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he’d started to get bored with her; started to wonder if maybe he’d be happier with someone else. But the more time he spent with her, the more he realized she did things to please him. Little things. She went to the movies he liked. She wore the clothes he told her to wear. And she let him do things to her, sometimes whatever he wanted to. So, of course, one day he started wondering how far she would go to please him,
He’d made her think it was all her idea. He was good at that.
She believed in everything he told her. He knew she did. She believed in Aaron Jeffrey Kincaid more than anything in the world.
She would have done anything for him; had done everything for him.
He knew about Bowers. Oh yeah, he knew all about Patrick Bowers, PhD. He’d read both of his books. For research. Very helpful. A worthy opponent.
No, it’s beauty that brings out the beast. For whatever reason, elegance and grace always seem to ignite the deepest rage and darkest lusts of the human animal.
He listened to his own soft breathing until the night stopped moving and sleep spread her wings over the neighborhood.
looked so alive, so timeless. So enduring. And in the other, so violated, so helpless, so dead; so utterly, unchangeably dead. Life is so terribly fragile. So fleeting. So brief. It’s a puzzle I can’t begin to understand even after all these years. One minute you’re dreaming of writing a novel, or retiring early, or vacationing in Bermuda, and the next you’re a slab of cooling meat with a blocked artery or a brain aneurysm. Or a chest full of cancer.
He took his hand away from the glass and walked outside. The autumn wind felt cool but also fresh and inviting, promising a change in the seasons.
It made him think of all the wonderful things to come.
