The Haunter of the Threshold (21 page)

Finely fired vases, ashtrays, and ring boxes sat arrayed on the shelves. Sonia picked up a porcelain bullfrog with abnormally large eyes. “This stuff’s pretty cool. It’s different without being cliched.”

“The stuff he had at his house was even better,” Hazel said, examining a star-fish-shaped trivet.

“I guess I’m a little...jealous...”

Hazel sighed and looked at her. Sonia was smiling that wide-browed smile of hers again. “I told you,” she whispered, “I didn’t do anything with him, and even if I did, why would you be jealous anyway?”

“Come on...” Sonia took a few steps, then stopped to look at an assortment of porcelain-tubed wind chimes. “Oh, I
love
these.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Hazel insisted. “What is with you today?”

Sonia only kept smiling, cocked a brow, then kept looking at the chimes.

Men are right. Women are nuts.
Hazel collected a half-dozen pieces of Horace’s pottery and took them to the counter.

“I say, you must genuinely admire Horace’s work,” noted the man. “He’s a fine potter.”

What I admire more than his work is his COCK, but that’s
another story.
“He’s not just a potter,” Hazel insisted, “he’s an artisan. A guy with this kind of talent? He could make a fortune at the crafts shows in Providence.”

“Hmm. Ah, well...”

Hazel was deliberately talking Horace up, if only as a gesture of gratitude for his saving her yesterday. The man set his pallette aside and wrapped up Hazel’s purchases. It was during this process that Hazel’s notice was flagged by a quick, dark-red sparkle. This Mr. Pickman wore a ring quite atypical for men: a clunky polished stone the size of a small gumball. It’s color reminded Hazel of the Shining Trapezohedron.

“What an interesting ring...”

“It’s corundum, from Nova Scotia. Very rare. Said by the Druids to bring profit to the wise.”

“Oh.”

He raised his hand, eyed the ring, then Hazel. “Quite like the color of your hair, I’d say. You have lovely hair, if you don’t mind my saying so.” Then the thinnest smile came to his very narrow and very dry lips.

The words and the creaking voice made Hazel’s skin crawl. Did she feel her nipples actually shrink? “Thank you, sir. Have a good day.”

“Not interested in the gallery, I see.”

“Oh, we’ll be back later!” Hazel assured and hauled Sonia out of the store. “‘Bye!”

Sonia looked reprovingly at the large bag of items Hazel had bought. “Didn’t know you were so fond of porcelain work.”

“I just wanted to get some souvenirs,” Hazel commented.

Sonia took Hazel’s arm. “Where to now?”

“Let’s stop by Horace’s trailer.”

“Do we
have
to?” Sonia almost pouted. “I don’t really feel like sharing you today.”

Sharing me?
Hazel didn’t get it. They wandered down the sedate, shop-lined road, back toward the car. “The real reason I want you to go is ‘cos you need to see the ceramic version of the metal box.”

“Oh. Right.”

Hazel let Sonia in the passenger side, then drove. It was hot for this early in the day; Hazel was perspiring at once. Last night’s torrential rain made everything steamy now. The paved road wound through trees in a wide swath; even the woods were misty with humidity whenever Hazel took a glance. Several dirt and gravel turnoffs passed them. FISH - HALF MILE, read a rickety wooden sign at one of the turns.
Horace said...Fish Brothers?
Hazel’s mind ticked. His hunch as to the identity of her rapists. Could the sign mark where they did business?
Don’t be ridiculous,
she scolded herself.
There’re probably dozens of fishermen working Lake Sladder.

She forced her mind off the topic, to concentrate on her bearings.
Here it is,
she believed, then turned right onto an unpaved road.

“These woods are spooky all of a sudden,” Sonia remarked. “And look at the mist.”

Within the woods, tendrils of gaseous moisture seemed suspended. “From the rain, plus the heat,” Hazel replied, then she took an casual glance at Sonia. Sonia was smiling.

“All right. What is it?” Hazel demanded.

Sonia fingers diddled with some of Hazel’s curls. “What is what?”

“The smiling. The
look.
All morning long you’ve been giving me that
look,
” and then Hazel tried but likely failed in mimicking it.

Sonia’s voice descended to something like a sultry octave. “You were terrific last night.”

Hazel winced. “What, fixing Henry’s computer? I wouldn’t call that a
terrific
job; it crashed again later.”

“Come on...”

Hazel snapped her gaze. “Sonia, you’re really goofy today.”

“Oh, I know I’m moody but you definitely caught me in the
right
mood last night.” Suddenly Sonia leaned over and put her lips right on Hazel’s ear. “You were just...so...
good.
”

That’s it.
Hazel pulled over on the shoulder, then leveled her eyes. “Sonia. What are you talking about?”

Sonia looked swoony. “It was lovely. I’ve never come like that in my life. Not even with Frank.”

Last night?
Hazel’s eyes blankened. “What, uh, what—”

Sonia gave a shrill laugh. “Oh, so you’re pretending you don’t remember? That’s fine.”

Hazel continued to stare, more into vacant space than at Sonia. “Seriously. I...don’t remember...Did we...”

If one could nod lasciviously, Sonia did just that. She put her arm about Hazel’s shoulder, leaned closer, then traced the tip of her tongue up the side of Hazel’s neck. “You’re irresistible today. But then, if you want to know the truth...you’re
always
irresistible to me.”

Hazel began to shake very subtly. She wasn’t ready for this. Words she longed to hear but never had were being spoken to her now.
We must’ve had sex last night . . . but I...don’t...remember...

“And if you don’t remember
that
,” Sonia said, now stroking Hazel’s thigh, “you have the worst memory in the world.” Her hand slipped up Hazel’s Mark Twain shirt; Hazel’s nipples erected like tiny hard-ons when fingertips played over them. Then the fingers spidered down to her crotch and began to gently strum.

Hazel was stewing in a repressed frenzy of bliss, lust, and love. Now her crotch was being rubbed more directly. She felt her fluids rush.

“And you’re so unselfish, sweetheart,” Sonia whispered. “You didn’t even let me do anything for you.”

“I—I didn’t?”

The lewd smile broadened. “Oh, I know! Did you get into that bottle of whiskey in Henry’s desk?
That’s
why you don’t remember.”

Hazel felt torn by opposites. She was being felt up and sexually stoked by the only true love-interest of her life, yet the aggravation of no recollection maddened her.

Sonia’s lips came back to her ear. “Take these shorts off. I need to go down on you—”

“In the car?” Hazel exclaimed.

“I know how you feel about me,” the whisper continued to beat. “Don’t you want me to?”

“Yes!” Hazel shot. “But...”
What is going on?
“But not
here.
It’s broad daylight.” Her nipples felt like tingling, hot stones; her sex was
thumping
in her shorts.
This is crazy. I’ve got to get my head
together.
“Let’s-let’s wait...till we’re done here,” she stammered.

Sonia, ever smiling, slid back into the passenger seat. “I get it. Hard to get–”

“No, no, it’s just—”

“I know how you like games, Hazel. I don’t mind playing them...”

My God, my God...
Hazel pulled back onto the road. What could account for her memory failing to recollect a love-making session?
And I KNOW I didn’t drink Henry’s whiskey. I HATE whiskey.
What then?

The situation was impossible; Hazel could scarcely reckon it. She pulled into the winding lane leading to Horace’s solitary trailer. Sonia’s hand continued to play in Hazel’s lap, titillating, then withdrawing, coaxing more tingles and moisture.

She’s driving me nuts...

Grass grew closer to the trailer; Hazel pulled up and cut the engine. “I just want you to see the clay box,” she made the excuse but for the life of her she didn’t know
why
it was suddenly so important. Perhaps it really wasn’t. She needed to sort her thoughts; either that or Sonia was playing some games herself, some
cruel
ones.

“Fancy place,” Sonia said, grinning. “Like the Trump Tower.”

“Be nice. Not everyone who lives in a trailer is white trash.”

“And I can imagine what went on in
this
trailer last night—”

“Would you stop with that!” Hazel tried to sound serious while at the same time giggling when Sonia’s finger began to tickle her belly button. “Nothing went on.”

“That’s fine. Okay, let’s go meet
Horace,
” but then Sonia quickly grabbed Hazel’s shoulders, pulled her face to her, and began to kiss. The kiss delved, first ravenous, then outright lewd. Sonia’s tongue invaded Hazel’s mouth, tussled with her tongue, then actually began to suck it. All the while, Hazel began to melt in her lover’s arms. She could feel Sonia’s heat radiating from her flesh through the sheer sundress while the nipples hardened beneath the fabric to shapes like cleats. She broke off the sloppy kiss long enough to say, “Here,” and then Hazel almost shrieked when she noticed Sonia had dropped her dress straps to reveal her raging bare breasts. Hazel could’ve disintegrated at the abrupt sight of them. “To hell with Horace. Let’s go back to the cabin and
fuck.
”

Hazel reeled. “Cover those up! He might see—” She cast a nervous glance at the trailer’s tiny windows, fumbling to pull Sonia’s straps back up. The frustration nearly brought tears to her eyes. Confusion and arousal seemed to pack together in her psyche like someone kneading dough.
All this time I’ve wanted her more than
anything and now all of a sudden—

Sonia’s hand found its way back to Hazel’s crotch. “You can see Harold later—”

“Horace!”

“So start the car, turn it around, and drive us back to the cabin. Frank’s coming back tonight, remember? Let’s spend the whole day in bed.” Sonia’s eyes glittered, but suddenly her expression lost all of its whimsey and turned dead serious. “You have no idea how much I need to be with you now.”

The words winded Hazel. “Okay—” and her hand touched the key but then the trailer door
clacked,
and out walked a looming, smiling, and very brawny Horace.

“Too late...”

“Guess we have to go in now,” Sonia said in sing-song voice.

Hazel wanted to bang the wheel with her fists.
Why is she fucking
with me like this?
She tried to calm down, got out, and put on a smile. “Hi, Horace. I hope we’re not intruding.”

“New, not et all,” boomed the voice of the big man. “Quite nice ta see yew agin.”

“Horace, this is my friend, Professor Sonia Heald.”

Sonia extended her hand. “Hello, Horace. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Ee-yuh. Likewise. Gettin’ ready fer a new addition, I see.”

Sonia put a hand to her belly. “I’m looking forward to being a mother but I’m getting sick of being an
expectant
mother, if you know what I mean.”

“I heer ya, Miss Heald. My own ma tolt me I weighed twelve pounds when I come into the light’a day.”

Sonia focused on the very large man. “I believe it.”

“She got huh-self dag tired’a carryin’
me
‘raound. God dun’t make much easy, she said. He en’t supposed tew, I guess. But every new life is shuhly a gift from God.”

The introduction grew awkward; then a steady breeze set dozens of porcelain wind chimes into a radiant clamor. “Best we get inside,” Horace offered and showed them in.

“We stopped by Mr. Pickman’s shop earlier but you weren’t there,” Hazel said. “He said you were busy.”

“Shuh am,” Horace replied. “Durntedest thing, tew. But fust...” He slid a chair over for Sonia to sit in.

“I just wanted Sonia to see the your clay replica of the box.”