He liked sex all right, he supposed, but lately it, like a lot of things, had grown boring. There was something so…well, sterile about it. He got off, and the woman did too if she wanted, and then…nothing. Not any kind of afterglow, and certainly nothing like the utopia that he used to get after a good fuck. Just nothing. Maybe he needed to try something new.
Like…like what he’d heard about last week. His wolf stirred along his skin when he thought of the way the other wolf had told him he’d gotten off. His wolf too had had a fucking fantastic time, and had been so mellow since he’d done it that he was thinking of getting together with a bunch of his friends and doing it again with a couple more women. Burton paused in cutting his steak to think about it.
The man had found him a woman that was…well, she’d been willing at first, he’d told him, but later it had turned to where she’d made his wolf so excited that he’d nearly killed her chasing her down. He had eventually, of course—he couldn’t leave witnesses—but he’d really had a wonderful time while she’d been alive, apparently. She’d run from them, screaming and going on and on just like they wanted her to, until later. Then things had gotten fun. Really fun, according to his friend. It had turned into an all-out girl-hunt, wolf style.
“She was hot for it at first, like I said…running around like she was. Then when my wolf came up on her, she started screaming to no end and he wanted to taste her. The fucking bitch sure did make him want to take her all the more when she did that to him.” Burton had asked him what he meant by taking her. “You know, eating her pussy. Some prime taste there. The wolf, any wolf, would just about come all over himself to taste a woman’s pussy. I know that when he did it she sure did scream.”
“You mean she had a climax.” The man—Bill, he thought his name had been—said no, it had been painful for her, but what did he care? “Care? No, I can see that. She asked for it, right? And when humans ask for it, who are we to turn them down?”
“Yeah, she did ask for it, and you got that right. When they want it from us, we should be willing and able to give it to them. And when he was done with her, I had me a good fuck too. Hard as I wanted and all. You know us wolves, we can’t have it hard enough. Or fast enough either.” Then Bill shook his head with a hardy laugh. “But it was a little too much for her, I’m guessing. Me being built like I am, I must have ruined her. There was no saving her from that, so me and my wolf helped her along.”
Burton had nodded. He’d killed her, he was telling him. Ended her suffering so that…well, so that she’d not tell on him most of all, and so that no one would come looking for him. And now that he thought about it, maybe that was what his problem was. He wasn’t getting a good fuck like he wanted. He decided right then and there he was going to find him a woman, take her to the woods, and chase her down. Maybe he’d even tie her up to some tree, too. That appealed to him more than a little when he thought of it. Tying a woman to a tree and having his wolf go at her. Damn. Burton had to adjust himself twice before he could finish his dinner.
And then after he was done fucking her like he wanted, he’d have Trevor clean up the mess. Yeah, Burton thought, this was going to be a birthday gift to remember. He’d have to thank his brother real nicely after he was done, and maybe even let him take care of it again and again for him if Trevor didn’t bitch too much. Smiling, Burton finished his dinner and then went to the bathroom to jerk off. After that, he called Bill to set up some arrangements.
Chapter 4
“So this man, the one that you asked me about, he’s not a real person. He’s a...a figment of my injuries.” The doctor nodded his head and smiled at her. There was something really creepy in the way he kept smiling at her, but she had no idea why she thought so. It was as if he didn’t want her to see that he had teeth. Or that they were so bad, maybe she didn’t want to see them. Either way, it was just plain weird. “And I’m just to ignore him at all costs. And not answer him when he calls to me. How did you know that he was there?” He gave a wave of his hand, something that she knew he did to not answer her questions.
“That’s just what you need to do. Ignore him as if he’s not speaking to you, because he’s not; you know that, right? Not talking to you at all. That’s just not right. We can’t allow you to leave here if you continue to have conversations with people talking in your head. That would make us…what if he told you to do something unsavory?” He said the word like one would say ice-cream. Like it was something he might enjoy. “Then what would we do if we were held responsible for your mayhem?”
She started to point out that all the man had wanted her to do was to tell him where she was. And since she’d had no idea where she was until a few hours ago—and even that wasn’t enough to get him to come and get her—she’d not been talking to the man. Even though she really wanted to. Nothing these people were telling her, from where she’d come from to how she was doing, was ringing true. The man, this doctor, seemed to not answer her questions any more than his nurse did. It had freaked her out a lot that he seemed to know that there was a voice in her head. And now he was telling her that she was still suffering from the head injury, and not to answer him. There wasn’t a voice, just her imagination.
How the hell had he known that? And more so, why did he know that the man had wanted to know where she was and if he could come for her? She’d certainly not told him or the nurse, the only two people she’d seen since she’d woken up. And this voice in her head…if he wasn’t real, then how did he know her name? She hadn’t. Andrea started to ask the doctor that, but she decided that she’d think on it a little more. See if she could figure it out first. None of this was making the least bit of sense to her.
A few days ago Andrea had been walking from somewhere, somewhere that she just couldn’t pin down, when she’d thought of the man that had claimed he was her husband. She’d told him to come and get her, and he said he was coming. But he hadn’t of course, and if the doctor was right, which she was still thinking about, then there wouldn’t be any way for him to come, him not being real and all.
As she had continued walking to get to…well, she wasn’t really sure where she was going either, not even when she woke up here. But something had happened to her to have taken away her memories of...well, everything. She wasn’t really sure what it had been, but she’d woken up in this little room tied, not cuffed, to the bed. It had taken her several hours to find out that she was in a clinic, but no one would tell her just where the clinic was.
Things were blurry for her as to what had given her the head injury, or even the broken arm and the too numerous cuts and bruises that she had all over her body. Her name was the one that the man in her head had given her, so when asked she’d told them she was Andrea Dean. And that she had a husband named Trevor Dean. That had been a lie too, apparently, or so the doctor had informed her. The documents that she’d been shown from a car crash, even pictures to show how bad it had been, had been brought to her by the nurse, who’d told Andrea that she’d been in a horrific accident that had gotten her hurt. But she’d also told her that she’d been listed as Andrea Marshall, single and homeless. Her things—none of it looking like something she would own—were given to her at that time, but when she thought on it, there had not been any kind of wallet or even anything really personal. Even homeless as she’d been told she was, there would have been at least a wallet of some sort, right? And when she’d asked about them, she’d been told the same stupid thing. In due time.
An empty purse that she thought was sinfully ugly and a suitcase that was devoid of anything other than a few pairs of shoes that were too big, as well as a shattered laptop, wasn’t much, not even for someone that was broke. No underthings, not even a night gown or a brush. The computer, almost unrecognizable as one, was the only thing that she felt a tingle from, a feeling that she might have at some time used it. And for some reason, she had a feeling that she and the computer had been the worst kind of enemies…thus the bad vibe from it.
&nbs
p; But it was the answers that the doctor had given her when she’d asked how she’d gotten here that bothered her. Or the lack of them. Why would something like a car crash have her listed as single and homeless, when she had no idea who she was or where she was from? And when she’d asked, no one had an idea how she’d come to be in this car, whose car it was, or if there was anyone else involved. Who had given them that sort of...well, the personal information that they had? The doctor had told her that they had ways of figuring these things out. What ways, she’d asked him, only to have the nurse bring her some more pills because she was agitated. Sure she was. No one was giving her answers. Andrea looked at the doctor and realized that she’d zoned out a moment or two too long.
“But everything he’s said, it seems so true.” The doctor—Peter, he’d said to call him—said that of course it would seem true, it was coming from her head. All of the information was already there for her to get, all her memories of everything in her life. “Why would…why did I make him up?”
“You more than likely needed something from a man once that you didn’t get. Or perhaps one made you mad and you are getting back at him.” She frowned at Peter, telling him that that made no sense. “You know what I mean.”
No, she didn’t. And when he left her a few minutes later, frustrated beyond belief with her endless questions, Andrea laid back on the bed. She just wanted to go home, wherever that was, and try to get her life back, whatever that might have been. The information that she’d been given was…it wasn’t right. She had no idea how she knew this, but it just wasn’t. There was no way she was any of those things they said she was. No way.
She looked around the room again. Not counting the lack of clothing, there was the fact that this room she was in looked more like a bedroom than a hospital or clinic. There were bars on the window too. Thick ones that barely let in any light. And when she’d gotten up to look out the window yesterday to try and get some idea of where she was, all she saw was the cardboard that had been put on the other side of the glass to keep out the sun. She’d been told that all this window faced was the emergency entrance, and that wasn’t much to look at anyway.
Then there were the meals. They were nasty, and fast food, she thought with a frown. Most of the time it was so cold that she didn’t want to eat it, and the one time she’d not eaten it, there had been a scolding from the nurse that had made her think the woman was going to hit her.
Andrea had had enough hamburgers to know when one was processed, as opposed to a fresh one that she might make herself at home. The fries were cold and limp, and seemed to be without flavor. There were catsup packets that were warm and not cold, and everything was served to her on a paper plate. And the fact that she had them every day at lunch gave her the idea that there wasn’t a cafeteria, like she’d been told, but a close restaurant that could be gotten to quickly.
Breakfast was donuts, stale and a little hard, and a bagel that wasn’t toasted, and nothing very appetizing to go on it. These were served with a coffee and juice. No refills on any of it when she’d asked, not even a tea bag when she said that she didn’t drink coffee. She got small packets of jam that only consisted of grape, and pats of butter that looked like someone had forgotten to take them out of the hot bag before they were served up. They had leaked, terribly, out of the small containers and onto the paper plate they’d been served on, to make it nasty looking as well.
Then dinner. Last night she’d had two slices of pizza with just cheese that had more than likely been pretty disgusting even before it had turned cold. The night before that there had been fried rice, with onions as big as her hand and raw carrots chopped in it, and a cold tasteless egg roll, and about two dozen plastic packets of soy sauce. And tonight she thought she’d heard she was having a salad. The dressing was going to be ranch, as that was all they had. She wondered if there would be a crouton or two to go with it, or any kind of meat. Andrea was pretty sure they were trying their best to starve her to death.
Every time she brought up where she was and when she was going to go home, the nurse, an elderly woman that smelled of mothballs and bleach, or Peter, who had on so much cologne that she nearly gagged when he sat too close to her, would tell her in due time. Well, it was getting to be her time, and she wanted to go out into the world.
“Here you go, Andrea.” The nurse, startling her out of her musing, had her tray, a glass of water that wasn’t quite clear, and a small dish with two pills on it. She was given this same combination of pills four times a day, every day, since she’d woken up. But, as of yesterday, she’d not been swallowing after taking them; simply hiding them until she was alone. “Take them all down and then its nap time.”
She knew that there was something in one of the pills, if not both, that was making her fall into a major sleep. The first time she’d not taken the pink one she’d fallen asleep really fast, nearly not making it to the bed as she’d been in the chair again, but her sleep had been fitful and full of bad dreams about blood and headless men. The second time she’d not taken the yellow one. It had made her fall asleep too, but she’d drifted rather than just fell off a cliff into unconsciousness. The same dreams this time, but it had been her head that had stared back at her and she’d woken herself up. She hadn’t been sure, and still wasn’t, that it was exhaustion that made her sleep, so she decided to just not swallow either of them. It wasn’t hard to not take them, but she felt better since she’d stopped. More...she supposed, herself.
Popping them in her mouth, she shoved them under her tongue and then pretended to drink the water. It smelled like it had been stored in an iron container for too long, so not drinking it was easy for her. After the nurse left her, Andrea pulled them out of her mouth and stuffed them into the hand of her cast on her arm. She wasn’t sure how to get rid of them from there as yet—there wasn’t a bathroom in here, but an adult potty chair she’d been using—but she’d think of something. But she wasn’t going to be drugged any more. While she hurt a little more, she didn’t feel like a zombie most of the time, and she was thinking more.
Laying back on the bed again, she closed her eyes and thought of the nice man. The one that she’d been told wasn’t real, and was not her husband. She supposed on some level that having a man talk to her was better than some of the things she’d been saying to herself, but he had been really nice to her and his voice was sexy. Smiling, she wondered if he was indeed real, what would be the first thing she’d want him to say to her in person? Fuck me? Yeah, that would work for her.
Andrea decided then that whatever happened, in this room or in her head, she was keeping it to herself. No more trying to get questions answered, either. Not like they did answer her, but she figured that she’d be less disappointed by not asking them then by asking and getting nothing in return. Or something like that.
She’d been in an accident; that much she did know. And perhaps it had been a car, like they’d told her. But she’d been having more and more of her memory come back about something, and it didn’t involve a car at all, but a plane. And people that were...they were all dead. Turning to her back, she looked up at the ceiling and noticed, not for the first time, that the thing had more stains on it than the good doctor’s tie did. The same one he’d been wearing every day that she’d been awake. Doctors, she thought, were not dirty and unkempt like this man was.
Then there was this man in her head. She wanted to know what part he’d played in her life, if any. If not her husband, then what was he? And how did he talk to her if he was real? Andrea wasn’t sure that he was the voice in her head, but she knew that there was something about the man that had called to her. He’d been...something about him had made her think that they were indeed something to each other, but she just was not sure what as yet.
And how had she gotten here? That was a big one that no one seemed to have an answer for. Well, they had answers, but none of those had sounded right either. Andrea was pretty sure that she’d not been stoned out of her mind when sh
e’d been brought here. And that her things, the ones that didn’t seem to be hers, were given to Peter by the police after the accident didn’t seem right either. Who was she? Where did she come from? And how the hell could she get someone to get her out of this place?
She felt the gentle touch of the man but didn’t engage with him. For all she knew the doctor was right and she had really hurt her head. Touching the little bump now, it hurt but she did remember blood and pain so badly that she wanted to throw up. The voice in her head spoke gently to her as she lay there.
I want to come and get you. Find you and bring you home. Andrea wanted that too, but said nothing. You don’t have to speak to me. Just knowing that you’re alive has given me hope. And I know that you think you’re being held prisoner by someone.
No I don’t. The man said nothing, and she felt her body tense up. She was sure that somehow Peter would know that she’d been talking to this person again, and he’d never let her out. You need to leave me alone. I’m not going to talk to you anymore. They told me that you’re not real, and to be honest with you, I’m not sure who to believe anymore.
Why would they tell you that? She told him that he wasn’t real. But I am. My name is Trevor Dean, I’m your husband. We met and fell in love.
No. They showed me that I’m not married. She thought of what else they’d told her. Where do I live? They told me that I don’t have a house or any job.
You do. You work for a man by the name of Mike Manhouser. You work for him in an independent capacity, and you’re a marketing engineer. The company that you work for is called Manhouser Marketing. That sounded...while not right, better than her being homeless. Where are you, love? I want to bring you home.
I don’t know. She felt the tears fill her closed eyes, and pulled her arm up and over her eyes to hide them. I don’t know anything. They told me that I was in a car crash. But I don’t know where or how I got here. Even this place…it’s supposed to be a clinic, but looks like my grandmothers parlor. Even the smell is the same.
Chance Encounters Page 5
