Meeting Carmen Ch. 03.5

They drove about a mile before Lynn felt safe enough to shout "Pull over!" He lumbered the bike into a dirt parking area under some pine trees. Only after he cut the engine did she notice how loud the thing was; he must have modded the muffler.

"Thank you." She hopped off the bike less gracefully than she had mounted it.

"You all right?" he said. He watched her quickly straighten her panties and step into them. She glared at him for a moment and turned away. "Sorry," he said. She was still breathing heavily and willed herself to get calm.

"I can't tell you how glad I am you were there," she said. To speak over her shoulder at him felt rude; she covered her breasts and turned to face him. "You can probably figure out what those jerks intended."

"Jeez, man," he said, wincing. "Well, we're not all like that, I can tell you."

She was unimpressed. "Let's get moving."

"Should we, uh, go to the cops?" He preferred not to, as he was breaking a few motorcycle laws at the moment.

She shook her head. "I just really want to get home. That thing back there was just the exclamation point on a really shitty day. Do you think you could give me a ride?"

"Sure!" he said. And then, as if his answer would have ever depended on it: "Where do you live?"

"Konowoc. Outskirts, near Corral Street."

"Oh, that's easy. No problem. Ummm... my house is on the way. Okay if I stop there first, get my license and helmet? I can get you a shirt too."

She preferred not to take any detours, but the guy was doing her a favor. And a shirt would be nice. "Anyone else going to be there? I'd like to avoid being seen."

"Naw, everyone's out. I'll just be a second there anyway."

She regarded him in silence for a few moments, trying to convince herself one way or another. He seemed honest, or at least not dangerous. They turned south on an empty county road, then onto the dirt road leading to Rupert's house.

A plain white farmhouse stood with barn and chicken coops near a sloping green lawn. They parked under a tree and he led her toward the house. Mud was everywhere. "It's low lying," he explained. "Weather's never exactly perfect. We take what we can get."

Through a waist-high gate led the path to the house: two long planks laid end-to-end, floating on saturated muck. "It's easy," he said. "Just keep your balance."

She tiptoed forward; the plank underfoot wobbled as if she were standing in a canoe. She spread her arms for balance.

"Here, I'll take your hand," he said.

Even though she had hugged him from behind for the entire ride, the thought of Rupert holding her hand, as if they were intimate, suddenly repelled her. "I'm all right," she said, and drew her hand back. This set her off balance, just enough for her to plant her right foot in mud that covered her toes. For a moment it held, and she was trying to shift her weight back to the plank; then, her foot slid forward as if on a ski. She fell butt-first off the plank with a splat, coating most of her backside in the dark, sticky muck.

She bit off a swear word and sat up, making sure she wasn't hurt. She scowled. Wasn't that an Aesop's fable right there. She had spurned his help, and went smack into the mud. Was this just the kind of day where even the smallest transgressions would be punished in immediate and humiliating fashion? She lifted an arm and let Rupert help her back onto the plank.

"God, I'm a mess," she said.

"I'm gonna have to clean you off before you go into the house."

"Excuse me?"

"My folks'll kill me if that mud gets tracked in. And I won't be able to explain why."

"How am I going to get this off?" She wiped some from her elbow and tried to flick it away. It was sticky as hell.

"By sprayin' it." He had walked to the far end of the porch. He picked up the nozzle end of a coiled garden hose, and dragged it over.

"You're shitting me," she said. She could tell from her own language that the situation was turning sour again.

"Just a quick rinse," he said. "Over here, at the corner. Then when you're inside, you can take a real shower."

She stared at him, but he wasn't budging. Between her half-naked state here and a trip home, with real clothes, stood Rupert with the spray nozzle. She sighed and took the hose.

The water was freezing, and at a pressure that should have scoured a pan; but the muck was sticky enough that it took some effort to clean off. She couldn't reach all parts of her backside, and gave him the hose for those areas. She let him keep spraying as she wiped away the mud.

Finally her back, arms and legs were clean; but her panties were soaked in the stuff, and some mud had gotten inside. She reluctantly pulled them back at the waist to let him spray inside; the water was especially icy on her bare bottom. Still the panties weren't getting clean.

"Take 'em down," he said.

"No way!" she said, but it dawned on her that she'd have to. Spraying inside wasn't getting at the mud. She shrugged, and pulled them down to her knees, and then took them all the way off. She'd have to hand wash them in the sink.

Rupert wiped away some mud on her bottom. Being naked and wet in front of this man was making her jumpy, and his hand on her body was more than she could bear. She yelped and stepped aside, blocking him with her arms. "No touching! Please."

"Sorry." He sprayed his hand to clean the mud off. "I think you're about done. One last check. Turn around."

Lynn stared at him warily as she turned in a quick circle. "We're done. Can I go inside now?"

He unlocked the front door and held it open, ushering her in. Lynn found the whole thing absurd: willingly walking into a stranger's house naked, dripping wet because he sprayed her with a garden hose? Could this really be happening? But this was the way home. He escorted her to the shower, then stepped out of the bathroom and shut the door. For the first time, she enjoyed some real privacy.

She soaped up and shampooed, and let the hot water rinse everything away. She let out a sigh of relief. It was finally over. She was clean, she was safe, and she was almost home. When this was all over, maybe she would send Rupert flowers. She smiled. Maybe Beer of the Month would be better appreciated.

The bathroom door opened. "Rupert? Is that you?" It had better be, she thought.

"Yeah, just me."

"Is there a towel? I'm almost done."

"In a minute."

He was quiet for a few moments, and she couldn't see what he was doing. Then he drew open the shower curtain, just enough to peek in. To step in. He had stripped. Compared to his tan chest and arms, his lap, waist, and penis were pale. And he was hard.

Lynn screamed and covered herself. "What is wrong with you? Get out! Out out OUT!"

"Thought I would join you," he said, as if it were a matter of explaining.

"Get out! I'm serious! Get out!"

"I, uh-" He finally figured out that this wasn't unfolding as he planned, and for a few tense moments Lynn feared he would decide to simply force the issue. Instead, he stepped out and closed the curtain.

Lynn shut off the water, shaking her head. She had misjudged another guy. "Just go. Get out. Did you really think that... Shit! You're just like all the others."

"Sorry, I thought that-"

"Did you bring me a towel?"

"Huh?"

"Did you get me a set of clothes, like you promised?"

"Uh, no, not yet."

"All those things you said you'd do, and you didn't even think about, because you had just one thing on your mind."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

She inhaled, and drew in some inner strength. She no longer felt vulnerable; instead, there was a clarity, a certainty that Rupert would no longer be a problem. Moments ago frightened, she now felt dismayed, let down.

"You know, you could have been a hero, Rupert. Think about it. You probably saved my life back there. Thirty years from now and I'd still be thanking you. But then you had to go tarnish it like this. Good going. Nice job."

"I said I'm sorry. You want me to get some clothes?"

"No, Rupert, I'm through taking help from you." She sighed. "You have nothing to offer. It's too late. Just go down the hall, to another room, and wait. I don't want you in my sight. I'll let myself out."

"You panties are in the wash..."

"Throw them away. Whatever you do, don't keep them. Promise me that."

"Sure. I promise."

"Okay, then. Go."

"I'm sorry, Lynn."

"Apology not accepted. GO."

Rupert left the room. Lynn gave him enough time to get out of sight, and stepped out of the shower.

She left a trail of wet footsteps leading to the foyer and outside. At least Rupert had stayed in his room, fulfilling his last promise.

After she gingerly crossed the plank bridge, she stopped to get her bearings. If the dirt road was heading west, then south would be away from it, across Rupert's farm. She hoped he was telling the truth about no one else being home. Then again, maybe that meant they were working the fields. If so, she would figure out what to do then. She walked around the house, to the back. She shivered, though it was quite warm. Two close calls in a row. She'd have to be more careful.

Being naked again outside was not ideal, but it bothered her less now than before. Was she just getting accustomed to it? Probably not; this had not been a customary day. But she was pleased to walk away from Rupert's house with a clean slate. No strings attached, no favors left to repay. No burdens, no obligations. Since that incident in the shower she had needed nothing from him. Instead of his towel, the sun would dry her skin. Instead of borrowed clothes, she'd go au naturel for a while. She could find clothes someplace else.

She felt her nipples stiffen in the open air. At times she had coveted larger breasts, though never fervently enough to consider augmentation. But she liked her nipples the way they were, the way they easily got hard when she was aroused. If she wore a T-shirt with no bra, or her black bikini with no liner, she looked pretty damn sexy. Quality, not quantity. She touched her breasts, felt herself respond. As long as she was out of danger, and away from leering eyes, being naked outside had some good points. She grinned. Two of them, to be exact.

If she didn't have someplace she needed to go, it might be nice to lay back in the grass, and...

Some other time. The way her luck had run today, she would probably get caught by a TV news crew, mid-orgasm, with her finger up her you-know-what.

She followed a dirt path leading along a barb wire fence that angled into the field. She crested a gradual hill and Rupert's house passed out of sight. She heard a motorcycle engine start up and fade into the distance; and never heard from Rupert again.

* * *

In Capital City, Jeremy Holden walked into the police station. He was nineteen and quite well-behaved, and had never been face-to-face with a cop. "Hi, somebody lost a purse," he said, lifting it to eye level. The desk officer referred him to Officer Vicki Lott, a stocky woman with frosted blond hair, who led him into a maze of desks, computers, ringing phones, and stacks of paper.

Vicki rolled out a metal chair for Jeremy. He sat down and placed the purse on her desk.

"Your name?" she started.

He gave his information: name, home address, and more. I'm just turning it in, he thought. Why does she need my life's history?

Finally she was ready for the matter at hand. "Do you know whose this is?"

"No, I haven't looked inside."

Vicki opened it up and carefully examined its contents. She found the driver's license, credit cards, and some currency; nothing seemed to be missing. "Bear with me while I type this in, it's a new system." She started entering Lynn's information into an online form.

Jeremy waited, hands folded in his lap. The room was full of talking and ringing phones. At the neighboring desk a young cop in a crew cut unwrapped a Big Mac and took a bite. Jeremy wondered if he should have dropped the purse off anonymously instead.

"Did you see this woman in person?" she said, showing him the license photo.

"Uh, yeah," he said. "Some people were bothering her, and she went away."

"You saw the purse and picked it up."

He tensed up; this was feeling too much like an interrogation. "She didn't look like she was coming back. I didn't want it to get stolen. So I came straight here." Of course he left out details; she was a nice girl and didn't deserve to get in trouble for what happened to her.

"That's good, you did the right thing," Vicki said, evidently satisfied with his story.

She finished filling out the form, pressed Submit, and returned her gaze to him. "Thank you, Mr. Holden; we'll try to contact Ms. Sway and let her know her belongings are safe."

"Am I done?"

"Yes. Thank you, Mr. Holden. I'll walk you out."

As she stood up, she noticed yet another gray dialog box in the middle of her screen. She found the Enter key by touch and gave it a light tap to clear the message. That silly computer was always nagging her about something or another: either second-guessing her every decision ("are you sure...?") or crowing about trivial accomplishments ("document is printing!"; no kidding, she could see that). She had learned to tune it out.

The message she just dismissed, had she taken the time to read it, would have caught her attention. The default was "Yes", but the right thing to say would have been "No." In its few seconds onscreen, it read: "Are you sure you want to report [Lynn Sway] as a domestic terrorist?"

* * *

A cow in the pasture peered up as Lynn walked past. She was barefoot; she reminded herself to watch where she stepped.

"Hi, cow," she said.

The cow decided Lynn was not interesting and returned to its meal.

She threaded a copse of trees marking the farm boundary and entered another field, whose earth unrolled in gentle swells and sloped gradually down toward a river. That had to be the Konowoc River. She was making progress.

A bull glared at her from underneath a gnarled tree, nearly devoid of leaves even this late in the spring. Lynn tensed, ready to run if she was charged; how fast could a bull run? It seemed content to keep an eye on her from afar, and didn't budge. She relaxed. "Good thing I'm not wearing red," she said, and pictured her panties spinning in suds in Rupert's washing machine.

She stopped at the bank of the river. There was no bridge as far as she could see in either direction. She didn't know how far off course she was east or west from her house, but was reluctant go far out of her way looking for a crossing. It looked like she would have to go skinny dipping: her first time for that, too.

She took a deep breath and waded in. It was freezing cold, of course, and she wanted to turn back, but she forced herself in deeper. By the time her feet no longer touched the river bottom, she was accustomed to the chill. She swam across easily and stepped out, shivering.

Her wet hair was a bit of a mess; she gathered it and straightened it out in back as well as she could. She froze in that position, hands behind her head, back arched, when she heard the approaching helicopters. She couldn't see them yet, but they were coming up fast.

Fortunately, she wasn't trapped in the middle of a cleared field. The river bank was fringed with trees, giving her a place to hide. She ran to the nearest one and huddled against the trunk, covering her ears.

She would have sought cover even if she had some clothes. She considered helicopters sinister; unless clearly doing something innocuous like checking rush hour traffic, they seemed like they were up to no good. She knew this suspicion had probably been cultivated by a childhood diet of James Bond movies, but it had become instinct and difficult not to follow.

The copters finally came into view, four of them, flying north at just a few hundred feet. The sound was deafening now. They passed by about a hundred yards distant. They were painted a dark army green, but with no insignias. Up to no good. Grateful for a hiding place, Lynn stayed underneath the tree until they had passed from sight and earshot. She hoped there wouldn't be more.

The south side of the river was also farm country. She found another tractor path and followed it to a dirt road. She noticed a plume of dust in the distance, and crouched in a ditch to let a dusty pickup truck pass by. She hoped she hadn't been seen. She crossed the road, the gravel stabbing at her bare feet, and entered another field.

She had planned to keep hopscotching quiet farms for as far as she could, but one of the white houses she was ready to sneak past tempted her enough to reconsider. This one offered a clothes line in back, with laundry drying in the sun.

Walking around naked was fine out here among the farms, if no one was around, but in Konowoc there would be more traffic, more people. If she could liberate a simple outfit from this family's backyard, it would help immensely. Afterward, she could find this house, admit what she had done, and pay them back. That would be a little embarrassing, but less so than being seen naked by a cop, or by someone she knew.

She stood back, scouting the area for signs of life. It looked quiet. Perhaps the family was spending the holiday at the beach, or in the city.

She walked forward until a small utility shed stood in the line of sight to the house. It gave her a better chance of not being seen. She stepped past rows of strawberries, snap peas, and rhubarb. She sidled up to the shed, feeling like a secret agent, then peeked into the backyard. The clothes line sagged under a full load. As far as she could tell, she was alone. She stepped out of cover.

Let's make this a quick shopping trip, she thought. The first row was evidently a man's: denim overalls the size of tablecloths; wide-bodied jockeys; plaid shirts. Aren't you married? Lynn wondered. Where's the ladies' stuff?

On the other side, she found it. Panties, bras. No, you don't need this, Lynn told herself. Put it back. Outerwear. Top and bottom. Focus.

"Hey!" It was a man's voice, gruff. She whirled around. A huge man, in overalls, white shirt and feed cap, was pointing a rifle at her.

"Oh, sir, there's a mistake, you don't need to do that..." she started to say, hands forward in supplication, although she was holding an item of clothing in each.

Then the man shot her.

"Ow!" she cried. It took a few moments for her to figure out she was not dead, and not even seriously injured. The rifle had made a sort of PFFFT sound. Compressed air. And what struck her, on the inside of her left thigh, was some sort of pellet, that didn't seem to have broken the skin. But it stung like hell.

He strolled toward her and fired twice more, one pellet just below the navel, and another at the top border of her pubic hair. She spun around to protect herself, shocked at where it was obvious he was aiming, and he continued shooting. Five quick ones, two low on the waist, and three directly on her buttocks. She realized there would be no reasoning with him; he was going to cover her bare body with welts. And he was shooting at her most sensitive areas. As she ran away, he scored one more hit, on her inner thigh, an inch below where her legs parted. She stumbled for a heart-stopping moment, then regained her footing and ran out of range.

When she dared look back, she was pretty far from the house, and the man had not followed. She caught her breath and shuddered. So much for innocent rural farm country. This felt too much like Deliverance.

She kept walking and noticed that she was clutching two things she had taken from the clothesline. She glanced around, made sure she was alone, and inventoried her loot.

Item 1 was a pair of skimpy white panties held with spaghetti straps. She put them on: a size or so too small, but usable. Her pubic hair was a faint shadow through the shimmery material.