If Only She'd Loved Him

Wednesday 11:02 pm

With a click, Jean unlocked the door to her apartment off campus. Fingers wet from clutching her leaking squirt gun, she waited for her roommate to catch up with her before she went inside. Megan sloshed up to Jean. They were both still soaked from the water battle they'd just lost, but at least the night wasn't too cold, not for fall in the Northeast. Megan smiled at Jean.

"Hey, thanks for waiting. You want first dibs on the tub?" she asked.

"Sure, but I'll be quick. I just want a fast shower and then bed."

"Amen to that," Megan agreed. She followed Jean inside.

As Jean reached for the hallway light switch, something hard and unforgiving cracked into her wrist, snapping her hand away from the light, leaving them in the pitch dark.

"Don't do it," a muffled voice said.

"Huh, what? Is that you, Paul?" Jean swore, shaking her stinging wrist, but she left the lights off. "Jesus, are you drunk already? What the hell are you doing here when we're not?" Getting no answer, Jean dropped her water gun on the mail table and turned towards her roommate, who was laughing but trying not to show it. "I am too tired to deal with this," Jean announced to the darkness. "He's your boyfriend, Megan. You take care of him. I'm going to bed." She stalked off to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Megan smiled. This night was about to get more interesting. Her eyes adjusting to the lack of light, she could just make out the tall black figure hovering by the light switch, guarding it from her and Jean. What was he up to? What game was this? And—Megan's body tingled—what would happen next? But now Jean was mad at her and it was Paul's fault. She couldn't encourage this strange behavior too much, could she?

She reached a hand out towards his face. "Paul, you know Jean hates it when you're here and we're not. Why can't you—?" Megan began to lecture, but he cut her off, grabbing her hand with warm fingers and pulling it down before she could touch his face.

"Be quiet. Get your coat. We're leaving."

So much for a fun time. Megan tried to shake his hand off her arm. Failing to break his grip, she yawned. "No, we're not. It's been a really long night and I am too tired. Leave it till morning, won't you."

"Get your coat, Megan."

"And if I don't?" she challenged, smiling up at him. She was beginning to wake up and her clothes had mostly dried off in the car, though her shoes were still sopping wet.

"Then I'll make you." Sliding down to her elbow, he tightened his hand, his thumb digging hard at her flesh. Megan giggled, a little uneasily this time. He was kidding, wasn't he? She looked at her watch. It was late but she felt wide awake. Besides, she had taken out two players on the other team that evening and she wanted to celebrate.

"So, you're in that mood," she giggled. OK, but just for a little while." Then she added, leaning close enough for her lips to almost brush his cheek. "By the way, I like that deep voice—very, very sexy."

She started to reach around Paul, her free hand groping for the light switch, but he pushed her away, trapping her fingers together with his other hand.

"I said no lights," he growled.

Megan frowned in response. "You're getting weirder and weirder, Paul. You almost remind me of someone else right now." An old memory fought its way into her head. Shivering, she forced the thought away. That was in the past, she told herself, and the past is over.

"Fine, let's just go and get back. I have an early class tomorrow," she said. He let her go, watching her movements closely.

Megan opened the dark closet, located her leather jacket by feel and put it on. She called out to Jean. "I'm going over to Paul's. I'll be back in a little while."

"Fine, fine, just get going and let me get to sleep," Jean replied. A pillow thudded against the door to emphasize her point.

Fingers again guiding Megan by her elbow, Paul held the door open for her as they left. He waited while she locked the door behind her. The sky was dark. Only an occasional star poked through the clouds, but a distant street lamp cast a pale glow as she looked up at him.

"A mask, how romantic." She reached up to touch his face but stopped when she saw light eyes staring down at her. Paul had deep brown eyes, warm like a chocolate Lab. This person's eyes were pale ice. Her body stiffened, and he felt it. He tightened his grip on her elbow.

"You're not Paul," she breathed.

"No," he smiled, reaching into his pocket, "and this is not a toy."

He pushed the gun in her side.

"Don't make me hurt you, Megan."

Megan stood very still. The gun was a hard lump against her ribs. It felt very different from the wet nose of a plastic water pistol. She sucked in her breath as if to scream, but as he reached up to cover her mouth, he let go of her elbow and she ran. Almost casually, as if he'd anticipated what she would do in advance, he held out one foot and watched as she fell to the ground. She tried to catch her breath as he stood above her with the gun.

"I didn't want to hurt you."

As she tried to scream, No! Please! he raised up the gun. For a frozen second, Megan watched as he spun it around in his fingers, but then he swung it, butt end down, against the side of her head. Her skull exploded. Pain snatched up her mind, taking it far away. Sighing, he gently brushed a strand of hair off her face before he picked up her body, then, cradling her in his arms, he carried her off to his car.