              DISCLAIMER: UNDER 18?  DO NOT READ!  STOP HERE!
                                 *Intro*
	This story is not like my others and I have debated for some time
as to whether or not I should post it.  It DOES contain the same kinds of
loving, romantic detailed lovemaking people have come to associate with my
writing, but there is more here that is new. 
	This story contains violence, some of it graphic.  It deals with
love and hate, envy and regret, life and death.  People die and friends
mourn the loss.  Unlike typical hack-n-slash, dead teenager movies, there
is a point to this story.  It deals with emotions, with motivations, and
with decisions.  It is about how life can suddenly, and tragically, change
and how two people have to survive and adapt.
	If you are squeamish about violence, then you might want to skip
this story.  I don't want people to think this is typical of my writing. 
I didn't do this for people who like to jack off while reading about women
being murdered during sex.  I wrote it because it was an idea that
wouldn't leave me alone until I had beaten it out through my fingertips
and into the keys of the computer.  I wrote it because I wanted the hero 
and heroine to survive for once.  Not untouched or unscathed, and not 
unchanged, but just survive.
	Maybe it was a stupid idea, maybe you will think it is silly or 
trite.  All I know is that I had to write it.
Sincerely yours,
-PD
8<------------
THE EVIL OF HAMMOND HOUSE
by Patrick Donovan
(c) 1995 - Black Angora Press
                                  ONE
                              "Breakdown"
        Mark Petri swore loudly as he tried to regain control of the
minivan.  The road was supposed to be a 'state' highway, but the state
certainly wasn't taking very good care of it.  The pothole he just hit
could have qualified for 'vat' status.  Even with the brights on Mark
wasn't able to see it until too late because they were rounding a sharp
curve on the climbing mountain road.  Some of the passengers screamed as
the vehicle began to spin, others flailed for something to grab a hold
of.  Carl was thrown against Lisa, who was thrown against Angela, who
hit her head on the window frame.  Brenda hung onto Robert for dear
life.  Robert, however, didn't seem fazed.  Typical.
        At the last second, Mark managed to throw the wheel hard to the
left, sending the van into a half-spin so that it ended up on the other
shoulder, facing the way they had come.  For almost a minute there was
silence in the cabin of the van, then Mark struggled to speak up.
        "Is everyone all right?  Angela, are you okay?"  There was
definite emphasis on the last sentence, though only Carl and Brenda
immediately understood the significance of it.
        "I-I hit my head, but I think I'm okay," she responded.
        "No thanks to your driving, Petri," joked Robert.  He and Mark
were really good friends, but he had this tendency to ride Mark about
the slightest mistake.  Mark had always assumed it was some kind of
self-defense mechanism Robert used and so he tried not to take the jibes
personally.
        "I'm surprised you even noticed, Rob, since you're such a
daredevil yourself with that Trans Am of yours.  I suppose you could
have jumped that hole with your eyes closed."
        Before Robert could retort, Brenda broke in. "Let's just get out
and shake ourselves loose a bit.  Then you can assess the damage, okay
Mark?"
        "Yeah, yeah.  You're right, Bren."
        The six of them began to climb out of the dark-blue van.
Angela, Brenda and Carl exited from the rear door and Mark jumped out
from the driver's side.  Lisa and Robert came out the right side sliding
door and stumbled away from the vehicle.  Robert's movement halted
abruptly when his legs hit the guardrail and Lisa nearly knocked him
over when she ran into him.  She was about to rebuke him for stopping so
suddenly when she realized he wasn't paying attention to her, but was
instead staring out ahead with his mouth wide open.  As she followed his
gaze and her eyes adjusted, she understood what he was staring at.  Her
exclamation of "Holy Fuck!" got everyone's attention.  The rest of them
cast their gaze to the railing and what lay beyond: a one thousand foot
plus drop into the valley below.  Brenda and Angela gasped, Carl crossed
himself and muttered something in French. Mark just shook his head in
disbelief and lay it against the driver's side window.
        "Petri, I apologize if I ever criticized your driving," said
Robert, "that was some damn good braking back there."
        After they had a chance to shake off the shock of their
near-fatal experience, everyone moved to the safe side of the van and
took an opportunity to stretch in the nippy air.  Then Brenda sat Angela
down in the opening of the side-door and look at her injury with the aid
of the light inside the van.  There wasn't a cut, but a small bump was
already forming.
        "Lisa, would you get me some ice from the chest?"
        "I'll get it!" Mark interjected quickly and dashed for the back
of the van.  He rustled around for his handkerchief and grabbed a
handful of ice in it, then tied it in a neat bundle and brought it to
Brenda.  She thanked him and applied it lightly to Angela's swelling
forehead.
        "Ouch!" she squawked, but tried to keep her head still.
        Brenda took her best friend's hand and switched it with her own
to hold the ice.  "Keep it there for awhile, okay?"
        "Thanks, Bren," responded Angela, grasping the young Asian
woman's hand and squeezing it tightly.
        Angela Smith had met Brenda Xu in a Latin class during their
first year at Eastern Colorado State,.  Angela was from Seattle and
Brenda was from San Francisco, though her family had originally come
from Taipei.  They liked each other so much they moved out of the dorms
and rented an apartment together after the first semester.  They had a
lot in common, from figure skating (they went to Nationals in San Jose
in '96 and watched Rudy Galindo win the men's title) to supporting Gay
Rights (they were members of the ECSU chapter of the movement to rescind
Colorado's anti-gay legislation).  Now, in their senior year, they were
studying Nursing together and had jobs lined up at University Hospital
after graduation.
        Brenda let go of Angela's hand and walked away to check on
Robert, who had nervously moved back to look over the guardrail into the
valley below.  She took his hand and led him away to a nearby boulder,
which he leaned back against, and put her arms around him.  He returned
the embrace, seeing how cold she was.  She lay her head against his
chest and they each thought about how close they had come to losing the
other.
        After Brenda left, Mark began hovering over Angela.  "Are you
sure you're all right?" he asked.  "Is there anything I can get for
you?"  His eyes seemed to plead with hers for attention.
        Angela smiled, sighed and, with a hint of exasperation, said
"No, Mark.  It's okay.  Brenda did a good job.  Why don't you check out
the van?"
        Mark's expression fell, but before he could stammer an
embarrassed apology, he heard Carl's voice snidely remark, "Yeah, Petri,
why don't you check out the van and let me keep Angie company?"
        Mark tore himself away from Angela's eyes to glare at Carl
Suvega, the expected-to-be class Valedictorian.  His reputation was
certainly earned -- well, reputations, for he had several -- but he had
a bad habit of making sure everyone knew it.  He was being courted by
MIT for masters and doctoral work, as well as for a high-paying position
with NASA as an aerospace engineer, and he was more than happy to share
this information with anyone who would listen.  He also had a
wide-spread reputation on campus as a lover with incredible endurance
and talent.  Whether this legend was spread by him or his many partners
was debatable.  In any event, Mark was exceedingly jealous of Carl.  Not
so much because of his success -- Mark was doing quite well and had a
promising career as a musician and composer -- but because Carl seemed
to be getting most of Angela's attention on this trip and Angela was the
whole reason Mark agreed to take them in his van in the first place.
        Without responding Mark stormed away to look at the front of the
van.  Angela smirked at Carl.
        "You didn't have to be so mean," she admonished him.  
        The mulatto smirked back at her defensively.  "Hey, you're the
one who said he was a pest."
        "I didn't say he was a pest.  I said I wish he wouldn't try so
hard to get my attention.  There's a difference."
        "Listen, baby, it's not like you're ever gonna screw him, is
it?"
        Angela looked down for a moment.  Carl took it as a 'no.'
        "Then what are you fussin' about?"  He sat next to her and put
his arm around her, pulling her shoulder against his.  "Once we get to
the hotel, you an' me can get down to the business we started last
night, all right?"
        Angela remembered how her heart had raced when Carl took her
hand walking back to the room.  She had been hoping all week that he
would make a move, but was worried that maybe he was still pining for
Lisa, with whom he had an on-again/off-again relationship.  Lisa had
assured her that their 'spoken for' status was off now, but nothing
quelled Angela's concerns until Carl slipped his hand into hers on the
way back from swimming in the pool.  She had been watching his movements
carefully as he took dive after dive into the crystal blue water.  Of
course his tight Speedos made it all the more difficult for her
attention to wander and left little for her to imagine.  Then, as they
had reached the door of his motel room, he brought her roughly to him,
her haltered breasts pressing firmly against the solid muscles of his
chest, and kissed her deeply.  Their eyes met and the word 'yes' was
silently spoken between them.  Unfortunately, it was very late and they
had needed to be up early in the morning, so they were forced to
postpone their consummation until tonight, when they could better
arrange to be together.
        "All right..."  Angela tilted her head up to receive Carl's
kiss, but their moment of pleasure was interrupted by a curse from the
front of the van.
        "Aw shit!"
        Robert, his hands roughly massaging Brenda's tight bottom, broke
away from his kiss with her to see Mark thumping the hood of the
minivan.
        "What's up, Mark?" he called.
        "Come here and have a look.  We're stranded."
        The others walked around to the far side of the van to see what
was going on.  Mark pointed the flashlight he had recovered from the
glove box at the passenger side tire.  It was flat and the wheel-rim was
bent.
        "You've got the spare, that shouldn't take too long to put on,
should it?" said Lisa.
        "Yeah, Petri, what're you all flustered about?  Rob and I can
have that fixed in ten minutes flat," added Carl.
        Mark sighed and glared at Suvega.  He did that a lot when Carl
was around.  Actually, a lot of people did that when Carl was around.
        "I thought that too, until I checked the driver's side wheel
again, Carl."  The Jamaican walked out in front of the van a little
ways, taking Mark's comment as a challenge.
        Mark passed the light back and forth over both wheels.  "You're
engineer, you figure it out," snapped Mark, for good measure.
        Carl's face fell.  "He's right, guys.  We aren't goin' anywhere."
        The others walked out to Carl's vantage point and their faces
fell.  The wheels weren't even closely aligned anymore.  The impact must
have yanked right wheel out of alignment and burst the left tire.  It
was a complete mess.
        "Well, now what do we do?" moaned Lisa.  "Walk?"
        The prospect of walking along the highway in the mountains
through the long, cold night was not a pleasing one.  The road wasn't
used much, as the interstate ran through the valley and was much
quicker, but they had wanted to take the scenic route.  They'd hardly
seen any cars on it since they turned off at 2:00.  It might be hours
before they could flag anyone down.
        "Wait a minute!" cheered Brenda.  "I've got my cell phone!"
        A murmur of relief ran through the group as Brenda reached
inside the van and rummaged through her bag.  She pulled out a
flip-phone and checked to make sure the battery was charged up.  It was.
She popped it open, not unlike Captain Kirk would have done when faced
with a hundred man-eating tribbles, and activated the search function.
        Nothing.  She tried again.
        Nothing.
        "It's got to be the mountain.  Stand by the rail, Bren," said
Angela.  Mark just sat in the driver's seat and hugged the steering
wheel.  He knew she wouldn't be successful, that would be too easy.
This had to be hard because that was his life story.  All these people
were relying on him to get them back to school before vacation was over,
so something *had* to go wrong.
        Brenda walked to the very edge of the precipice and stood at the
rail.  She tried again, several times, but the phone simply couldn't
make a connection to a transponder.  After ten minutes, she gave up.
        "Well, I guess we're walking after all," moaned Lisa.
        After a quick discussion, the group decided to send Robert and
Carl up the road a ways to see if they could spot any houses.  The
others would remain at the van getting things organized either for a
move to a nearby house or for a night in the van.  The women were
apprehensive about letting their loves go out into the night like that,
but they definitely agreed that Mark shouldn't go on his own, even
though he offered too.  It was just too dangerous for anyone to go
alone.
        Mark and the women hadn't been working more than a half-hour
when the guys returned with news of a large house about a mile up the
road.  They quickly grabbed their packs and Mark locked up the van,
leaving behind a note for anyone, especially a State Trooper, who might
happen upon the scene of the accident.  Then they took off.  It was
about 9:15.
        Though it only took them twenty minutes to reach the place on
the road spotted by Robert and Carl, it became quite evident they had
further to go.  There was a little-used gravel drive, closed off by a
large wooden swing-gate, leading up toward some lights, but it seemed to
Mark to be quite a ways up the slope of the mountain.  Still, it was the
only sign of life anywhere nearby, so they climbed over the gate and
started up the slope.
        An hour later, as the nearly-full moon was beginning to rise,
they collapsed, exhausted, at the base of a huge iron gate guarded by
two stone lions.  Through the bars of the gate they could just make out
what lay beyond: a huge house, a mansion.  Several windows were
illuminated -- what they must have seen from the road below -- though no
outside lights were visible.  It looked decidedly UN-inviting.
        Mark played the beam of his flashlight over the columns that
supported the gate and the lions.  The one on the right bore a large
bronze plaque, nearly overgrown with ivy.  He struggled to his feet and
walked over to the column, brushing back the leaves and vines to reveal
the words:
                             HAMMOND HOUSE
        There was a mottled and battered box on the column beneath the
plaque, also covered in vines.  After struggling to pull the clingy
strands away from it, Mark discovered what it was: an intercom.  Without
bothering to bring it to the others' attention, he pressed the button
and waited for a response.
        There was none.
        He tried the button again.
        Still nothing.
        "Mark, what are you doing?" asked Lisa.
        He pressed the button once more.  "I found an intercom, but it
doesn't seem to be working.  No one's answering."
        Lisa stood up and walked over to him.  "Great, first we nearly
plow over a cliff, then we find out the van's ready for the scrap yard,
then we walk for God knows how long up this God-damned mountain in this
tit-freezing air and, when we finally find a sign of civilization,
there's no one at home!"
        At that moment there began a strained, mechanical whirr.  The
rusting gate suddenly split apart and then slowly creaked open.  Mark
raised an eyebrow at Lisa.
        "And just how long have you had this power, Miss Bonham?" he
said in a mock-German accent.
        She flashed him a knowing smile and grabbed her pack, following
Carl through the gate.  Mark brought up the rear, tucking his flashlight
into his pack, and made it through just as the gate began to close.
        It took them another five minutes to reach the front porch of
the mansion.  On the way up they looked the place over, taking in the
breadth of its beauty.  The architecture put the two-story structure as
probably having been built in the 1920's.  Carl guessed it had about
fifty rooms, plus there was a four-car garage in a separate building at
the near end of the house.  At the far end there was a fenced-in area
that looked to Angela, from what she could make out in the light of the
moon, like it might have been a private graveyard, but no one was
willing to go over and check.
        They approached the columned porch.  When Robert stepped onto the
stone surface, several lights clicked on.  Several members of the group
jumped.
        "Motion sensor," noted Carl, calmly.
        When they reached the door it was already beginning to open.  By
this time some people were getting very jumpy.  Something about this
place just didn't feel right...
        They entered the foyer.  It was an extravagant room, with marble
tile on the floor and walls; Mexican onyx lined the ceiling rim. There
were several columns made of gray marble and trimmed with gold leaf. Two
large, elegant hallways, one on each side, exited from the foyer and
there were two smaller doors on each side of the back wall, probably
leading to some kind of dining or living room.  There was a gorgeous
three-tiered crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling. The far wall
was adorned with a grand staircase that rose halfway up the back wall,
then split into two staircases, going right and left up the rest of the
way to the second floor.  There was a mezzanine coming off of each
staircase, flanking the foyer, with hallways going off in each
direction.
        "Wow!  This reminds me of my uncle's home back East," admired
Robert.
        Robert Koss's parents died just after he was born and his uncle
Louis and Aunt Sandy raised him as their own in a grand house on Long
Island.  Louis had built a lucrative auto parts empire starting back in
the late 50's and was still riding high on the profits.  Robert was at
ECSU studying business management so that he could take over for Uncle
Louis when he retired.  Robert had met Mark during their freshman year
and they established a friendly rivalry, eventually becoming best
friends, though it was sometimes hard to tell.
        Suddenly there was a startled cry from Brenda.  Standing in the
small doorway at the left side of the back wall was a gray-haired,
middle-aged man, dressed in a white dinner jacket and suit, holding a
large brandy snifter.  It was nearly empty.
        Brenda, always being the diplomat, tried to smooth things out.
"We're sorry to intrude, sir, but --"
        "Get to the point, young lady.  I don't have time for
pleasantries," he snapped, cowing Brenda.
        Robert tried to take over for his unnerved lover.  "We were
looking for a phone.  Our van broke down and --"
        "I don't have a phone, young man.  You'll have to go elsewhere."
        Mark heard a quiet sniffle and looked behind him.  Angela was
holding her hand on her face and he could see her mouth contorted in a
sob.  Tears were beginning to stream down her face.  He walked over to
her and put his hand on her shoulder.
        "Angela, are you all right?"
        "What's the matter with her?" the man asked, a hint of
compassion suddenly appearing in his voice, and he began to walk over
towards her.
        Mark looked up at him.  "She hurt her head when our van hit a
hole in the road.  We almost went over the cliff.  Everyone's pretty
shaken up..."
        But the man wasn't paying much attention to what Mark was
saying.  Instead he reached out and touched Angela's chin, tilting her
head up.
        "Let me see that, miss, I..." he started to say, but his words
after that trailed off.  It was obvious, to Mark anyway, that he was
caught off guard when he saw Angela's face.  He recovered quickly,
though, and began looking at the bump on her head in earnest.
        "Hmmm.  It doesn't look to serious.  Still, I probably ought to
have a proper look at it."  He turned to address all of them.  "I'm a
doctor, Dr. Olias Hammond.  I'm sorry about being so abrupt earlier.
I'm not used to having guests, especially so many.  Please forgive me."
        Brenda spoke up again.  "It's all right, Dr. Hammond.  We
understand.  We did sort of drop in your lap and it is pretty late."
        He waved off her apology.  "No need to worry."
        "Can you help us, Dr. Hammond?" asked Robert.  The doctor turned
to face him.
        "I'm afraid I still don't have a phone, young man.  I used to,
but now I live alone and don't like to bother much with the outside
world.  I try to avoid it as much as possible."
        Robert nodded as if he understood, but Carl seemed suddenly
to be very curious.
        "How do you get food and supplies?"
        "I usually send for them, have them delivered.  I have quite a
stockpile of goods as well.  I also have help that comes in weekly to
clean the place and keep up the grounds, but other than that I take care
of myself."
        Lisa was looking impatient.  "Isn't there any way you can help
us, Dr. Hammond?"
        The doctor thought for a moment.  "Yes, my dear, I can.  I have
a car in the garage that I use from time to time when I want to get out
and about.  One of you may take it into the valley for assistance."
        "It's gonna be pretty late by the time one of us gets there and
gets back.  I doubt there'll be any repair shops open," noted Carl.
        The doctor waved his hand again.  "I wouldn't normally do this,
but you all seem like such nice young people and you have had a bit of a
rough night.  You're welcome to stay the night here at Hammond House.
There's plenty of room."
        There were several expressions of relief and gratitude from the
people in the group, especially Angela, whom Dr. Hammond seemed to have
impressed with his kindness.  Mark, however, was still uneasy.  Why was
the doctor suddenly being so polite and accommodating?
        Their host showed them back the way he had come.  It was a
living room as equally ornate as the foyer had been.  The walls were
lined with cherrywood panels and braced with solid mahogany columns.
The ceiling was vaulted to a rectangular panel of mahogany, which had
been etched and carved with a variety of Gothic images.  Just above
their heads the room was criss-crossed with red-stained oak beams that
supported the elaborate ceiling.  At the far end of the room was a huge
fireplace, logs currently alight, with what looked like a family
portrait hanging above it.  Facing it was a large U-shaped, red leather
sofa set.  It was to this that Dr. Hammond escorted the exhausted
troupe, offered and distributed drinks (only Mark declined), and
attended to the knot on Angela's forehead.  Afterwards he excused
himself and retreated from the room.  Everyone had already dropped their
bags and coats and crashed, sinking into the ample leather and sipping
their chosen beverages.  The fire and the alcohol began their work very
quickly and, within a few minutes, everyone was feeling quite a bit
better.  Except Mark...
        No one in the group really knew how to deal with Mark's
brooding, paranoid nature.  He was really a nice guy with quite a bit of
talent, but a very low level of self-esteem.  His family life had been
bad, or so was the general rumor, and he was more than happy to move to
Colorado from the Midwest to go to school.  He was also overweight and
hadn't had any decent relationships with women in his life.  In fact, he
was still a virgin, though only Robert knew it.  Robert knew the jibing
rivalry they shared was just a front for hiding their emotions, but he
was trying to ease up on it, because he sensed it probably hurt Mark
deep down.  Carl didn't really give a damn about Mark -- he wasn't
important to his future -- and Lisa tried to be nice to him, though she
really wasn't interested in getting to know him very well.  Brenda was a
good cookie, trying very hard to be friends with Mark and giving him
good, sisterly advice.  She had introduced Angela to Mark, hoping they
might get along, but his distant personality made it hard for her to
think about anything long term.  She just wasn't ready to take on such a
responsibility, especially when Carl was there for the taking.
        Several minutes later, Dr. Hammond returned.  "I have opened up
three rooms in the East Wing for your use.  If you will follow me, I
will escort you to them."
        The gang got up wearily, deposited their glasses on the side
table, and grabbed their various items.  Mark seemed to hesitate,
looking into the fire, before Brenda came over and nudged him along.
They all filed out of the living room, following Dr. Hammond up the
stairs and to the left.  Brenda lagged behind with Mark.
        "What's eating at you, brother?" she asked him.  They often
called each other 'brother' and 'sister' because neither of them had
siblings of their own and they felt like they had *that* kind of
relationship.
        "Sorry, sis," he sighed, looking up at Angela as she hung close
to Carl's side.  "It's this house.  There's something eerie about it."
        "Are you sure it's the house and not something else?" asked
Brenda, also watching as Carl slipped his hand into Angela's.
        Mark's voice dropped to a whisper.  "All right, maybe it's not
the house.  Maybe it's just that I can't stand to think of him ...
touching her."
        Brenda knew how Mark felt about her best friend.  Mark often
told Brenda how he thought about Angela's long brown hair and her green
eyes and the smooth skin of her face.  About how he dreamed of holding
her and making love with her in front of a roaring fireplace.  About how
she was the only woman he had ever felt he could spend his life with.
Brenda knew all about the pain that was in his heart, but there was
nothing she could do.  Brenda tried not to liaison between them.  That
kind of involvement never worked out in her experience, so she just
listened to each of them as a friend and tried to be sympathetic.  She
couldn't tell Mark that Angela really did care for him, but she was
afraid she would end up hurting him because he was so sensitive.  Brenda
just hoped that, sooner or later, they would be able to talk to each
other.
        Dr. Hammond took them to three different rooms, scattered
throughout the upper level of the East Wing.  He showed them the
amenities, each room having a king-sized canopy bed and large bath
facilities.  He directed them to the linen closet so they could retrieve
towels, blankets and pillows.  The rooms were somewhat bare, since they
had not been used in some years.
        "When my grandfather built this house, it was for his rather
sizable family.  My father maintained that tradition, but most of my
siblings have either moved away or passed on."
        "Don't you have any family of your own, Dr. Hammond?" asked
Lisa, in her usually tactless way.  The others in the group winced.
        The doctor seemed unperturbed.  "Not anymore, my dear," he
responded and turned away, stopping for a second to look strangely at
Angela (though only Angela and Mark really noticed), and headed back
down the hallway towards the foyer.  "You're welcome to the kitchen.
It's in the East Wing on the first floor.  I will be working late in my
study in the West Wing.  I ask you please to try not to disturb me.
It's the only favor I ask for my hospitality," and with that he
disappeared around the end of the hallway.
        Robert looked at Brenda and shrugged.  Everyone seemed pretty
perplexed -- the doctor was a strange guy -- but most of them took it in
stride and grabbed some towels and accessories to make their evening
more comfortable.  After all, it was only for one night.
        Mark didn't pay a lot of attention to what the others did.  He
grabbed some linens and walked to the furthest room.  Before he entered,
though, he glanced back down the hall to see Brenda follow Angela into a
room.  Beyond that door Carl and Lisa stood in the hallway talking
softly, Carl's hand touching her face.  Mark heard him say something
like "Don't worry about it, I have an idea," and, after a few more words
with her, disappeared into his room where Robert was waiting.  Lisa came
down the hall towards Mark, smiled at him, and entered the room with
Brenda and Angela.  Mark, not even having a chance to say good night,
sulked back into his room and closed the door.
        Mark took a long hot shower to get the grime off from the long
journey up to the Hammond estate.  He tried as hard as possible not to
think about Angela and Carl, but the image of them holding hands was
still in his mind.  Each time he tried to picture himself with Angela
the image of Carl came up in his place.  Holding her hand, it was Carl.
Kissing her, it was Carl.  Rolling under the covers on top of Angela's
sweaty, moaning form, it was Carl.  Mark suddenly switched the water to
ice cold.  That cleared his mind immediately.
        After drying himself off he slipped on his sweats and crawled
into the bed.  It was certainly comfortable and he imagined the others
were finding theirs the same as well.  Mark picked up his book and tried
to read, but his thoughts kept wandering back to Angela in her room just
down the hall, dressed in a thin t-shirt and knickers, curled up next to
Brenda and Lisa, chattering about one thing or another.
        "Probably making fun of my driving," he said to himself.  No, he
knew that wasn't true.  He knew they liked him.
        He tried to read some more, but it just wasn't working.
        "I've got to talk to her," he said and threw back the covers.
        Getting out of the bed he adjusted his sweats and headed for the
door, but just as he prepared to leave he heard another door, further
down the hall, opening.  Mark popped his door open a fraction and
glanced toward the others' rooms.  He saw Robert, in an open bathrobe,
treading quietly towards the girls' room and knock lightly.  After a
moment the door opened slowly and Angela stepped out.  Mark's breath
drew in sharply as he saw what she was wearing: a cut-off t-shirt and
almost non-existent, thigh-revealing panties that were so skimpy they
left Mark no room for imagination at the beauty of her backside.  Robert
gave her a quick raised eyebrow as she walked past, then started into
Brenda's room.  Mark heard Angela mumble something back to him about
having a good time with Brenda, then she walked on down the hall to the
door leading to Carl's room.  It opened without her knocking and Carl,
clad only in a pair of boxers, stepped out to embrace her, his brown
arms closing around her waist.  Hers circled around his neck and she
drew his head down to meet with hers in a deep, passionate kiss.  After
a few moments he pulled her into the room and closed the door.
        Mark pulled his door gently closed and walked to the bed.  He
picked up his book, walked back to the door, left the room and headed
determinedly down the hall.  He walked past the room Brenda and Robert
were in, not even wondering where poor Lisa had been shuffled off to
(she certainly wouldn't have come in to share the bed with Mark!).  He
didn't even flinch as he passed the room in which Carl and Angela were
probably exploring each other's bodies and walked onto the mezzanine.
He went down the stairs to the foyer, into the living room, poured
himself a large brandy and sat down on the couch in front of the fire,
which he stared into for the next half-hour.
END OF PART I
