Mary's Rescue

"How long will you live?" he asked.

"Until something kills me," she said, and she remembered, startled, how Noah had said that to her, the first day she had met him. "It doesn't mean I'm going to live forever," she added, "it just means I won't die of old age."

"Come," he said, "try on the clothes."

"This is the first time," she said, "that a man has tried to get me out of bed and put my clothes on. Aren't we going the wrong direction?"

"You have invited me," he said, kissing her lightly on the lips. "I accept your invitation. But not here, not just yet." Goddess! He was going to play games with her. Well, what did it matter? She had nothing but time. "Here," he said, fumbling with a bra. It was a little too tight. "I have never tried to fasten one of these things," he muttered.

"Like this," she said, but her breasts were bulging out of it. She shifted her arms, and one of them escaped. The panties were too large, and they just drooped away. As soon as she took a step, they were down around her ankles.

"Your body," he was laughing, "it rejects clothing."

"Maybe," she said, "it's a sign." She reached for his groin, but he backed away, slapping lightly at her hand.

"The dress," he said, "see if you can wear the dress, at least. I cannot take you outside naked."

Outside? He was going to take her out of this little room? Suddenly eager, she wriggled into the dress. It was too tight on the top. Her nipples were almost piercing the sheer fabric. The skirt was very short. Shave, she thought, she should shave before showing so much bare leg and more. "I need the bathroom," she said.

"Of course," he answered, politely.

She pulled the dress up, surveyed herself. Of course, she had done nothing about grooming in her time at Ooir. Her peeling skin had not taken much hair along with it. Her legs were covered with a fine, soft down. Her toes! She was developing hooves! How long had it been since she had trimmed her toenails! And she was supposed to wear sandals. And her nose! Hair growing right out of it, like a donkey. Goddess! She was turning into a farm animal. There was nothing in the bathroom except some soap and toilet paper. She couldn't go out looking like this. She started to cry, so loudly that he peered in to see what was wrong.

"I can't go out like this!" she said, and she would have locked the door on him, but there was no lock. She slammed it shut, sat on the toilet with her legs pressed against it. There was a timid knock. "What," she snapped.

"My lady," he said. My lady! No one had called her that for quite a while. "Please, open the door."

"Look," she said, "if you want to fuck me here, that's okay. But I am not going out looking like this."

"My lady," he said, "please." And all that came through the door was a hand, but the hand was holding a little pouch. Goddess! It was makeup, a little razor, a comb, tweezers, nail clippers, polish.

"Peter!" she cried. She ran out, kissed him, "you are the most wonderful man!"

"My lady," he said, breaking away again. "Please, prepare yourself."

Fifteen minutes, that was all it took, but when she emerged again, he gave a little gasp. "The dress?" he said, "it is okay?"

"It's beautiful," she said.

"My daughter," he said, "she is a bit smaller. On her it was not quite so," he paused.

"It was a special dress?"

"For a wedding," he said, and she looked started. "Not hers, she was," he struggled for the word, "an attendant. She was very beautiful in that dress, but you, my lady. Oh, now I am the one who is afraid to leave this room! You will be stolen away from me!"

She didn't know if that was a real threat. She had no idea what was beyond that bland corridor. "Maybe something less dressy?" she suggested.

"No! No! You are perfect!" he said. She realized then that he was wearing a suit that was rich and sombre looking.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"My lady, you will see." And he took her by the arm, out into world.

They came to the end of the corridor, and emerged into a vast pedestrian mall, under a high, clear dome that showed a black sky full of stars. A space platform, she thought, or a planet without an atmosphere. There was a flash far above, and she realized that there was a smaller platform, up in the artificial sky. "A transit station!" she said, almost reeling in shock. "We're in a transit station!"

"Yes, my lady, this is Archangel station. It is the end of the bridge. The best medical facilities are here," he added, "and our headquarters."

Headquarters? Headquarters of what? She did not dare ask.

"You know," she said, as they started down the mall, "I could just walk away from you."

"Yes, my lady, you could."

"It would make trouble for you."

"Considerable trouble," he said. She could not see his face, but she could sense the wry smile.

"You are trusting me," she said. "Why?"

"Probably because I am a foolish old man," he said.

She stopped him in his tracks, then, turned to him. "I don't think that you are either old or foolish," she said. He smiled more broadly then, and she wanted to kiss him, right in the middle of the swirling crowd, but they were already attracting too much attention, and he urged her on.

It seemed like a long walk, and he moved quickly. The sandals did not fit as well as they should have, and they were starting to hurt her feet. Just in time, just before she could not take it any longer, they stopped. It was a hotel, just like the one on Eden, with a restaurant, so similar she expected to see her good friend Sergio. But it was a little woman guarding the entrance. She saw Pyotr and nearly grovelled before him. Then she looked over Mary with a mixture of envy and contempt. "She thinks I'm an escort," Mary chuckled. Well, it was not so far from the truth.

"No one on this station could afford one such as you," he whispered. "Not for an evening, not even for an hour." Was that it, she thought bleakly. She was just a trophy he would show off to his friends? "I'm sorry," he said, "please, I brought you here because I thought that it would please you."

The menu was almost the same as on Eden, but the prices were extraordinary. "Peter, dear, can you afford this?" She thought of how threadbare that bra had been. The dress, some special thing worn once and kept as a treasure. He was offering up his best, more than his best, for her. His look betrayed nothing. Certainly not confidence. "Let me pay," she said. Her fingerprint was still good. Her credit was still good, anywhere in the transit system.

"My lady, you cannot do that, not tonight," he said. "If you pay, it will be recorded, the activity will trigger alarms that have been set up. It will be known that you have returned."

"You're doing this without permission?" she said.

"My boss would be upset if his romantic strategy was ruined." He handed her the wine list. "Would you care for some wine?"

She shuddered. All she could think of was her drunken excuse for a husband, staggering in to try to rape her. Most nights, he would be too far gone to penetrate her, and he would content himself with beating her. "No," she said, then added, reluctantly, "unless you would like some."

He shook his head. "I no longer drink," he said.

"You had a problem?" she asked, the counsellor reviving in spite of herself.

"I used to drink to forget," he said. "But the more I drank, the more things I had to forget. Do you know what I mean? Have you ever done things that you need to forget?"

"I was in prison," she said, looking him straight in the eye. "I wasn't there for nothing."

"Ah, my dear," he held up a water glass. "A toast to our sins." He took a drink. "May our sins be forgiven. May we go and sin no more."

"You're a good person," she said. Except for that poor girl. And few other things, most likely.

"Ah, my lady, no. I am not a good person. And you?"

"No," she said, "not very good."

"Maybe," he said, "we can be good to each other."

Dinner lasted a long time. Even without the wine, she was feeling drowsy by the end. At last, they got up to leave. She thought that they would return to the hospital, but they started off the other direction.

"Where are we going?" she asked. Her feet were beginning to really hurt. She couldn't take too much more walking, not in those shoes.

"To my home," he said.

"Your home?" she was startled.

"At the hospital," he explained, "they said you were ready to leave." He stopped. "If you wish it," he said, "I can get you a room in the hotel."

"No," she said, "I want to come with you." But there was pain in her eyes.

"You are tired," he said.

"My feet hurt," she admitted.

"It is not far," he said, "just a little more. Here," he stopped, and a door opened for him.

Whatever she had imagined, it was not this. Tiny rooms crowded with carved wood furniture, embroidered cloth, little pictures everywhere. His daughter at every stage of her existence, a large, placid looking woman who must have been his wife. How long had she been gone? He had not changed anything. He had kept it dusted, or cleaned it up for her arrival.

"You must miss her very much?" she said.

"My daughter? She has her own life now. I see her often."

"You wife," she said.

"I used to travel," he said. "On business." Mary could imagine what kind of business that might be. "We would go weeks, perhaps, without seeing each other. I still think, that it is like that, that I will see her again, in just a little while." She kissed away a tear.

"I am not asking for your pity," he said.

"Of course not," she assured him. "It's just good to know that you can love so deeply, that you can be so loyal."

"Loyal! Loyal! I will not lie to you!" He paced around the little room. There was barely space for him to squeeze through the furniture. "I was never faithful to her. My job, my job." Rape and pillage, she thought. "I drank too much. I was a terrible husband."

"Did she think so?"

"No," he said. "Her very last words, she told me how much she loved me." He came over to her and kissed her at last. "Mary," he said, "my bed has been empty for too long. Will you share it?"

"With pleasure," she said. She stood up, and slipped out of the little dress. "I need the bathroom first," she added.

There were two, and he motioned her into the first one, the one that had been his daughter's. The pouch was there, he must have carried it along somehow during their dinner. When she came out, she found that he had changed into a robe. Not a fancy one, an old, threadbare robe. "Come," he said, and he led her into the bedroom. What happens at the end of a nice romantic evening? She remembered wryly how she had used that question to shock the youngest trainees. She'd been pounded into the dirt by her so-called husband too many times. What was this man going to be like? Hard, brutal, used to having his way. She could see it in his face, read it in his eyes. All the tenderness was about to peel away with his clothes.

Sighing, she sat down on the bed, and opened the robe. Two paintings hung beyond him, on the opposite wall..

"Icons," he explained. "My wife was very religious."

"They watched you?" Mary was amused.

"Usually," he answered, "we turned out the lights."

One of them was a man, a beautiful man with a beautiful beard and radiant eyes. "Jesus," she said. He nodded. "And the Goddess?" she added, looking at the female figure.

"Oh no," he said. "No such heresy. It is the Virgin Mary."

"The virgin," she mused. "I cannot remember ever being a virgin." You are the mother of God. The thought came to her unbidden, so startling she cried out.

"What's the matter?" he asked, "are you in pain?"

"No, no," she assured him. Karen, my daughter, is God? Time seemed to slow, Pyotr was sitting motionless on the bed, the room darkened, but the picture of the Virgin Mary was glowing, its lips were moving, it was speaking to her. Blessed are you, chosen one. Your daughter is the Hand of Life.

"Are you all right?" he repeated, "do we need to return to the hospital?"

"I'm fine," she said, without much conviction. Drugs. He had drugged her. But he seemed genuinely confused by her behaviour.

"The icons, they are annoying you?"

"Yes," she said.

"Me too," he said, and he turned them both to face the wall. "Let us continue," he said. But he was, at best, half ready. "Perhaps," he said, "I should not have brought you here. This is difficult for me."

Not brutal at all. Shy, of all things. "Peter," she paused to kiss his reluctant flesh, "the past is the past. You need to move on."

"And you," he said, "can you move on?" The question caught her by surprise. Why would he even care? Did he really, truly, care about her?

"Yes," she said, suddenly full of wonder, "yes I can." She stopped talking then, her mouth too full of him for conversation. She reached back, just behind his scrotum, and began to stroke him.

"No," he said, "not like that. We will make love nicely." She lay down obediently on the bed, knees splayed wide. But he hesitated, wilted.

"Sometimes," she said, "nice just doesn't do it. Are you a nice person?" He shook his head. "Neither am I. I used to tell myself I was, but I know better now." She sat up again. "Tell me something your wife would never do for you. Something you were afraid to ask." He muttered something so softly she could barely hear it. "Like this?" she said, then ran her tongue along the crease between his thighs. He pulled his cheeks apart, and she let the tongue probe back a little further.

"Stop!" he said, a pulled away. "One more caress, and I would have climaxed. At my age, that would be the end of me for the evening."

"Well, we wouldn't want that." She lay back, rolled over on her stomach.

"You are inviting me?" he was hesitant.

"I am imploring you," she answered..

He crouched above, and ran the tip of his penis up and down her thighs, testing one entrance, then the other. "It's okay," she said.

"What," he asked, "would give you more pleasure?"

"Alternate," she said. "That's what I like the best, if you can find the right rhythm."

"You will show me?" he asked.

"No," she said. "You'll have to feel it. Sense what I am sensing. Feel what I am feeling."

"Ah, my lady, you are a witch, after all! It's a wonder those savages did not burn you at the stake!"

"Lucky for you," she said, and then it was too late for words.

"Yes," he answered, some time later, "lucky for me!"