You know that girl in the horror movies, the one who hears noises bumping around in the night when she" s home all alone? The one who decides to go downstairs in her panties and bra-defenseless-instead of sneaking out the bedroom window. You know. You" ve felt the hair rise on the back of your neck as she creeps down the hallway.
When she calls out, “Who" s there?”
You know who" s there. You know there" s a guy with a long knife, and he" s ready, hidden in shadow at the bottom of the stairs. Waiting. Your heart pounds when she reaches that point where just one more step will deliver her into those waiting hands. In one more step you" ll see that blade descend, hear her scream. You scream at her. “Turn around. Run. Get out of the house.” But she doesn" t.
I" m that girl.
I" m hovering in the entrance to an alley. And yeah, I know there is trouble at the other end. An overturned police cruiser a few feet away is on fire, oily black smoke curls upward, fading into a blacker sky. The streetlamps here were broken so long ago there are no fragments of lens glass left under them. If those clues weren" t warning enough, No Escape is emblazoned in red spray paint across the gray cinderblock wall that marks the Quarterz entrance.
This isn" t a place anyone cares enough to fix. I look back at the cop car. Those who try to fix it end up regretting the effort.
I know. I know. This is not a place girls should go alone. It" s not a place girls should go together. It" s no place for a young woman in a denim miniskirt, a translucent white tank top, no bra, no panties. But that" s what I am and that" s what I" m wearing.
Why?
I don" t know. Maybe because I" ve stopped caring. Maybe because when I" m standing here at the opening of this dark alley, that dead, empty feeling I" ve lived with these past months is washed away by a sizzle of nerves, a longing for the challenge of a fight, and a belief that I have a fair shot at winning.
I" m drawn to this place like a moth to a flame. I feel a kinship with the Quarterz-
understand the hopelessness of being too broken to fix. I" ve spent three days arguing with myself, telling myself this is a bad idea, but I knew three days ago the sanest of my selves was outnumbered. I can" t be free from the pull of this place until I know why I want this. Until I" ve looked my darkest desires in the eye and walked through them.
My sandal connects with a shard of glass that grates over concrete, releasing the odor of fresh beer. It stings in my nostrils, along with the scent of urine both stale and fresh. A soft scrabble of small feet behind a trashcan raises gooseflesh on my arms. A breeze lifts my hair, licks at the sweat trickling down my neck. The sharp crackle and whoosh of the wind-fed flames makes me jump. It" s just the death gasps of the burning cruiser I passed at the entrance. All evidence that I" m in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whispered warnings. Telling me to run. If I had sense I" d listen. Ask yourself this-don" t you get tired of being sensible?
I can" t make out more than the sharp angles of crates and barrels lining brick walls as I move deeper into the alley. I hear the distant lap of the river at its shore, the slight moan of the wind and the sound of my sandals scuffling over grit and squishier things I don" t want to think about. My heart thumps like a bass drum as the darkness deepens.
It raps against my breastbone as if trying to get my attention. Sure I" m afraid. Who wouldn" t be? I" m just not willing to let fear make a difference.
No hands reached from the shadows to snatch me. No evil laugh heralded my end before I reached the alley" s other end. I blew out a breath. Of course they wouldn" t make it that easy.
A graffiti-covered bus with a flat tire sat at a bus stop opposite the alley. No sign of life stirred up and down the empty street. A lone street lamp glowed two blocks down.
If there were stars in the sky, a blanket of smog concealed them. I had two choices, right or left. Back had been discarded as an option before I arrived.
I went left, toward the light. If you" re thinking that" s a sign I" m not completely crazy, you" d be wrong. When you" re prey the darkness is your friend. I surveyed the urban wreckage for any sign of life, a shadow with an organic shape. A flicker of movement. I knew I wasn" t alone here. I could feel eyes watching. I turned my head, straining to hear, opened my mouth as if that might amplify the sound. I tasted the sharp tang of danger on the air in the too-quiet quiet of this barren world.
There, just a block up, I thought I saw a flicker of shadow at the edge of a doorway, blue rays at the edges of a shaded window. I froze, worked hard to slow my ragged breath, rein in my racing heart.
I had a story ready. Not that stories were necessary. Not that anyone would bother to listen. A woman here could expect one thing. A woman here, by her very presence, consented to whatever happened without her consent. Those were the rules. I knew them. I was ready. But a story made it all feel less crazy than it was. If it provided distraction-teased the hunter" s mind into fantasy for a moment-it might give me the edge I" d need to win this first round.
I" d say I was lost, snatched from my tribe. Having escaped from the original abductor, I was trying to find my way back. I would finger the wide tear running down the seam below the armpit of my top. It showed enough to confirm I was braless, not that the peaks of my nipples, visibly hard under ribbed fabric, wouldn" t make that obvious. While my would-be abductor was looking where I wanted him to look, I" d whap him with the nearest handy object. Then the chase would be on.
I might be prey, but I didn" t intend to be the sort who kept cowered in shadows.
After all, wasn" t the best defense offensive?
My heart had moved into my throat. I swallowed it and moved toward the doorway that had shown the only flicker of life I" d seen. A couch sat halfway on and off the curb near the stoop. I wondered how many women had been used right there, street side. I was certain I was smart enough not to be the next. A trashcan lid sat propped against the arm closest to me. I stepped over a dirty puddle to reach it, briefly taking my attention from the doorway, and when I looked up it was into the face of a man who" d materialized soundlessly. I froze. Hairs rose on the back of my neck and panic closed my throat. My carefully planned story vanished under his steel-blue stare and my nerve fled like a rabbit from the hounds.
Behind me a bell jangled. He frowned. “What" s that?” he asked in a bone-meltingly sexy baritone.
I sighed. “That" s the sound of time running out,” I said. “Sorry.”
Jolie switched off her mic and logged off the Quarterz game world. The fact that none of it was real was lost on her body. Her heart still raced. Her stomach was still doing somersaults when she left her laptop on the workbench and pushed open the workshop door to greet a customer waiting at the service counter in the retail area of the store. It was an elderly lady wanting a keyboard with larger type that her husband would be able to see without a magnifying glass.
Customers were rare enough that Jolie was glad to have her despite the interruption. While she knew her father" s computer shop was destined for the same obsolescence that had brought the end of movie rental stores, she couldn" t bring herself to give up on it. The faint hope that she could move the transaction along and get back to the game in a minute or so vanished under a nonstop flow of data about the woman" s personal life as well as the personal lives of her children, grandchildren and neighbors.
A half hour later, Jolie was still nodding when she lifted the bag with the purchases from the counter, carried them to the door and out to the car for her customer.
Sometimes leading customers to the door worked. This was one of those times. She held the door, helped the woman into her car and managed to keep nodding pleasantly as she shut the door and waved her off.
She" d just made it back to the workbench when the bells jangled again. Apparently all she had to do to improve cash flow was find something interesting to do with her time. Jolie hurried back to the counter to greet the new customer. This time it was Mack.
Jolie didn" t know him that well, but her father had mentioned him in conversations a time or two-a good guy he liked to go have a beer with now and then. Jolie had expected a man her father" s age. She" d been surprised by his youth when he introduced himself at the funeral. Even so, he had at least ten years on Jolie and it wouldn" t have mattered if he was her age. Jolie had been too numb to care or feel or want.
The numbness hadn" t eased in the weeks that followed, or the months beyond that.
Numbness had solidified, turned to the steel that kept her putting one foot in front of the other when all she wanted to do was crawl back into bed and sleep forever.
“Hey there, sunshine, how" s it going today?”
She knew she was no one" s idea of sunshine, but he had a contagiously sunny smile she caught herself mirroring.
“Great,” she said, grabbing his laptop from the closed-repairs shelf and handing it over. “Virus is gone. A new version of antivirus all installed and ready to go.”
“You" re a savior,” he said. His smile deepened to reveal dimples.
One would never know it to look at him, that he liked to hang out in cyber back allies, abduct women and use them how he pleased. At least she assumed he did, because she" d found the Quarterz World while investigating the source of a virus on his computer. She" d seen the viewer required to access the site on his desktop and loaded it on her own laptop to confirm or deny it as the source of the problem.
Knowing what she now knew, she couldn" t look him in the eye for long, so she kept her head down while she studied the bill as if she didn" t already know the total. He held out a credit card and angled his body this way and that until his antics won out.
When she looked up it was straight into worried eyes.
“You okay?”
She frowned to hide her nervousness. “Sure. Sure, just a bit distracted. Sorry.” He was looking at her as if he knew where she" d been. He couldn" t know, couldn" t have been inworld today-she had his computer. He could have a desktop PC. Right, and of all the people in the world with access to that site, she had just happened to run into him the first time she went there. Her own guilty conscience made her nervous. That would teach her to go snooping.
While she" d been prepared to investigate the Quarterz for work-related reasons, she" d actually found the true source of Mack" s virus and attributed it to a different cause while the Quarterz software was still downloading. She could have deleted the download then. Probably should have. But she heard snippets of gossip about virtual worlds at college. Tempting tidbits laced with references to forbidden fantasies.
Curiosity wouldn" t let her turn away without a good look.
When she" d opened the viewer, read the backstory and rules, her first instinct was that no sane woman would walk into the Quarterz. In the end, that she had just gone there must prove something.
Mack flipped out his wallet and passed his credit card to her.
She took the card, almost snatched it-the quickness of her hand an effort to hide the trembling she knew would be obvious if she didn" t move fast.
She tried not to think of Mack in the Quarterz-a world of renegades who didn" t say please, or thank you, or even ask your approval. They took what they wanted.
If they could.
Those last three words were her downfall. Why she" d been unable to stay away.
“Pretty day out,” she said. Lame, but she needed to get her mind out of the Quarterz" s gutters.
He looked over his shoulder and her eyes followed his gaze. It" d still been dark when she came in that morning, so she hadn" t seen the clouds that blanketed the sky in pewter, hadn" t noticed when she" d gone out with her last customer either. It" d been warm, though, she was pretty sure, warm for March. She decided to keep her mouth shut.
He laughed. “Well, yeah. I love a good howling storm and looks like we have one on the way.”
“Me too,” she said. She handed him the ticket. That was that.
He nodded toward the computer she kept up front to teach customers various skills. She" d booted it and opened a graphics editing program earlier that morning when a lady had come in wanting a photo touched up. There were several photos open on the screen.
“What" s that you" re working on? Looks interesting.”
“It" s a side job, a customer wanting a wedding photo, but back when she and her husband were married they couldn" t afford things like a princess gown or a tux. He wore his best suit and she had on her best dress. I" m taking the original and creating a fairy tale photo for her.”
“Really? You can do that?”
“Sure, come on back and I" ll show you.”
He stepped past the swinging gate and stood next to her when she sat at the desk.
He was a big guy, tall and built solid, like a guy who did more than desk work. His size was magnified when she was sitting and he wasn" t. She forced herself to focus on the task.
“Here" s the composite picture. I put her in the fancy dress and matched her skin tone so I could paint in the areas of skin that weren" t showing in her original dress.
Here" s the next composite of her and the groom. This was harder because he was wearing a hat in the first photo and glasses in the second. In this last picture I have them in the setting, with the skin tones right. I just need to antique this final picture so it looks like a photo taken fifty years ago when they were married.”
“That" s incredible. You" re really good at this. How" d you learn? I thought Jim said you were studying software engineering.”
Jolie shrugged. “I did engineering the first two years of college because I knew it would please my dad. I dropped out and did a year and change of art school because that pleased me.”
“And you dropped art school to keep this place going? That sucks.”
“No. I like being here. I" ll stay as long as I can keep it going.” He was close enough that she could feel the heat of his leg an inch from her thigh, or imagined she did. Her mind went blank, all fragments of conversation washed away by his nearness. He" d leaned forward to examine the composite photo, one work-roughened hand on the desk. Her eyes followed over the tracks of raised veins just under the surface of golden skin. A long callus ran from fingertip to the second knuckle along the left side of his right index finger. She wondered what might create such a thick callus there. She wondered about other calluses. Would he have them on the undersides of his hands? On the pads of his fingers? She" d had a guitar-playing boyfriend once and the pads of his fingers did delicious things to a woman" s body when he rolled a nipple or clitoris between them.
“Jolie?”
She jumped. “Oh, sorry. I" m afraid my mind wandered for a minute.” His clear-blue eyes studied her, one corner of his mouth tilted up in a half smile that seemed to make the room tilt with it. “Dare I ask where to?” She frowned and stood, the heat of a blush spreading up her neck. She was grateful her long hair provided a little cover. “Nothing interesting…geek stuff.” He nodded. “Maybe I" d better move on and let you get back to work. Thanks for showing me your project. I like to dabble with the graphics programs myself. Maybe we can swap tricks sometime.”
“Yeah, sure. Drop in anytime.”
He moved back to the other side of the gate, picked up his laptop, fixed her with a sexy grin that had her stomach doing another somersault. “I may take you up on that.” He was gone with a jingle of the bells on the door, and she dropped back into her chair. He was just way too handsome and charming. Why did a guy like that play stalker games online? Was he hiding from a personal reality beyond repair?
A more important question might be why did that set her blood simmering?
Aftereffects of her visit to the Quarterz, she decided. She" d been snatched from the fantasy world at the height of arousal and still primed to respond when he came in with those discerning blue eyes and sexy swagger. That deep shiver-inducing voice made her wish she could be snatched by him. For the third time in as many days, she promised herself she" d stay away from the Quarterz. For the first time she added Mack to the list of things she should stay away from.