Beverley Bateman

Death Awaits


Mitch took two steps forward, pulling her quickly into his arms. He tipped her chin up, his mouth covering hers, his lips hot and pulsating. His tongue slipped quickly between her teeth. He pulled her body tightly against his. She didn’t resist but moved willingly against him. Her lips searching, wanting, under his.

She could feel her breasts pressing against his chest. Her body responded to his, moving closer against him, moving rhythmically. They clung together, equally matched, bodies responding, lips searching for more and more.

He stopped, stepping back quickly, just as suddenly as he had grabbed her. “That was just for anyone watching. It will look like we made out, if he asks around. Get Hank and let’s get going.” Mitch turned and walked coolly away.

Susan put one hand on her stomach, raked the other hand through her and bit her lip. She fought to regain control, breathing rapidly. She couldn’t believe how she had reacted. Why had he stopped? It was like he suddenly realized he hated her. She stared after him as she took another moment to catch her breath. She turned, looking toward the play area and then she called out. “Hank! Hank, honey, we’re going.”

There was no answer.

“Hank. Hank. Where are you?” Susan raced outside. The play area was empty.

“Hank!” She screamed. The terror grabbed her body and squeezed tight.

There was no sign of Hank or the dog. Not a sound. It was deadly quiet, not a sound.

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Digital Photography of the Author by Christopher J. Happel, for Studio 16