How long must a man already dead wait to wear the shroud of a corpse? He would love Lily until he dragged in his last drunken breath, a release from torment that would happen none too soon for him. No! Indeed, the should have beens – had life been just. Despondent thoughts besieging him, he knocked back another gulp of holiday cheer.ĭoyle’s timely intercession had prevented his attack on Lily, but John’s shaky sanity had departed that day, never again to return.Īnd here he was now, still crazed, staring into the fire, going over and over in his mind the might have beens. Gripping the mantelpiece with one hand whilst clinging for dear life to his half emptied bottle of port with the other, John scowled into the leaping flames. In his madness, he had come close to raping beautiful Lily… One summer day, he had succumbed to both. He had thought her exquisite even when she had teased Doyle and him unmercifully with her seductive young body until John knew he would either go mad with wanting her or resort to rape to have her.
As a tomboy hoyden climbing trees, riding Diablo bareback, painting – endlessly painting – she had been lovely. Lily was the most beautiful woman John had ever had the misfortune of knowing. How he coveted his brother, putting it to his deceitful bitch of a bride on Christmas Eve. There, they would rut like animals in the manger surrounded by boughs of white pine. Afterwards, whispering sweet endearments into one another’s ears, they would adjourn to the parlor. Under the tasteful mistletoe hanging from the ceiling in the hall, they would kiss tenderly. Then, hand-in-hand – and most likely humming nauseating Christmas carols under their breaths – they would creep downstairs. First, his brother and sister-in-law would tuck their newborn son, William, into his cradle. May you and Doyle fuck one another senseless tonight under your festive and well-lit Christmas tree. The fire’s red and gold tones brought to mind the highlights shining in her burnished hair. He worked with electrical current, but there was no light in his life. Why take a break for Christmas? He had no cause for celebration, no reason to rejoice. Then, again, he clung to his dark misery every day of the year. Ironic, John mused, staring into the leaping orange flames, that the holiday of lights would go unobserved by him, a man who made and installed electrical generators for a trade. Those sturdy Maine logs should burn for hours. Intolerable! Hence, the warm fire glowing in the hearth. That piece of geography interested him mightily. Save, if her background sported unsightly gooseflesh. He was paying her only for the one visit.
And if she failed to do as she was told? No cause for concern. A comely appearance, good strong hands, and the commonsense to know when to open her mouth – around his burgeoning loins – and when to keep it shut – when she swallowed – the laundress should serve him well and often during the coming evening. Or, in the front parlor, before the fire, the very location where John intended to have her.Īt any rate, she had all the earmarks of the perfect female companion to diddle. Purportedly, the whore had some looks, would serve him well and robustly, ask no questions, and expect no idle small talk in bed. For a modest sum.Īt least, according to the laundry owner and sometime procurer of flesh, Sidney Drake, a frugal fellow in the know about monetary matters…and Christmas gifts a man gave to himself. A laundress, he understood, who was no better than she should be, and who would do more than scrub his soiled linen. His anticipated visit was from a local woman. Save, of course, for the damnable fire burning brightly in the hearth, a comfort John most certainly would have dispensed with as well…if not for the company he expected to arrive at any moment. Christmas Eve, and the house John Donovan had once shared with his two recently wed brothers – surly Doyle the elder and even-tempered Theo the younger – stood empty and silent, undecorated for the holiday, and in total, unmitigated darkness.
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