."  
  
He leaned in for a little kiss. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."  
  
Her face softened. "It's okay," she whispered, then grinned. "Want a beer?"  
  
James chuckled. "Sure."  
  
A quick kiss, then she hopped up. "Be right back."  
  
James returned his attention to the lake as Megan retreated to the
kitchenette. He smoked his cigarette in silent musing, watching a sailboat
floating lazily on the water. He felt calm, almost relieved in an unusual way.
Whatever his fate, James accepted it without reservation, without fear.  
  
He heard Megan as she returned, smiled when she sat beside him once more.
Silently, she handed him one of two open beers. They clinked once, then
sipped.  
  
"You're different," she commented after a moment.  
  
He smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I guess I am," he admitted. "I'm happy. Strange
as that sounds, I'm happy."  
  
"Why would that sound strange?"  
  
James sipped from the bottle again, then rolled it between his fingers. "I
didn't tell you everything about what happened," he said. "I was afraid to, to
be honest."  
  
Megan contemplated her own beer. "I figured that," she said. "Guess that's why
you wanted to talk to a priest, huh?"  
  
James nodded. His smile wouldn't waver, no matter the turbulence in his heart.
He watched the reflection of the sun as it rippled across the surface of the
lake. "You know, when I came out here, I really didn't want to be around
anyone," he said. "I just wanted to be alone, feel sorry for myself for a
while in the one place where I was always safe."  
  
"Do you?" she asked. "Feel safe, I mean."  
  
His eyes were adoring and grateful as he looked upon her. "Yeah, I do. More
than that, really. I think, for the first time ever, I'm truly content. And at
peace with myself." he touched her leg, massaging the muscles above Megan's
knee. "You're a big part of that."  
  
She smiled back, eyes glistening. "I'm glad I could make you happy," she
whispered emotionally.  
  
His hand moved to hers, gripping it. "Can I ask you something?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
He took a breath, watching the way their fingers intertwined. Megan, he
realized, was so much more responsive than his wife had ever been. "If I
wasn't going away," he said. "Do you think that, maybe . . . maybe you and I
could--"  
  
"Oh, crap," she interrupted with a dejected huff, looking to her watch. "I got
you something else, and I forgot all about it. I left it in the kitchen. Be
right back, baby."  
  
James laughed under his breath as Megan rose swiftly to her feet beside him.
"I'll be here," he said.  

Megan smiled down upon him, the smile fading swiftly, replaced by emotion.
Eyes welling with tears and nostrils flaring, she stepped into the cabin,
checking her watch. She took a few steps, watching the blinking numbers as
they counted the seconds. When she finally heard the heavy sound outside, she
shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut to stem the flow of tears.  
  
Finding her purse, Megan took out some tissue and wiped her eyes and nose. She
sniffled back tears, composed herself, then took up the cell phone. Walking
out to the back patio of the cabin, she gazed upon James as he lay upon his
side, unmoving. The bottle of beer was still clutched in his hand, turned
sideways and spilling the remainder of its doctored contents onto the ground.
He almost looked as if he had suddenly fallen asleep, had Megan not known
better.  
  
She retreated back inside the cabin and pressed the speed-dial function on her
phone, then pressed it to her ear. She forced herself to push away emotion as
she listened to the buzzing on the other end before it was finally answered.  
  
"This is Agent Ritter," she said in a businesslike tone. "I'd like to speak
with AD Kretski, please."  
  

*****

  
  
After weeks of wearing boy shorts and tight tops, the skirt suit felt
cumbersome upon her body. Megan shifted uncomfortably in the chair as she
waited for the Assistant Director in his office. It had been less than a week
since she left Texas, yet, strangely enough, she missed the humidity. She had
gotten sued to the stickiness of the air, the way the heat had soaked in, then
oozed out in an almost sexual way. Coming back to Quantico was like stepping
into the sterile environment of an impersonal laboratory.  
  
AD Kretski emerged through the wood-paneled door with the briefest of glances
to her, then settled into his leather chair behind the desk. He set a file
before him upon the desk, perused it for a few minutes as Megan waited.
Finally, he looked up, observing her through his wire-framed glasses.  
  
"Excellent work," he remarked. "The Behavioral Sciences division will be
interested to hear your full report."  
  
Megan dipped her eyes. "Thank you."  
  
Kretski closed the file and laced his hands together atop it. "Considering
that this was your first field assignment," he said. "I'm even more impressed.
But I'm also concerned. You obviously became very close with Mr. Mailer."  
  
Megan barked out a rude laugh before she could stop herself, then cleared her
throat and quieted again. "Yes, I did. I felt it was necessary, however, to
learn all I could about his life, based on public documents and court
transcripts. Insinuating myself into his life was the only way to really learn
why an ordinary man would do what he did. I admit that I . . . developed an
attachment to him. But don't worry, sir; I have a standing appointment with a
therapist for the next six weeks."  
  
Kretski's eyes narrowed slightly. "Good. I need my agents in top mental, as
well as physical, shape."  
  
She nodded emphatically. "I'll be fine."  
  
Kretski pursed his lips in thought. "You know, I had my reservations about the
FBI overseeing the Last Wish program. One more case load we didn't need, I
thought. But, given your report, the benefits to Behavioral Sciences could be
tremendous."  
  
Megan nodded. "I thought so, too, sir."  
  
The Asisstant Director leaned back in his chair, spreading his fingers across
the leather top of the desk before him. "Pending review, you should be
restored to field status within a few weeks," he announced. "Anything you'd
care to add?"  
  
Megan thought a moment. "May I be candid, sir?"  
  
He nodded. "Of course."  
  
She straightened for a moment in her seat. "I would like to be removed from
future consideration in the Last Wish program."  
  
Kretski frowned. "Your reason?"  
  
Megan took a breath, then let it out slowly. "To be honest, sir, I don't know
how many souls I can help save before I lose my own."  
  
_-finis-_




End file.

