A Dark Autumn (12 page)

A manuscript?
 

She picked up the papers. Gazing through the stack, she found even more pages with a lot more red markings. She reached the final page.
A title page.
The name of the author was printed underneath.
 

Laura Kelly.
 

A scream tickled her throat. Chills scurried up her spine and into her scalp. Her mind flashed back to her apartment, and as if viewing it through a camera, it rapidly zoomed to her bookcase. The second shelf was where she stored her romance books, and her three favorites were first. She could see their spines, the creases up and down the titles from multiple readings, the dog-eared pages, and coffee dots.
The Lust series.
All of them had been penned by Laura Kelly, her favorite romance author. She’d always enjoyed her trashy, yet slick style, and honest depictions and stories.
 

“Oh…my God…”

I’m a writer,
she heard Ricky say.
 

What do you write?

He hadn’t wanted to answer the question and give away his secret identity.
His pen name.
Ricky was Laura Kelly, the romance writer.
 

“Huh-Helen?”

“Yeah?” She called back from what sounded like the rear of the cabin.
 

“You need to get in here. Q-quick.”

“What’s wrong?” The cabin rattled as Helen’s feet smacked the floor. She stopped at the doorway, winded. “Are you okay?”

Michelle turned around, holding the pages with trembling hands. “My God, Helen… We fucked up… We fucked up so bad…”

Helen’s eyes narrowed, her lips pursed. “What do you mean? What did you find?”

“Ever heard of Laura Kelly?”

Helen made a face. “The author?”

Michelle nodded.
 

“Yeah, so what?”
 

“Ricky
is
Laura Kelly.”
 

The confused expression slowly melted into panic. “No…he’s…he can’t be…”

“He is.” She held the papers out to Helen. She took them. “Remember, he said he’s a writer? This is what he was writing.”

Helen’s eyes whisked from left to right as she read the words in front of her. “Oh shit… What are we going to do?” She whispered it as if asking herself more than Michelle.

“You tell
me.
”

Helen’s panic was short lived. “This doesn’t change a goddamn thing.”

“It
has
to.”

“Why? Why does it?”

“Because, he’s
known.
It’s not like he’s some kind of Jack Nobody and the police will believe he could have done what you want them to believe. He’s an author. A lot of people know him, and they can blow a hole in the plan…”

“No. Famous people do stupid shit all the time just because they think they can get away with it. And he’s nowhere near
real
fame.”
 

Helen stopped talking and looked past Michelle. Her eyes continued to move inside her head as if they were trying to keep up with the frantic thoughts behind them.
 

She spoke again. “Actually…this is even better. Yeah.” She waved a finger. “We’ll tell them he invited us back to his cabin to show us his new book. Then he tried to use his success to get us to fuck him. But we wouldn’t, and he went crazy.”

Michelle felt dizzy and sick. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any crazier… “What about the campsite?”

“We’ll leave that part out.”

“And Lucy?”

Helen shrugged. “We’ll bring her here. Make it look like he killed her here.”

Shaking her head, Michelle jerked Ricky’s manuscript from Helen’s hands, then threw it on the table. Her head was still moving when she said, “Absolutely not. I will
not
do that.” The thought of having to touch her gelid skin again was awful.

“Yes…you will.”

Michelle couldn’t speak.
 

“You’ll help me move her to fucking North Dakota if it means keeping us out of jail.”

“Helen…listen to yourself. You sound—”

“Don’t say crazy. You better not.”

Michelle shook her head. “I was going to say you sound like a bitch.”

Helen smirked. “You doubt me. Have I ever done you any wrong?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you even hear what’s coming out of your mouth?”

“I’m just trying to make sure you’re still on Team Helen.”

Michelle wound her hand back, clenched a fist and swung. Expecting to feel the soft skin of Helen’s cheek again, it was caught halfway there. Helen gripped Michelle by the wrist. She gave it a harsh squeeze, then she threw her hand down. “Fine.” Helen back-stepped, keeping her eyes on Michelle. “I’ll just get Amanda, and we’ll go get her without you.”

“Leave Lucy alone.”

“She’s dead. I don’t really think she minds.”

Michelle took a step toward Helen, ready to lunge. She wanted to slap and claw her face until there was only meaty pulp left. But when she saw who was standing behind Helen she froze.
 

With her eyes focused on Michelle, Helen was oblivious to what awaited her. Her back bumped against it. Realizing someone was behind her, her scowl relaxed to a mask of worry. “Michelle…”

“Oh my God…”

Slowly, Helen turned around. Michelle couldn’t see her expression, but figured it was the same as her own. The red hair was deceiving, as was the white shirt and skirt. The long legs were slender, yet muscular with large ankles. The hands that gripped the wooden ax handle were beefy, with worm-like veins jutting underneath the skin. Although it was crudely decorated with makeup, the face underneath the bright colors was easily identifiable.

The ax swung in an arch. The blade hit Helen’s neck on the right side and kept going all the way through. Her head launched, spinning in flight, and with shock frozen on its face. It struck the floor with a wet thud as the body danced, spurting blood from the jagged stump between its shoulders. Then it dropped on its side, two feet from the severed head.
 

The evil eyes encased in clumpy black eyeliner flicked in Michelle’s direction. “Ricky trusted you.”

“What is this?” Michelle asked, backing up. Her rump bumped the table behind her.
 

“He only joined your party at the campsite because
you
were there. He thought you were sweet, a decent person, a
good
person.”

“Th—this is crazy…”

And, it was crazy. The tall woman before her was not a woman at all. Sure, she had long red hair, shaved legs, makeup albeit haphazardly applied, and even musky perfume. But the person under the guise was a man. A man Michelle had grown to know quite well during the past twenty-fours, who had caused her to fiercely orgasm stronger than she had in years.
 

Ricky.
 

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ricky lay near the fire as Michelle mounted him. The others had spread around his body, pinning him to the ground. His mind was a flicker of thoughts and fears. A voice tried to force its way through the static, one that always spoke truer and louder than anyone when Ricky’s psyche felt threatened.

It wasn’t the first time, and probably wouldn’t be the last.

Ricky was a timid creature, afraid of almost everything. There wasn’t much his fears and worries wouldn’t ruin for him. Others often treated him poorly, and Laura Kelly couldn’t handle watching such a sweet man like Ricky hurting so much. So she often took over when things got heavy. At first, Ricky only allowed her to help him write, but it wasn’t long before he allowed her to do even more.
 

This time it had been harder than usual to break through. Ricky had nearly shut down completely. When Laura finally had enough strength, she’d retaliated. She did what she could, but it would have been foolish to take the girls all on unarmed, so she’d retreated.

Ricky was a delicate creation, and Laura admired him for his sensitivities, but not his weaknesses. She would even go as far as saying that she loved him in a platonic sort of way. Like a big sister who adored her younger brother, no matter how much trouble he got himself into. And Ricky was good at that. Getting himself into situations he had no business being in to begin with.
 

She hated to remember what it was like before she’d come along.

Nearly all of his conflicts had somehow originated with sex. Why was it so hard for people to grasp that he was a gay man and had been born that way? He hadn’t asked for it. In fact, if it had been his choice he would have chosen to be heterosexual, so he wouldn’t have had to experience what he had through the years.
 

Even his Aunt Jennifer didn’t accept his preferences.
 

At thirteen, Ricky had two loving parents, but he also felt miserable and confused because he couldn’t discuss his compulsions with them. They wouldn’t understand, or if they did they’d shun him. So, he kept the compulsions all bottled up, and because of that his parents assumed his depression stemmed from girls, or the lack thereof.
 

In the early nineties there was nothing to study but gay porn magazines and movies, and none of those things divulged any information on why he was progressing in that direction. Actually, the magazines he’d managed to steal from the bookstores usually depicted
straight
men sneaking around on their wives, using other men as a fetish, or for a sexual release. Something that was done in shame and private. He didn’t agree with it. It came so naturally to him that it didn’t
feel
wrong, but he assumed it should have. There was no internet to search through then, nor were there books in his local library to read. All he had were his own uncertainties and confusion.
 

Barry Warner was his first love. Sure, he’d crushed on other boys before Barry, but this was the first time the boy had actually liked him back. They’d played on the same Little League team, and after practice they would sneak into the woods behind the ball field to swap smooches. One Saturday after winning their third straight ballgame, Ricky and Barry convinced their parents to let them stay at the field and watch the other games.
 

They’d had other intentions.
 

In the woods, they’d used this rare opportunity to explore each other. They started with their clothes on, and escalated to taking them off.
 

By the time Ricky got home, he was floating. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t concentrate. He was in love. They had agreed to keep their relationship private, but he wanted to tell someone
so
badly that he opted to tell Jennifer, his Aunt on his Dad’s side. She was twenty-two, much younger than his father. They liked a lot of the same things. Movies, music, and even read the same books. She lived alone, was single, and he thought the only one who’d understand his dilemma.
 

Laura Kelly felt sick to her stomach when Ricky visualized what Aunt Jennifer had done.
 

She’d been so convinced that Ricky was not gay and just
experimenting
that she had led him to her bedroom and forced him to strip down just to prove it to him. He’d refused at first, but then she had threatened to tell his father about Barry so he obeyed. He lay on the bed, the blankets cool and soft under his back. He’d realized that Aunt Jennifer wasn’t just trying to assure him he wasn’t gay, but she was also trying to make him understand how much he really wanted to fuck
her
.
 

She was a lonely person and reeked of jealousy.
 

Aunt Jennifer wasn’t an ugly woman, either. She was slender and shapely with spiraling red curls on her head the color of sand. Her breasts were heavy, yet busty and firm. Her skin was soft and milky, dotted with freckles in various patches along her body.

She crawled on top of him.

“Now Ricky… Is this so bad?”

“Yes…” He bit down on his bottom lip to keep from crying.

“Just wait… It gets better. I promise.” She reached between her legs and found his lifeless penis. “What’s wrong? It feels so sad…”

“Please, Aunt Jennifer…this is wrong.”

She shushed him. “Call me Jen.”

He didn’t call her anything.
 

Lucky for her she was so wet and Ricky was large enough even at thirteen that he didn’t need to be hard to be put inside her. She’d been able to just slide him right in.
 

She gasped as she impaled herself on his soft member.
 

“Oh…Ricky… I can’t believe how big you are. Don’t worry… You’ll get hard in a minute…I promise.”

He didn’t, but she hardly seemed to care as she grinded her hips, thrusting with her thighs as sweat began to pebble on her paper-colored skin. He didn’t warn her when he came. He’d just let it spurt inside her. Jennifer collapsed on top of him, resting her mussed damp hair on his chest, proud of herself. And of course, her actions did nothing to help Ricky. He sank even deeper inside himself, further worrying his parents.