A New York Haunting: Pt. 03

The Heinkels excused themselves and hastened up the stairs together.

One week later, the couple moved from the boardinghouse, and the room was taken by an assistant zookeeper at the Central Park menagerie.

Chapter 13. A FINE PICKLE

October 1900 (present time)

Anders' usual roster of Saturday activities was completed after posing for the life drawing class at the Art Students League, and he returned to the boardinghouse yet feeling perturbed by the psychoanalyst's mysterious patient Ondine Van der Veen. What other secrets was the young woman keeping beyond her unsanctioned academic pursuits? Would Dr. Schuller recruit him to follow her again?

He sat for some time at his desk, focusing on Dr. Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams. Several thought-provoking pages of reading accomplished, he next shifted his attention to the article he and Dr. Mullenix were preparing for publication --- the article describing reconnecting blood vessels by the triangulation technique inspired by Simone's needlework. Mullenix had joked that his handwriting was too legible --- Anders hoped the surgeon's secretary would concur when she eventually typed the manuscript from his scribblings.

Later, while brushing his teeth, he eyed Ondine's folded stocking on his dresser. Scooping it up, he cradled it in his palm for a moment before pinching a garter loop between his thumb and forefinger and letting the stocking unroll. His eyes traced the leg-shaped outline of translucent silk. How petite she was! Again, he summoned forth the provocative memory of her wading through the pool, the flowing fountain behind her ... her bare legs swinging over the wall ... her alluring though slightly miffed face. Gently pressing the toe of the stocking to his nose, Anders inhaled the ghost of her scent. Exhaling, he refolded the dainty garment and returned it to the dresser top before getting into bed.

*****

In his dream that night, he was rowing a single scull on the Harlem River ... naked. The brisk autumn air tingled over his bare back, chest, and privates as the seat slid forward and back with each stroke. Intermittently, he glanced over his shoulder to assess his course. As he neared the Washington Street bridge, he perceived something most unusual. Pausing, he surveyed the scene.

A group of people stood at the bridge railing above the central span. They appeared agitated, moving about and waving their arms. From the side of the bridge below them hung the colossal pickle from the Heinz 57 sign --- the illuminated green lights outlining the now vertically oriented phallic-shaped ellipse. The curved tip of the pickle was some ten feet above the surface of the water.

As his rowing shell approached, he could now see a small figure frantically climbing down the pickle, using the light sockets as handholds and footholds. A few oar pulls more, and he realized the would-be acrobat was Ondine ... and the people on the bridge were shouting at her. Among them was a woman in an enormous, flower-embellished hat, brandishing a blue parasol. Even as he watched, two men climbed over the bridge railing, one after the other, and started clambering down the pickle after her.

He must get the boat under the pickle before they caught her! With his redoubled strokes, the long narrow shell surged towards the bridge. Soon reaching the glowing green arc of the pickle tip, he worked the oars to maintain a stationary position against the force of the current. Ondine was directly above him now, her pale, bare feet stretching from under her swirling white petticoats and gray gown as they felt for each successive light socket.

A few feet before reaching the end of the pickle, her skirts snagged on a piece of metal, and with her continued descent were dragged upwards, exposing more and more of her unclad limbs. In her quest to escape, Ondine continued, heedless of her predicament. Calves ... knees ... thighs ... With one more step down, her garments were pulled above her waist. Not a stitch did she have on under them. He stared agog with all his eyes ... all three of them. Unfettered by clothing, his life preserver swiftly inflated to its full height, eager to lend assistance to the fair damsel.

Tensing with her motions, her lissome legs were topped by a sweetly protuberant little bottom curving into a slender waist. With two additional downward steps, pink flashes of her vulva showed. She had reached the point where the vertical metal strut curved into a horizontal orientation at the pickle tip. Her wild eyes darted between the descending pursuers above and the dearth of options before her.

"Below you!" he called. "Drop into the boat!"

Gripping the metal bar with her hands, she let her feet swing free from the sign. Still tethered by her snared skirts, she hung in the air directly above him, naked from the waist down. With her wide-flailing legs, he could see her lovely quimmy with its lacy frill of dark curls ... could see the spread and close of her little pink crevice ... and there between her round buttocks, the tiny, rosy dimple of her anus was exposed, repeatedly squeezing with her squirming.

He stood up, bracing his feet in the rocking shell --- her hips were level with his face, and he grabbed her waist. "I've got you! Let go!" But in her panic, she would not relinquish her grip. The boat shifted under him, and his nose was suddenly in her sweet briar patch ... below that, his lips were pressed against the notch of her mound. Unable to help himself, he planted a kiss on the silky skin, then stole a quick caress with his tongue darting over her clitoris and through her delicious slit. Ondine gasped and dropped from the sign, her entrapped skirts tearing free.

His hands on her waist checked her fall, but with her sudden weight, he sat down heavily on the seat. She slid down his bare chest, legs agape. A shriek escaped her as his rigid organ impaled her. At once she writhed and pushed against him, attempting to free herself, but her struggles only drove the thick pillar deeper and deeper into her cunny. HERREGUD! The hot, velvet narrows torturously yielded to his blunt invasion. His face strained with pleasure --- then his upraised eyes registered Ondine's pursuers almost at the bottom of the pickle --- close enough to jump into the boat.

"Sit still! Hold fast!" he muttered as he seized the oar handles. With one upward glance, she stilled her squirming and clung to him, her cheek pressed in the hollow of his neck. The boat shot away from the pickle with his first vigorous stroke of the oars. The next drove them under the bridge. The people above ran to the opposite railing and shouted after them. He continued to row, Ondine astride his lap, his fully embedded cock shifting slightly with each drive and recovery. Arms and legs clasped tightly about him, she molded herself closely against his torso, leaning forward and back in synchrony with his motions.

The bridge receded in the haze behind them.

At length, he stopped rowing. The water was mirror-like with a thin mist hovering over the surface. Leaning from one side to the other, he swiveled the oar handles out of the way, past his flanks --- the blades trailed in the water as the gliding boat slowed. He strove to maintain his composure as he assisted Ondine in extricating herself from HIS pickle. Her arms and legs unwrapped from his body, and she leaned back, her hands grabbing the gunwale on either side. In the narrow boat, her feet fumbled for a foothold, then landed on the gunwale as well. She strained upwards, and his hands lifted under her buttocks as they embarked on the rousing task of freeing his entrenched organ.

He groaned as half his length drew out. But with their agitated movements, the rolling seat slid forward, driving his cockstand full in once more. "Oh nooo," moaned Ondine.

By God! The seat! If he simply rolled backwards several inches, the motion would pull his cock out of her. He pushed with his feet, and the seat slid away from her --- then abruptly stopped as it reached the end of the tracks. His knob was still inside her. Looking up with an apologetic expression, he noticed the distress in her face had faded ... her eyes were glowing, and her lips were parted. A deliberate squeeze on his cockhead made him inhale sharply.

The muscles in his legs tensed, and his feet flexed in the foot straps, slowly bringing the sliding seat towards her. Her eyelids drooped voluptuously as he filled her cunny again. At full insertion, he paused, pushing her draping skirts up to her waist and laying bare the heated junction of their bodies.

With his fingers holding the bunched fabric, he repeatedly rocked the seat --- and his organ --- an inch or so forward and back while his thumb stroked her little jewel to a luscious state of engorgement. When her sighs became moans, he set to in a rutting fervor, fucking her with the back-and-forth sliding of the seat. Ondine panted as she braced herself, hands and feet gripping the upper edge of the hull --- her little white toes curled around the gunwale.

His piston grew shinier and shinier as her distended cylinder lubricated itself. Soon the primal wet noises of copulation matched the rhythmic lapping of water against the shaking boat. Concentric rings expanded away from the hull on the surface of the water --- new rings arising faster and faster with the robustifying motions. Ondine's knees trembled as they spread even wider, forcing herself further onto his thrusting staff ... his clenched buttocks arched him into her ...

... and with two more of his grunting excursions on the seat, she began to holler atop him and all hell broke loose. Everything was quaking --- her vagina, her limbs, his body, the boat. The seat careened forward, burying his brinking cock to the hilt and releasing the sperm spout in blasts of ecstasy.

Anders awoke in his narrow bed, his hammering pulse overlaid with hoarse laughter. When he sat up, he discovered a gluey mess uniting his half-tumescent penis, belly, and pajamas. "Å fy faen!" he groaned.

Chapter 14. A CHANCE ENCOUNTER

Sunday mornings, Anders usually spent an hour or so wheeling in Central Park or Riverside Park. His cycling attire consisted of knee-breeches, his long-sleeve rowing jersey, and a wool cap. Once during the heat of the summer, he had worn his more abbreviated rowing kit for the exercise but had been stopped by a policeman for indecent exposure.

"But I wear these clothes when I row on the river," he had protested.

"There aren't any ladies to offend in the middle of the river," the officer had replied. "Now get off my beat or put on some respectable clothes."

On two other occasions, he had been issued warnings for exceeding the speed limit.

Today he made two circuits of the park at a good speed, passing other wheelers but slowing down when he saw blue-uniformed law-dogs. When he paused to catch his breath, Anders realized he was at the entrance to the park across Fifth Avenue from the mansion into which Ondine had disappeared Wednesday. It was simply a strange coincidence, he insisted to himself --- not that his unconscious mind had guided him here.

Scanning the grandiose manse, he saw no sign of activity, but as his survey encompassed the street, he suddenly saw Ondine on the sidewalk. At once, he backed up his bicycle a couple yards into the park.

She was strolling with four other people, approaching from the north. Leading the group were a man and woman arm in arm --- the lavishly dressed woman being her aunt, Mrs. Cornelissen. The distinguished looking gentleman Anders assumed to be her uncle. Behind them, a pair of young women in equally elegant garments and hats were chatting gaily. From their faces and reddish blonde hair, he guessed them to be the couple's daughters --- thus, Ondine's cousins. Ondine walked alongside her cousins, set apart both by her quiet detachment and somber attire. A dark veil covered her face.

Despite not reading the Society pages, he had lived long enough in the city to be aware of the post-church Sunday promenade of the rich along Fifth Avenue. A quick assessment of the other well-heeled pedestrians on the sidewalk confirmed the tradition to be underway. As he covertly watched, the Cornelissens turned at the lion statues and entered the enormous house, the front door magically swinging open, no doubt by some unseen servant's hand.

Even after Ondine's disappearance, Anders remained for some time deep in thought, studying the place wherein she resided. He sat on his bicycle seat, holding the iron rail next to him for balance. His attention perked some fifteen minutes later when a shining black brougham came from the side street along the mansion, turned onto Fifth Avenue, and stopped in front of the entryway.

Shortly thereafter, Mrs. Cornelissen and her two daughters emerged and climbed into the carriage, which then departed heading south. What wealthy ladies did on Sundays, he could only guess --- shopping, luncheon, social calls?

Still, he did not move from his observation post, compelled by an inexplicable force. Dr. Schuller hadn't authorized his continued, independent surveillance of the girl. Was he hoping to catch another glimpse of Ondine on his own behalf? His eyes abstractedly followed the activity on the avenue: carriages, people on horseback, pedestrians. Many of the latter turned into the park, passing on the path next to him.

The street traffic halted to allow a cluster of people waiting on the opposite side to cross. Among them was a young woman wheeling a bicycle, and Anders noted offhandedly that she was wearing the yet controversial riding bloomers. Over all the years he had observed females on bikes, the majority wore long skirts. Bloomers --- the wide-legged breeches that were gathered in a cuff below the knee --- were still considered highly improper by some, even more than ten years after their debut.

The young wheeler turned at the park entrance and walked by him, pushing her bicycle. His gaze returned to the Cornelissen mansion for but a moment before his head abruptly swiveled back. Clad in the dark blue wool bloomers, a matching short jacket, and black stockings, the petite cyclist had a nimble gait and dark hair fastened up beneath a black bowler hat. The pleats of her bloomers twitching over her round bottom were the giveaway for him: Ondine had walked right by him without him noticing!

Anders yielded instinctively to his curiosity without further interrogating his rationale. Did she have a specific destination? Was she meeting the strange man again?

He turned his bicycle around, but his immediate pursuit was delayed by a group of pedestrians ambling into the park. Once that obstacle was negotiated, he spied her on the path ahead, speeding away on her bicycle. Accelerating his pedaling, he decreased the distance between them --- close enough to follow her, but far enough back to not be spotted past the array of intervening bicycles. She rode at a brisk pace, passing other wheelers along Terrace Drive, then turning onto West Drive, riding past the lake.

North of the lake, his pursuit was slowed by a family of cyclists stopped on the path to tend to a skirt caught in a chain. Even as he swerved onto the grass to avoid them, he realized he had lost sight of Ondine where the trail curved around dense foliage. Speeding up and rounding the bend, he discovered the path split into two and she was nowhere in sight.

Anders stopped at the fork and considered the options before him. A shrill bell from an oncoming cyclist prompted him to pull off into the grass alongside the path. Why was he following her anyway? Shouldn't the poor girl be allowed her privacy?

The squeak of a brake interrupted his thoughts, and he turned his head towards the path where a bicycle had stopped next to him.

It was Ondine.

She was wearing leather and copper-framed motoring goggles. As Anders gaped at her, she raised them to her forehead.

"Are you looking for someone?" she asked.

"I - I --- that is ..." he stammered.

Her eyes, which he could now see were a light greenish-brown, moved deliberately over him, her long, dark lashes flicking as they lifted to his face. "Mr. Røkke, is it? Why are you following me?"

He felt his cheeks reddening as he scrambled for a reply.

"Is this Dr. Schuller's commission, or is it your own enterprise?"

Good God! What should he say? He swallowed and cleared his throat. "Erm, I ... well ..."

A lush, brunette eyebrow cocked. "I wouldn't abandon my medical ambitions to become a Pinkerton detective, if I were you," she commented. Her voice was unusual, being soft and slightly husky.

"How long have you known?" he croaked.

"I noticed you outside the drugstore on Friday, then loitering near the Milk Depot, then in the hallway outside Dr. Prudden's office."

Anders' shoulders slumped.

"Did you tell Dr. Schuller about my visit to the medical school?"

"No, I told him I lost you at the El station ---" He halted; he had inadvertently just disclosed Dr. Schuller's scheme. Exhaling in rueful relief, he finished, "I did lose you at the El station, but I told him it was directly after the Milk Depot. I left out your detour to the medical school."

Her fingers repeatedly squeezed the brake lever as she studied him. "Indeed? Why would you censor your report?"

Anders shrugged, unconsciously squeezing his own brake lever. "I judged it to be your own business."

Big hazel eyes searched his face --- he felt the renewed heat in his cheeks.

"Are you beholden to Dr. Schuller for a grade at the end of your clerkship?"

A shrewd question. "I am, but I won't barter my ... my honor for high marks."

Ondine's foot fidgeted on her upraised pedal for several moments, then paused. With both hands, she lowered the motoring goggles over her eyes. "Well, Mr. Røkke, if you're so intent on following me, then follow me." With that, she drove the pedal down and shot down the path, red and gold leaves scuttling in her wake.

After a startled second, Anders took off after her, increasing his speed and weaving around other wheelers. Ondine glanced over her shoulder as he neared, redoubling the pace of her flying feet. Damn! He'd never seen a girl ride so fast! He caught up to her --- they raced side by side, her mouth pressed in a determined line below her goggles. Without warning, she veered off the path and onto the grass, cutting across to a side path. Braking sharply, he followed, soon catching up to her again on the new path.

For some ten minutes, they zipped up and down the paths around the park. People shouted after them, bicycle bells rang, and a police whistle receded behind them. Twice more did Ondine dart off the paved trail when he pulled alongside her. But the third time, when she accelerated down a low grassy hill, her wheel encountered an unyielding object under a pile of leaves, bringing her to an abrupt stop and throwing her squealing from the bicycle. She landed in the leaves and rolled several times.

Anders charged down the hill and leapt from his moving bicycle. "Ondine!" he cried. "Are you hurt?" He fell to his knees next to her just as she sat up. "Ondine --- Miss Van ... erm ... Mrs. Van der Veen, are you injured?"

To his relief, she started laughing.

"I'm fine. But I'm not certain about my poor bicycle." She pushed her goggles up and patted her pinned up braids. "And I appear to have lost my hat."

She sat bareheaded in the bank of leaves, the autumn sunlight illuminating the green and copper hues in her irises --- Anders' first impulse was to seize her in his arms and tumble her in the leaves with ardent kisses. Instead, he rose to his feet and picked up her bicycle, pondering the strangeness of being with her like this.