CHAPTER ONE
Peter was summoned to the Head Master`s office first thing Monday morning. They were all
waiting for him Dr. Berber, who was Head Master, Mr. Quiggins, the head of the English
Department and
much to his surprise, a distraught and tearful Laynie Parker along with
her parents, Robert and Diane. Laynie was sitting at the far end of the varnished oak
conference table, along with her mother. Mr. Parker stood behind his daughter, hands on
her trembling shoulders. Berber, spectacled and jowl-ridden was at the head of the table
with the wiry, gray haired Quiggins to the left.
"What is this about, Doctor?" Peter wanted to know.
"Sit down, Hathaway." Berber inclined his head to the near end of the table.
Apparently there was to be the maximum amount of distance between him and the others.
Several seconds went by with nothing but sobs and glares. "I am not sure how this
concerns me," Peter said.
"Indeed," said Berber coldly. "Indeed."
"We`re not here to play games, Hathaway," said Laynie`s father. "We`re
here to protect the best interests of this school. And my daughter."
Hathaway looked at the cowering girl, her head downcast. She wasn`t wearing her school
uniform. She had on a pair of jeans and a loose shirt. She looked as if she hadn`t slept
since Saturday. A sick feeling ripped though his guts as he remembered her final words.
Revenge
"Mr. Parker, Dr. Berber, I can assure you, I have done nothing to"
"Shut up, Hathaway, before I knock your teeth out with my bare fists." The
balding, middle-aged Robert Parker looked as though he might have apoplexy. Whatever
Laynie had said, it had certainly gotten the man worked up.
"Laynie," said Dr. Berber softly. "I know this has been a terrible ordeal.
But I need you to confirm your story, now, here, with this man in the room. Is this him?
Can you tell us for certain? You know how serious this is, do you not?"
"Go on, honey," coached her father. "Tell him. Set the record straight;
the sooner we deal with this
this animal, the better."
Laynie sniffed meekly and asked for a tissue. Oh, was she ever laying it on thick.
Hathaway clenched his fists on the top of the table. How was he going to defend himself?
"I
I went by Mr. Hathaway`s house on Saturday," she began, making sure to
pause here and there for sobs. "I mean, I was just driving by on my way to Kiana`s
house, when Mr. Hathaway flagged me down. I
I wasn`t sure I should stop, but he said it
was okay, that he had some rare Shakespeare books inside his house to show me."
Hathaway`s blood was boiling. "Sir, this is a total lie, I"
"Hathaway, not another word out of you," warned Berber, "or we shall be
repeating this for the police."
Peter clenched his teeth. What choice did he have? He could ask for a lawyer, but that
would only make him look more guilty.
"So I went in," said Laynie, sounding like a naïve twelve-year-old.
"I mean, he`s my teacher, I thought I could trust him. He told me to sit on his sofa
while he got the books. I asked about his wife and he said she was away
all weekend. A
few minutes later, he comes back, and all he has is a screwdriver. I was a little nervous
when he sat down next to me. He told me he`d get the books in a minute, but he wanted to
know me better first." She took a deep breath, making sure her audience was
following.
Damn it, thought an increasingly desperate Hathaway, don`t they realize this young woman
is a first rate actress? Have they forgotten she starred in Mac Beththe last semester?
"I was really scared, you know, but like I said, he`s my teacher. I have to trust
him. He put his arm around my shoulder, and I was ready to run. I struggled a little, and
he grabbed my
my chest. I`d just about wriggled free when he picked up the
the
screwdriver." She held up an imaginary weapon, her eyes suitably wet. He threatened
me. I tried to escape and
"
Laynie buried her head in her hands.
"Is that when he stabbed you, honey?" Daddy pressed his hands, leaning over
her.
"Yes," she whispered. "And then he
"
The words were presumably too horrible to repeat, as she broke down into stabbing cries,
muffled and pathetic.
"I demand to be able to tell my side of the story," said Hathaway bravely.
"Your side?" The elder Parker laughed in disgust while his wife groaned.
"You actually think there`s more than one side to raping one of your own students
an eighteen-year-old girl
in the flower of her youth?"
"Rape?" He felt the blood drain from his face. Hearing the charge aloud made it
all too real. "I promise you, Mr. Parker, I have never raped anyone in my
life."
"Oh, Mr. Hathaway," the little victim addressed him directly, her voice
cracking with pain and disappointment. "Why are you lying? How can you tell us always
to be truthful and then sit there yourself and
and
"
"You don`t have to say anything else, dear," Berber let her off the hook.
"We`ll handle the rest."
Quiggins cleared his throat, apparently having been designated to handle the sentencing
part of the kangaroo court. "Peter, I, for one, am not afraid to say, your work has
been exemplary, and that will always stand in the memory of your students. But this this
action can only be dealt with in the severest of ways. You can see that can`t you? You
know you will have to leave the school, and you must never teach again? Can you give us
your word?"
Peter felt the ground give way beneath his feet. "Never teach
again?"
"Damn it," snapped Parker, "don`t sit there and act the martyr. You should
consider yourself incredibly lucky we`re not prosecuting you to the fullest extent of the
law."
"We really don`t want this kind of attention focused on the school, Peter,"
explained Quiggins.
"I`m a public figure," added Parker, "a respected business man. You`ve put
this family through enough without the press hounding me." Almost as an afterthought,
he added. "My daughter needs healing right now, not publicity."
Peter couldn`t help but note the irony. With the possible exception of the mother, who
said nothing, everyone seemed interested in nothing but public image and yet they were
sitting here accusing him, an innocent man, of hurting the girl.
"You need to pack up your belongings, Mr. Hathaway," summarized Berber,
"and pack up your life. You need to go very far from this school, from teaching and
out of this state, if you can manage it. Is that under-stood?"
Peter`s throat was too dry to function properly. "Yes," he croaked.
"Sir."
What was happening? Was he really being banished on the word of a jealous, jilted
teenager, without having been given even a minute to defend himself?
"That will be all, Mr. Hathaway," said Berber. "You are dismissed."
Hathaway proceeded from the Head Master`s office like a zombie. He still had no real
comprehension of what was going on ten minutes later as he put his belongings in the trunk
of his car. One carton of books, a handful of mementos and plaques the sum result of
seven years work. There was more he wanted to get from his classroom, but he was denied
access.
"You will never go near those students again," said the short, plump Vivian
Rivers, who up till this morning, had been one of his closest friends on the faculty, not
to mention a fantastic colleague in the English department. "If you try, it will be
over my dead body."
Guilty until proven innocent, he mused, driving around the traffic loop out to the
street. Wasn`t that a nice little reversal of the idea of American justice?
During the drive home he considered what to tell Linda. She was his best friend and
closest ally, but the loss
the total loss would devastate her. Not to mention the
prospects for their daughter Emily`s future. For a split second, he thought of running
away, not going home. Or maybe he`d leave the house all day every day till school closed,
keep normal hours, pretending nothing had happened. It was a week till payday. He could
get away with it that long at least, pretending to work.
As it turned out, Hathaway was relieved of his dilemma. In place of Linda`s car in the
driveway was a royal blue Mercedes. A man wearing an expensive gray suit stood next to it,
waiting for him.
"Your wife is gone," he said, his small beady eyes intent on Peter`s own.
"And your daughter. This is my card. I work for the Parker`s and now I work for your
wife, too."
"What is the meaning of this?" Peter tossed the card to the ground. "How
dare you show up at my home unannounced."
"Certain photos were provided," the lawyer explained, oblivious to Peter`s
increasing temper, "of Miss Parker`s wounds, as well as her taped testimony. It`s
fair to say your wife was deeply shocked. In everyone`s interest, we offered her certain
compensations."
"You paid my wife to leave me?!"
"You are a very sick man," the attorney declared. "Now, if you`ll excuse
me, you are blocking the way to my car."
Peter stepped back, helpless. A minute later he watched the Mercedes drive off. It was
like being in some bad movie, some French piece celebrating the meaninglessness of
existence. In less than an hour, his otherwise happy, productive life had been converted
to shit all without his having done a damn thing wrong.
He laughed all the way to the house. Eschewing the note from Linda on the dining room
table, he went to the liquor cabinet. He`d had it about five years and it was three
quarters full. By this afternoon, he intended to see it empty.
* * * *
Laynie meticulously wiped the ruined makeup from her face while Mara and Kiana sat on her
bed. Both girls had been allowed to stay home from school to comfort their supposedly
traumatized friend.
"I can`t believe you really did that," said red-haired Mara, the palest of the
three, and the chunkiest. "You got Mr. Hathaway fired. But he`s so cool."
"What will he do now, do you suppose?" Mused exotic, model thin Kiana, a lovely
mocha skinned mix of black African and Korean.
"What he`s going to do," said Laynie, who was used to having to do the thinking
for the group, "is marry me and start a whole new life."
Both girls blinked, wide eyed. Kiana, shaking out her long, silky black hair spoke first.
"Mr. Hathaway is going to marry
you?"
"His name is Peter," she said using the minimum amount of condescension to
convey her point. "And, yes, he is going to be mine. It`s fate."
"But
" Mara was trying to wrap her mind around the idea, but it was too much
for her.
"You`ll give yourself a headache." Laynie tossed the girl a granola bar from
her vanity. "Here, eat this instead. It`s what you do best."
Mara, who was sitting Indian style, barefoot in flower stitch bell-bottoms and a peasant
blouse that hid her small paunch, undid the foil and bit off a hunk of the grain bar,
swallowing it along with her pride.
"He`s got to pretty mad at you right now," Kiana reasoned, looking good today
in her tight, lime green dress and white boots. Her legs were tucked up underneath her in
a way that was as alluring as it was uncontrived.
"He won`t be when he sees I did it all for us. We just need to help him see it,
that`s all."
Mara nodded, half chewing. "You`re right, Laynie."
"Stop sucking up," Laynie snapped. "Both of you listen carefully. I will
not repeat this a million times, and I will not tolerate failure. Peter Hathaway is going
to be my husband, and you two are going to help me get him."
The girls sat bolt upright, waiting to hear the plans of their fearless leader. Deciding
to get a little more comfortable, Laynie stripped off her shirt and jeans, reducing
herself to bra and panties.
"What Peter needs, more than anything, is quality time," she proceeded to
explain. "With me. As you know, daddy has a cabin in the woods, and it`s hardly a
shack. I think a few days there, with your help, will totally change his way of
thinking."
The two of them looked at each other, neither wanting to be the first to ask the
obvious.
"You want to know how we`re going to get him there, don`t you?" Laynie spared
them. "Mara," she ordered, "bring me that box in the corner."
The box was glossy white, cardboard, from one of the fancy department stores she`d been
shopping at with her own credit cards since she was eight.
"Close your eyes," said Laynie as Mara presented it to her.
The girl did so, with typical, blind stupidity. Laynie yanked off the cover, tossing it
to Kiana. The pistol inside was a semi automatic, nine millimeter. "Bang," she
said picking it up and pointing it at Mara`s forehead.
The girl opened her eyes and gasped.
"And that," explained a very pleased Elaine Francis Wellington Parker, "is
how we are going to get our Mr. Hathaway`s attention and full cooperation. Any
questions?"
There were of course, none. Not a single one.
* * * *
It took a long time for the pounding on the front door to register in Peter`s head.
Opening his eyes, he found himself face down on the dining room table, the neck of the
empty whisky bottle in his hand. He tried to move his mouth, but his lips were stuck
together. The room was spinning. Half walking, half staggering, he made it to the door. If
he`d thought about it for thirty seconds, he`d have realized nothing good would be waiting
for him on the other side, not after the day he`d just had, but he wasn`t in a thinking
mode.
The three men outside the door were obviously thugs. Two wore turtlenecks under sport
jackets, while the third had on a silk shirt with rolled up sleeves. Their hands were
large, half curled into fists, probably from years of bone breaking.
"Mr. Parker told you to get the fuck out of town," one of the turtlenecks
introduced himself.
The silk shirt palmed the inside of the door and pushed it wide. "Mind if we come
in?"
The third got down to business. "The next time Mr. Parker tells you to do
something," he slugged Peter in the stomach doubling him over. "You need to do
it a little quicker."
The silk shirt closed the door as the two turtlenecks proceeded to work him over. While
one held him up by the back of the neck, the other delivered fast, short punches, kidney
stabs, rib blows, each designed to open a fresh world of pain. At last they let him
collapse to the floor. They waited a second for him to get up and when he didn`t, the silk
shirt kicked him in the gut.
"Don`t make us come back here again," the man warned. "Or it`ll get
ugly."
Peter lay there after they`d gone, wondering exactly how much uglier this could get. On
the bright side, he was feeling much more sober. Lifting himself to his feet he made a
cursory examination, determining that he probably had no broken ribs of serious internal
injuries. As for the blood he was tasting in his mouth, he could only hope that was
temporary, and not indicative of anything serious.
He wasn`t sure exactly how much longer he had till the Three Painsketeers came back. Not
taking any chances, he didn`t bother with much packing. Grabbing a suitcase from the
closet, he threw the bare minimum of clothes in it along with his toothbrush, a picture of
Linda and the baby as well as his passport. He had no idea what he would need that for,
but it seemed better to have it. He considered putting another bottle of liquor from the
cabinet in it as well (he was down to vodka or schnapps now), then decided against it.
By the time he was out the door to the car it was half past eleven. At this time of
night, he would have to drive out of the city and find a motel on the highway. He wasn`t
sure what direction to go in, except away from here. Collapsing heavily in the driver`s
seat, tossing the canvas carry on bag next to him, he contemplated where he could go. No
one wanted him, his profession had been stripped away, he had no family and he was broke.
Talk about an optimistic start.
"Hi, teach."
Peter froze at the familiar voice hidden behind dark edged mayhem. Looking in the
rearview he saw the girl with two others. They were all in the back seat, the two silent
ones flanking the infamous Laynie. Child-woman and source of untold misery.
Taking a deep breath, he moved to take back control of the situation. "You girls
need to get out of my car. Now. Or I`ll call the police."
"I wouldn`t do that," advised Laynie, pressing the gun to the back of his
head.
"What should I do instead?" he asked softly.
"Drive," she said. "Just drive."
"Mind if I ask where to?"
"Yeah, actually I do."
He slipped the car in gear and backed it slowly out of the driveway. Yep, he thought,
this was it, the ultimate shit finish to the ultimate shit day. And there was still twenty
minutes to go to midnight.
Oh joy.
* * * *
Laynie felt good right now, all toasty and warm and excited, too. They were finally doing
it, driving to the cabin. They`d stopped a while back so she could move up to the front
seat. The other two stayed in back, and Laynie enjoyed pretending they were the kids.
Their kids.
"Lay down and hush," she told Kiana and Mara. "It`s late and daddy needs
to concentrate on driving."
The girls looked at each other, clueless as always, but they didn`t argue. They were darn
lucky to be along for this trip, and if it weren`t for the fact that Laynie might need
them as gophers, she might have left them home. Although, admittedly, she did want to show
off to her friends when Peter started acting sweet to her, and especially when he started
begging her to take him back. Laynie was picturing a number of ways this would go, and
just how far she would humiliate her fiancée to teach him a lesson.
Would she make him pleasure Mara and Kiana? It wasn`t impossible.
There was also the matter of needing witnesses. For the wedding. That might happen soon,
too, if Laynie decided the woods was the right locale. A few drops of the Parker name in
the town nearby daddy`s cabin and they`d be able to scare up a justice of the peace in a
hurry and if the man asked too many questions along the way, well, Laynie had her
pistol.
She giggled thinking how silly daddy was to leave it lying around. Mommy had lambasted
him for having it, claiming their security people were more than up for the job of taking
care of things. But daddy wanted to be a man, and a man protects his own. Peter was a man,
too. He`d fathered a child. Soon he would father her children.
"Give me your hand," she told him.
Peter extended his right one, the gun being pressed definitively against his ribcage to
keep him honest.
"Put it on my belly," she urged. "Not like that, silly, under my
shirt."
The man stiffened a little at the touch of her smooth, bare skin.
"Our first baby will be in there soon, darling. I love you so much."
Peter was expressionless, his eyes on the road. He hadn`t accepted things yet, she could
tell.
"Sweetheart, if it`s Linda you`re worried about, you already saw, my father`s
lawyers will give her money. Everyone, everything will be okay without you. Don`t you see
how I took care of things?"
"Laynie, we need to turn this car around. We need to go back home. I won`t say
anything to the authorities, but you have to know, it can`t go any further. You`d be
throwing your life away."
"Hush, darling." She put a finger to his lips the way women used to do to their
men in the movies, the really classy old ones, before they had color. "I don`t want
you to worry. I know you think something bad will happen to me, and that`s very sweet, but
I have things under control."
Her heart sailed. He really did love her. He was just fighting his own feelings for her.
"We need to relax you a little," she decided. "Keep both hands on the
wheel, and let Laynie take care of everything."
Peter clenched the wheel, knuckles turning white. He had on khakis and a button down
shirt. She started with his buttons, working them one by one. Damn. He had an undershirt
on. "This won`t do," she fished in her purse for a nail file. "Not at
all."
"Laynie, don`t
"
"Does that feel cold," she giggled, running the point of the pseudo blade
across his chin and down his neck. Personally, it gave her a little jolt. What if this was
a real knife? What if she were ever upset with Peter and he had to be punished with one?
Tucking the gun into the waistband of her jeans, Laynie grabbed a handful of the white
cotton and worked on digging a hole in it with the end of the file. It turned her on how
Peter couldn`t do anything, except drive. And fast at that, because they were on the
expressway, the night traffic whizzing past. Establishing a nice rip, she tore at the
material, shredding it from top to bottom.
"Oh, god," she drooled, staring at his bare chest. "I am one lucky
woman."
Unable to resist, she leaned forward to lick one of his nipples. His pec was so hard, so
manly. This was not one of the boys she dated. This was a mature specimen of the male
gender.
"Do you like that, baby?" She let her nails trail over his crotch. The teacher
was hard. Rock hard. "I will take that as a yes."
Peter made a grab for the gun. He was hampered in his efforts, by keeping one hand on the
wheel, one eye on the road. Truth be told, she`d been ready, too, knowing he`d test his
limits somewhere along the line, early on.
"That`s not a good idea, Peter," she crooned, the point of the nail file poking
his carotid artery. He was forced to hold his head back and still watch the road, which
meant he wasn`t able to aim the gun very well. He`d end up bleeding to death from being
stabbed long before he`d do much damage to her.
"I really would do it, Peter," she tried to cut through his doubts about just
how serious she was. "It would break my heart, but I`d do it. You were made for me.
You`re mine and I love you too much to let you go on without me."
Hathaway dropped the pistol.
"Good boy." She kissed his cheek. "And don`t worry, I won`t hold this
against you. You had a hard day. You`re confused, and deep down I know you`re just trying
to protect me."
The teacher remained silent. Stone faced, he continued the robotic task of piloting his
car, even as she unzipped his fly.
"You`ll still get the reward I planned. Aren`t I generous?" She didn`t make him
answer. It was enough to see him give in to the sensations as she began to stroke his
naked shaft.
"You have a beautiful cock," she praised his pulsing, silky organ. "I`ll
bet it`s full of seed. I`m afraid I won`t be swallowing it, though. I hope you
understand."
Peter gave a little groan as she licked the head of it.
"You were a bad boy to try and take my gun, though, weren`t you?" she
murmured.
"Yes," he said, his answer encouraged by the little play bites she was taking.
"I could punish you if I wanted."
He moaned as she clamped her mouth down hard enough to show him exactly what that might
mean.
"Say you`re sorry."
"I`m sorry, Laynie
I didn`t mean it."
Laynie kissed and nuzzled his chest, rubbing her nose on the fine mat of sandy hair.
"I love you, Peter. How could I ever stay mad at you?"
She sat up, feeling
fulfilled. "We have our whole lives ahead of us," she
sighed. "Just think of that, my darling Peter."
"Laynie, we need to try and talk about some of this. Could we pull over and maybe
you and I could talk?"
"No. Not now. I think I want you to masturbate. Stroke your cock for me,
Peter."
"I`m driving."
Laynie felt something hot in her, instant, sharp, screaming to get out. "I don`t
like that, Peter. Not at all."
Peter yelped, grabbing at his wounded face.
"Watch, the road!" she yelled.
A tractor-trailer let loose its horn, a plaintive, deadly wail. Laynie jerked the wheel
straight and Peter put his hands back, his face white as a sheet, except for the four
parallel red lines.
"Oh, that`s a nasty scratch. Have you a first aid kit?"
"Glove compartment," he managed through clenched teeth.
"We`ll get that fixed right up," Laynie soothed, applying some topical ointment
a few moments later.
Kiana and Mara were carrying on in the back seat. Laynie`s mood shifted once more.
"Stop sniveling, you two. Do I have to have daddy take down your pants and beat your
bare bottoms?"
Her friends stifled their tears of panic at nearly having a semi hit them head on. From
experience, they knew better than to cross Laynie. Everyone knew that her family, the
servants everyone. Except for Peter Hathaway who had put himself in the unfortunate
position of being the first person in the world to deny her something she badly wanted.
"There, isn`t that better?" Laynie had taken away Peter`s sting and applied the
antibiotic to prevent infection. "I`d put a band aid on, but I haven`t one big
enough. Anyway," she teased. "I wouldn`t want anything to cover up this handsome
face of yours."
Peter was back into silent mode. She knew from the look behind his eyes he had a lot more
to say, but he was biding his time, making sure it was safe.
"You think too much," she stroked his eyebrows. "You get yourself all
worked up, like daddy."
"Where are we going, Laynie? Exactly?"
The cool, distant tone hurt her for a second, but she let it pass. "Somewhere far
away. Where we can leave the world behind."
"I don`t know how much further I can drive. I`m exhausted."
"That`s why you`re going to play with your cock for me," she reminded. "To
keep yourself awake."
Peter offered no resistance this time. He was limp by now. Loosely, with his palm, he
began to work the meat.
"Oh, yes," she sighed. "That`s it. Show me how you pleasure yourself. Show
my how you like it. So I can do this for you, too."
It turned her on to watch him making himself hard. Especially since it was something she
told him to do. That made it more intimate somehow, more loving.
"Oh, baby," she cooed, rubbing the barrel of the pistol over her breasts.
"You are so fucking hot."
Peter`s cock was erect, pointing to the roof, harder even than before. His breathing had
quickened and she could see he was into it. Men, in the end, were animals, and once
motivated by their penises, they were completely controllable. Putty in any woman`s hands.
Her mother did this with her lovers with every man she could get hold of except for
her father, for whom she had too much contempt even to touch.
"Oh, god," he groaned. "I`m gonna
fucking
come."
Laynie had the pistol inside the waistband of her panties, the cold gunmetal on the
entrance to her sopping wet pussy. "Shoot it out of you, you motherfucker," she
hissed. "Shoot it to the fucking ceiling."
The front seat exploded with come. Huge milky white blasts erupting into the air,
nose-diving onto every available surface. Most of it landed on him, his hair and chest,
and on the car`s dashboard and wheel, though some of it went on her, too.
Laynie laughed, wiping a dab of it off her cheek. Ordinarily she could not stand to come
in contact with a man`s emission, but this was a special occasion. This man was her
fiancée and it was their first time, sexually exploring.
"Did that feel good, darling?" She coaxed his lips open, making him take the
little drop of his own ejaculation. There was more of the stuff within arm`s reach, and as
much of it as she could recover, she made him lick off her finger and swallow.
"Aren`t I good to you?" She fed him the last of it. "Aren`t I the bestest
fiancée you`ve ever had."
"Yes," he croaked, his voice indicating a new level of brokenness. "Yes,
you are."
Laynie giggled, though she wasn`t fooled for a moment. There had to be dozens more levels
to break through in this man before he would be completely hers. Maybe hundreds. She would
have to be patient very patient and very cunning. Just like the Bible said that one
lesson she managed to remember from her grandfather`s aborted attempts to take her, on
occasion, for services at the Episcopal church be innocent as a dove and wise as a
serpent.
As long as Peter Hathaway cooperated, he`d be rewarded with the love of his cooing dove.
But every time he got out of line, it would be the sting of the rattler he would feel. In
the end, he would thank her. This was all for his own good, a gift she was offering beyond
price.
"There," she pointed, taking a deep breath as she saw the familiar number, and
all the possibilities it represented. "That`s our exit."
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