Chapter 11
"SPECIAL DELIVERY?"
"That's right, Miss," said the postman, easily handing her the package.
"Thank you, very much," said Kaye.
She-took the small package and returned to her room, staring curiously at it.
It bore a local postmark, and even without opening it, she knew what it contained.
She went to a suitcase in a corner, and pulled out a small bottle of whiskey. It was against dorm regulations, of course, but most of the girls had little caches of alcohol stored about their rooms. She got a glass from the sink, returned the bottle, and poured herself a stiff shot, swallowing it with a single gulp. She repeated the process twice more, and then opened the package.
She winced when she saw the photographs, and fought back a wave of nausea which engulfed her.
There were an even three dozen of them, all blown up to eight by eleven size.
There was one of Tim astride her. And another of her masturbating herself. And still another of Tim kissing her naked breasts while she shrieked in ecstasy. There were shots of her from every conceivable angle, and Tim was in almost everyone of them.
She stared dully at them for a long time. Then, rising, she walked over to her metal wastebasket, dumped them in, and set a match to them, watching blankly as they burst into flame.
She returned to the package. She had known there would be photos, and she had known too, that there would be a letter. She unfolded it and read it now:
"Dear Kaye:
I sincerely hope and trust that you enjoy the fruits of my wife's newest hobby. I have no doubt but that you have already destroyed them, which, while it constitutes a tragic lack of artistic taste, is not an incontrovertible crime. You see, on the assumption that you would react with your heart rather than your head, I have taken the precaution of preserving the negatives. If you ever want another set of prints, just ask.
Oh, by the way, in order to test out the efficacy of our dark room equipment, I took the liberty of making two more complete sets of the prints. I personally feel that they are quite up to your rigid artistic standards, yet I can only judge composition, not character. Therefore, I believe I shall send the two sets to those people who can best determine whether your true personality came through: your parents-and Joel Hankins, whom I understand is in surgery even as I place pen to paper.
Needless to say, the Trustees and faculty might tend to frown upon the fact that I also do some modeling on the side, and so I have also taken the liberty of changing a few of my facial features in all prints except those I sent you. (Incidentally, just in case you didn't destroy them, I should explain that I neglected to put any fixer on them, and, alas, I fear the image will fade completely within thirty minutes after being exposed to any light whatsoever).
Now, it is just vaguely conceivable to me that you may have signed an exclusive modeling contract with some other photographer. However, have no fears on that count. Not only weren't you paid for this job, but I shan't be making a single cent profit myself. In fact, if you are still on campus forty-eight hours, I shall happily act as your public relations manager by giving away literally thousands of these photographs at absolutely no cost whatsoever.
Sincerely, Timothy L. Corwith"
"Hello, Joel."
"Oh, hi, Frank," The homely little face lit up in a wide smile of welcome.
"How are you feeling today?"
"Pretty good. They'll be letting me out the day after tomorrow, though they could have done it the day after I got here as far as I'm concerned."
"Why didn't they? When you phoned and told me what your medical fees were, I thought you were calling from your apartment."
"I was just about to walk out of here with a clean bill of health, or so they tell me."
"What happened?"
"Oh, I had a dizzy spell riding down in the elevator. Fainted or something. When I woke up I was back here again."
"Did they tell you what it was?"
"No. Just gave me a lot of scientific mumbo jumbo. Amazing. Doctors and lawyers both throw Latin around like it was going out of style, and yet neither of us can understand a single term the other guy is using."
"How are you fixed for money?" asked Frank. "Got enough, or do you need some more?"
"Money? That reminds me...." He rolled over to the edge of the bed and took an envelope from his nightstand. "Here."
"What is it?"
"The money you sent me. I didn't need any of it. I'm insured."
Frank pushed it back into Joel's hand. "Take it anyway. It'll make me feel a lot better."
"Why don't you take it and blow Mona to a mink coat or something?"
"Please."
"All right," sighed the youth, placing it back on the nightstand. "But I warn you: I'll probably blow it all in a bar and wind up getting my teeth knocked out again." He laughed, displaying a row of shiny new teeth. "It'll be easier for the next guy. These even fall out when I'm eating."
"Listen, Joel," said Frank. "As soon as you get out, I want you to give me a call."
"Sure," answered Joel. "I'm really not mad at you, you know. I'd probably have done the same thing."
"Well, I'm mad at me, and that's enough," said Frank, rising to leave. "Don't forget to call."
"I won't," said Joel.
Frank walked down the corridor. He was waiting for the elevator to take him back to the ground floor when a middle-aged man walked up to him.
"Mr. Durham?"
"Yes."
"My name Is Binder. I'm on the staff here."
"Pleased to meet you," said Frank, extending his hand.
"I wonder if I might have a moment of your time," he said, accepting the proffered hand.
"Sure. Anything you say."
"Fine. Will you come with me?"
Frank followed him around a turn in the corridor, coming at last to a small, neat, tastefully furnished office.
"Have a seat, please," said Binder. Frank did so.
"I understand that you're a close friend of Joel Hankins. Is that correct?"
"Yes, I guess you might say so."
"Have you ever noticed anything unusual about him?"
"Unusual in what way?" asked Frank. "Oh, dizzy spells, fainting, severe headaches, that sort of thing."
"No, I can't say that I have. Why?"
"Because Joel Hankins has a brain tumor."
"You're kidding."
"I don't kid about such things, Mr. Durham. He has had the condition for some time. It was aggravated by his recent mugging."
"Is he going to ... will he be all right?"
"It's hard to tell. We'll have to operate again shortly. I'd say he has better than a fifty-fifty chance. I simply wanted to know if this condition had manifested itself prior to the attacks."
"No," said Frank, mumbling.
"Well, it would have become acute sooner or later. Just as well it happened this way, when we won't be taking him away from a business or a family.
"Does he know?"
"No, I haven't told him yet. I thought I'd speak to you first to see if you could supply any information which might prove pertinent. I'll be telling him some time today."
"When will it happen?"
"Before the end of the week, I should think, and we'll keep you informed."
"Would you ... send the bill to me, please?" asked Frank slowly.
"Why?"
"Let's just say that I owe him a lot."
"I have no objection," said Binder, rising and ushering him to the door. "It was pleasant making your acquaintance."
Frank thanked him, left the building, and began walking home. Once before he had walked home from the hospital, self-loathing prying at his brain. Once again he was doing it.
Sure, the tumor would have needed to be cut out anyway, and sure, he had a good chance to pull through. But if he didn't ... if he didn't ... Frank had robbed him of maybe twenty years he could have enjoyed before the tumor developed to the point it was at now.
He may have robbed him of a quarter of a century of life-and no matter what his law books said about it, Frank knew that was murder.
Slowly, ponderously, in a black, sullen mood, he trudged home across the barren campus.
Mona was busy drying the dishes when the doorbell rang. Wiping her hands on a towel, she went across to the living room to answer it.
"Good afternoon," said Sue Ellen, stepping inside and sitting down comfortably in Frank's recliner chair. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"
"What do you want?" asked Mona dully, knowing full well what she wanted.
"Three guesses," grinned Sue Ellen, reaching into her purse for a cigarette.
"Frank will be home in half an hour," said Mona. "Maybe later this week."
"Nonsense," said Sue Ellen. "A deal is a deal is a deal, or so Shakespeare would say if he felt like copping a feel."
"No,' said Mona fixedly. "I have my housework to do, and dinner to fix."
"Eat out. I'll treat the pair of you."
Mona shook her head. "No."
"Yes, Mona. I've done my job on your husband, distasteful as it was in the beginning. Now you'll do your job on me-and I guarantee it won't be half as distasteful to you.
She walked over to Mona, who had turned her back and was drying the dishes. The first inkling Mona had that Sue Ellen was no longer seated in the living room was when she felt those long, knowing fingers slipping around her waist, moving upward to hungrily grasp her breasts.
"Knock it off," snapped Mona. "Frank'll be home any minute."
"Then I'd say you haven't a second to waste," said Sue Ellen.
Don't you understand?"
"All I understand is that I came here for some of that fabulous pussy, and I'm not going to leave until I get it. If I have to have Frank hold your legs apart while I tinker with your too-much engine, I'll do it."
"Now, damnit, you get the hell out of here right now!" yelled Mona, turning on her with all the suppressed fury of a caged wildcat.
"Not a chance," said Sue Ellen.
And then something snapped inside Mona. Like a tigress, she snarled a curse at the leering, mocking woman standing before her and hurled herself at Sue Ellen's throat.
Sue Ellen was caught by surprise and tumbled backward onto the floor. Mona was on top of her in an instant, biting, tearing, scratching with her long, red nails.
"What the hell's gotten into you?" gasped Sue Ellen, rolling onto her side and trying to dislodge her fiery antagonist.
"I've had a bellyful of you!" grated Mona. She grabbed a handful of Sue Ellen's hair and yanked it with all her might. Her rival responded with a scream of pain, and jammed her thumb hard into Mona's left breast.
The sudden searing shock of pain forced Mona to release her grip, and Sue Ellen was on her feet in a second, kicking off her four-inch heels to maintain a firm footing.
The two women circled each other warily. Suddenly Sue Ellen's right hand shot out, grasping Mona by the throat. Mona struggled to break the hold, couldn't, arid swung a knee up into Sue Ellen's thigh. Sue Ellen reeled back, staggering, toward the bedroom door and Mona, picking up one of her antagonist's discarded shoes, hurled it at her head.
Sue Ellen ducked, then dove for Mona's legs. Mona went down in a crumpled heap, Sue Ellen on top of her. Mona's blouse was torn now, literally ripped to shreds, and both it and her bra came away in Sue Ellen's grasp when the latter missed a grab for her hair.
Sue Ellen saw an opening, lowered her head, and grabbed one of the bulging, heaving breasts between her teeth. Mona screamed as she felt the teeth sink in, felt Sue Ellen sucking the blood from her.
She reached out, grabbed for Sue Ellen, for anything that might help her put an end to the pain. One hand reached her hair, the other grabbed her dress. She yanked with both, and Sue Ellen's head came away from her nipple while her dress hung down from her waist.
Sue Ellen released her long enough to rip the hindering garment from her. Then she dove in again, scratching and biting as if her life depended on it-which it well may have, for Mona had found her other shoe arid was trying to use it as a bludgeon.
Suddenly Sue Ellen's hand slipped, she lost her support and rolled over on her back. Mona took advantage of her opportunity and straddled her, digging her heels into Sue Ellen's thighs.
Her nipples still smarted terribly, and seeing that Sue Ellen had a bra which hooked in front, she braved a few blows to the face while' releasing her hand long enough to undo the bra.
It fell away, revealing the voluptuous, throbbing breasts, breasts which had known a thousand lips, a million kisses. They had suffered' through love bites, too-but not like the one she was going to get now, swore Mona.
Holding her smaller opponent's hand firmly on the ground above her head, Mona lowered her panting lips to Sue Ellen's quivering, twisting, turning body. Soon she found the nipple that she sought, and she slowly brought her teeth together, careful not to apply the pressure too quickly, or to wrench the cry of agony too soon.
But Sue Ellen had not given up, even when the first drop of blood appeared on her nipple. She turned her body sharply to the left, and as Mona leaned forward to keep her grip, she brought her knee up into Mona's groin.
There wasn't room to deliver a kick, but she pressed upward as hard as she could, rubbing viciously against Mona's tender flesh.
Mona's grip weakened, almost imperceptably at first, but soon her lips left the nipple altogether. She straightened up and, swinging her hand high over her head, she brought it down full force on Sue Ellen's exposed buttocks.
Sue Ellen yelped in pain, but her leg was so firmly pressed against Mona that she couldn't straighten it out. Thus she remained exposed as Mona brought home blow after blow.
Finally she reached up her hands, fighting against Mona's restraining weight, and grabbed a firm hold of Mona's breasts. She squeezed them as hard as she could, rubbing her knee viciously at the same time.
Mona remained atop her for a few seconds, then, with a moan of pain, she fell off. Sue Ellen turned her on her stomach, pulled down her panties in a single motion, and began slapping the bare trembling buttocks.
Mona groaned and tried to roll over, but found that she didn't have the strength. And then, suddenly, she discovered that she didn't want to have the strength.
Sue Ellen's hand snaked down the cleft of her buttocks, her fingers no longer punishing, but probing, pleasing.
Mona spread her legs apart to make herself more accessible, and Sue Ellen moved her head down, licking, kissing, sucking, making strange little cooing noises deep in her throat.
Then she turned Mona over, her lips still glued to her, and shifted her position so that her feet were at Mona's head. Mona bent forward and placed her lips to Sue Ellen's moist, flushed, throbbing vagina, seeking and finding the erect little jewel within.
Her body was trembling uncontrollably now, and she felt Sue Ellen's thighs clamp together over her head, drawing her still closer to her goal. She added a finger, then two, to her tongue, and the little shudder of pleasure that permeated Sue Ellen's body was transferred to her own as Sue Ellen reciprocated 'the gesture.
With her free hand she reached blindly out, touched Sue Ellen's shoulder, and quickly found her way to her breast, toying gently with the wounded nipple. Once again Sue Ellen followed suit, and Mona felt the first distant waves of ecstasy rushing from the shores of oblivion, starting to wash over her body.
Suddenly, Sue Ellen started making strange sucking noises. Her whole body went rigid for a minute, and then she urgently wrapped Mona's legs around her head to hold it there during the throes of orgasm.
This triggered Mona's own orgasm. It came like a tornado, sweeping over her and carrying her along, unprotesting, in its wake.
And then, just as she was reaching still higher for the utmost pinnacle of pleasure-pain, she opened her eyes for a brief instant-and there, staring at her from the doorway with an expression that spelled nothing short of murder, stood Frank Durham.