Title: The Irrelevant Woman
Author: Optimizer
Keywords: m/f, m/m, scifi, voy Summary: It's the quiet ones you have to watch out for. If you can...

Experiments show that our senses only detect a tiny portion of what's out there. Worse, our brains manage to process just a fraction of that.

It's astonishing how much escapes our notice - and escapes it so completely that we don't even realize we missed anything. Surely it wouldn't take much to exploit those limitations...

(This story takes place in the "Newer Universe" series.)

# The Irrelevant Woman

## by Optimizer

Whatever the girl was thinking about, it purely wasn't the groceries she was ringing up.

"Excuse me," Mary said.

The clerk kept grabbing items and typing in the prices.

"Excuse me," Mary said said again, a bit more loudly.

The girl looked almost startled, as if the register or a box of cookies had suddenly spoke up. "I'm sorry?" she asked.

"You rang up my corn twice."

The girl stared for a moment, then ran her finger up the tape coming from the register. She then turned and looked at the clot of foodstuffs at the end of the belt - apparently to count cans. Sullenly, she pulled the microphone to her mouth and called for a manager. Once the sale was voided, the girl silently went back to processing the order. And then bagged it all silently, too.

No one offered to help Mary load the groceries into her car. Martha Brady and Patty-Jo Waller were chatting in front of the exit door; she had to wait quietly for them to notice her and move out of the way.

She piled it all in the trunk of the rusted Nova, and got it started up on the second try. Switching on the radio, she carefully pulled out of the lot.

As she made her way home, she noticed Annabelle on the sidewalk, and almost honked. The girl looked her way - for a moment Mary was sure she looked right in her eyes - but she moved on, and the car passed her. Oh, well, why should the girl even have the time for a middle-aged housewife, outside of choir practice?

Her path took her by the church where their choir sang. She took note of the sign out front: "THE LORD LOOKETH FROM HEAVEN; HE BEHOLDETH ALL THE SONS OF MEN." - PSALM 33:13

Pastor Collins was still on about that "White Event". Not three months ago everything had lit up for a few moments, bright as could be, everywhere on Earth. Many people took it as a sign the End Times had begun - Collins among them. Mary just held to Matthew 24:36, "But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only."

The radio people were talking about an earthquake, in some place called "San Salvador". Or maybe "El Salvador". It seemed like both, or something. Just for a moment, she wondered if the pastor might not have the right idea.

Her own worries took over as she turned onto their street, and searched their driveway with her eyes. Mary sighed with relief as she pulled into the garage. Hobart's car wasn't there. If only she could put away the groceries before he got home...

She compared prices, waited for deals, clipped coupons. He still always chewed her out about how much she spent on food. Yet there was plenty of money for beer, or bowling shoes, or paint for his car. If he didn't see her putting it all away, she wouldn't have to hear him go on about it. Or feel him take it out of her hide.

She started by lugging the milk into the kitchen. Even in early October, dew beaded like sweat on their sides. Cold never really hit Georgia until January or so. Maybe December.

As it turned out, she had plenty of time. He didn't show at all, the whole time she was stowing things away, and she got started on dinner. Meatloaf was a safe choice. Hobart never complained about her meatloaf, which was the closest thing to praise that came from him anymore.

It was hard to remember ever loving him. She could recall bare facts - being excited for the wedding, going off on their honeymoon. But the feeling had drained away a long time ago. Even her memories were in black and white. All that was left were smoldering embers of fear and resentment and well-banked, carefully-hidden hate.

She had dinner ready by six. But there was no sign of Hobart. A quarter after, she had a sinking feeling, which had turned into a sick depression by half past. He'd gone for a beer with the boys, or some such thing, and hadn't bothered to let her know. Anxiously she checked the answering machine again, but there was no message.

At seven she surrendered hope, and ate standing up, even as she rushed to get the plates and leftovers put away. There was no way around it, it would be a bad time when he got home. He'd scream about her wasting food, no matter that he hadn't called her. No matter that he'd have screamed just as loud if he'd got home from the plant and dinner wasn't on the table.

The most she could hope for was that he'd be too drunk to think about it until the morning. She couldn't be lucky enough for him to get so drunk he'd kill himself on the road home.

It wasn't much after eight when she heard the car door slam outside. Earlier than she'd expected. Maybe even his "friends" had ditched him.

Mary stood in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for tomorrow's casserole. The accustomed tension spread across her back as the key turned in the back door lock. He walked in and made an unconscious sniff when he caught sight of her.

"I missed you at dinner," she said quietly, not looking up.

"I got dinner out. Me and Barry and Hitch went over to Lula."

"Oh." She knew what that meant. A bar there. They went because it got a younger crowd, even some college kids. She didn't even care anymore about Hobart eying girls half his age. It was just that he'd come home to her, and she wouldn't measure up. And he'd blame her.

"Is that meatloaf I smell?" It had started. She risked a quick glance at his face. His expression belonged on an angry grade schooler, maybe even a kindergartener. Not a canning plant worker pushing fifty. Not a tall man with thinning and graying hair, a broad beer belly, and rosacea-ruddy cheeks.

She sensed the fearful, pleading tone creeping into her voice, and hated herself for it. "I thought you were coming home after work. I thought you'd like..."

"I never said I was coming straight home! Christ, it's Friday night! I don't need your damn permission to go out with my friends!"

Right, it was her fault she'd assumed he'd come home for dinner like he did nine times out of ten, even on Fridays. "Of course not, I just thought..." She shrank in on herself, but she was facing him now. She'd need to see when he started hitting.

He bellowed. "You 'thought'! You don't think, you do what I say, woman!" He pulled back his hand. From long experience, she instantly judged how far. The smack would be about average, she saw, and on her cheek. One followup, maybe two. Then, most likely, he'd have worked it off. Some crack about her hair or her spending or some other nonsense, and then he'd go watch TV. She'd probably have to muster up some tears, prove he'd hurt her; actual sobs shouldn't be needed, though. Just enough to make sure he didn't decide to...

Finally she realized the blow hadn't landed.

He just stood there, hand in the air, such an expression of... of...stupid befuddlement on his face that, despite the fear that was almost comfortable, despite all her instincts, she had to desperately struggle not to laugh.

"Mary?" he called out uncertainly. "Where'd you go, woman?" He sounded strange.

Her mouth fell open in pure confusion. What was he on about? She hadn't moved an inch.

He wouldn't look her in the eye. His head darted around, searching. "Where the hell..." he muttered. Then he leaned around to look behind her. Her heart froze, along with her body. The skin of her arms, the back of her neck, sprung out in goose-pimples. If he was angry enough to taunt her, tease her... this might be a memorable beating indeed.

But he just walked past her, over to the doorway into the living room, still hunting. "Mary Giselle Watson, you get your ass back in this kitchen right now!"

She'd hunched over, frightened. "I'm right here, Hobart," she said, somewhat tentatively.

He turned around, and she flinched. But he walked past her again to the back door, and opened it to search the backyard. "Mary?!" he yelled. "How... where the hell are you at?!" She finally placed that odd undertone in his voice.

Fear. He was afraid.

She'd heard suppressed fear in his voice before. Talking about his job or his boss, or sucking up to police officers when pulled over for speeding. She'd just never heard it when he was giving her orders. It made a very strange, unnerving contrast. Especially because he tended to hit her more when he was afraid.

He waited a moment longer, then hollered, "You get your ass back in here right quick, or I'll tan your hide! You'll be black and blue, y'hear?!"

She spoke up again, against her better judgment. Whatever game he was playing, she just wanted it done. "Hobart, I'm right here."

He didn't respond to her. A moment later he slammed the door. He stormed over to the fridge, pulled out a beer, and marched into the living room. She heard the TV come on.

Mary just stood in the kitchen. Completely bereft of any explanation, of any notion what was going on.

It felt like a couple minutes passed. Eventually she went into the bathroom and stared in the mirror at her own reflection. There she was, the same face she saw every morning and night. She wasn't see-through or anything.

It was a tired face. A timid face. Rounder than times gone by; short dirty-blonde hair framing it. She'd never liked her large nose, but once upon a time she'd thought her green eyes were her best feature. Back when they'd had some life in them. Before they stared at the floor in shame around other people.

Her figure had broadened, too. She looked so... plain, so average. An overweight, middle-aged housewife. Socially invisible, maybe. But not physically so.

She walked back out to the living room. Hobart sat on the couch, watching some baseball game, holding his bottle of beer.

"Hobart?" she said quietly. He didn't stir. He just frowned at the screen.

On a wild impulse, she walked over and stood on the other side of the coffee table, between him and the TV. He scowled, and leaned to one side. She shifted to her left, to get in his way again. He leaned the other way, still frowning. His eyes never once focused on her.

Giddy, disbelieving, she backed up and parked her rear right up against the screen. It felt warm, and a little static crackled as the fabric of her skirt touched the glass.

Letting out a bark of frustration, he stood up and charged toward her. The glare on his face... she quailed inside. But her instincts were to freeze, and she did. He strode up... and banged on the side of the TV. "Piece a' crap! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he shouted. He craned his head, still trying to see around her. He grabbed the dial, clicked through to another channel. "Shit!" he yelled. He reached past her to fiddle with the antenna.

With another "Shit!" he gave up. Then he looked down at his beer. It was unopened. He must be rattled to forget that! she thought absently. He stalked away, toward the kitchen, muttering angrily to himself. She just stood there, and heard him rustle in a drawer, then the pop-fizz of the bottle being opened. As he walked back into the living room, she shifted away from the TV.

He stared at the screen. "Oh, you decided to work, eh? Ain't that always the fucking way." He sat back down in his usual place, where his hiney had worn a permanent dent in the cushions.

Mary was well-trained in reading Hobart's mood. Like an Indian judging the weather from the small signs in the wind and sky. He was ill-at-ease, upset. And yes, definitely a little frightened.

She stepped closer, carefully. He gave no sign he noticed her approach. Before long she stood next to the couch, staring down at him. Angry now, bold beyond reason, she reached down and tipped the beer into his lap.

He howled and swore and stood up, wiping frantically at his pants. But he made no move to strike her. He actually walked around the coffee table to get to the bathroom, instead of barreling through where she stood.

Utterly at a loss, Mary stepped away. Hobart came back, rag dabbing the wet spot on his pants. He seemed to be hunting for signs of anything out of place. It was plumb foolish how his gaze just slid past her, unseeing.

No, it wasn't that he couldn't see her. He couldn't... recognize that he saw her. It was like she was just a... a piece of furniture. Something ignored, inconsequential, unimportant. Something beneath notice.

Something you couldn't notice?

Numb, she decided to go for a walk. She caught herself trying to come up with an excuse to give Hobart... but then, half-convinced the strange spell would be broken, she just walked out the front door without permission. But no shouts followed. She ambled along their street, trying to figure out what on Earth was happening.

She wondered if Hobart had been bewitched or something. It made no Earthly sense. She knew he wasn't joking. That wasn't his kind of humor at all. He didn't... he wasn't smart enough to think of a prank like that. Let alone keep it up. It was all just beyond her.

It had been a long time since she'd gone for a walk in the evening. Hobart didn't enjoy walks, and when he was home she was expected to be around to fetch him beer or listen to him complain or absorb a smack or three. She'd almost forgotten what it was like, the cool breeze starting to blow, the dusk making everything look just a touch fuzzy, just slightly magical.

Turning the corner, she surveyed ahead down the way. The Weathers' house caught her eye.

Insight struck her like a thunderbolt. Old Jody Weathers had suffered a stroke back in '83. He'd never recovered, never been the same again. Some of his quirks would have been funny if they weren't so sad. His left side barely moved, and his left eye drooped, but that wasn't the worst part. The funny thing was, he never saw the left side of things.

His wife Sadie would put a plate of food in front of him, and he'd only eat what was on the right. It didn't matter if it was liver on the right, and ice cream on the left, he'd ignore - plumb couldn't see - the left side of the plate. If Sadie spun the plate, though, he'd see what he'd missed before. And no longer saw what he'd been eating just a moment ago. What had the doctor called that? Something 'neglect'. 'Hemi-something neglect'.

It was like Hobart had 'Mary neglect' now. Like he couldn't even process that she was there.

A stroke! Hobart had had a stroke. A... weirdly specific stroke? That didn't mess up how he moved, or talked? Or anything but seeing his wife?

She'd never heard of such a thing. Then again, until Old Jody had his stroke she'd never heard of 'neglect', either. Whatever else could it be?

She turned in and walked up to the Weathers' porch. Maybe she could talk to Sadie for a spell. Get some idea what to do, who to call. She pushed the doorbell and waited, trying to figure out how to tell Sadie about it in a way that wouldn't make her sound crazy.

The porch light flicked on, and Sadie pulled the door open. She peered out uncertainly. "Hello?" she called.

"Hi, Sadie. I'm sorry to trouble you, but..."

She broke off at the blank expression her neighbor wore. The woman leaned out the door and peered about the yard. Just like Hobart, Sadie cocked her head to see around Mary. "Hello?" she called out, again, a bit louder.

Mary, poleaxed, watched numbly as Sadie muttered, "Damn kids..." and closed the door. She heard sounds of Sadie walking away down the hall.

Slowly, feeling dizzy, she sat down on the porch. Had everyone suddenly come down with 'Mary neglect'?

It had been a bizarre evening. She'd ended up walking downtown, mingling with the crowd. Nobody had reacted to her at all. She'd shouted, jumped, even danced down the sidewalk. The people near her had conversed a bit louder, not even seeming conscious that they were trying to talk over her.

Finally she'd grabbed a giant radio off a young man's shoulder and dashed it to the ground. He'd gaped and his friends had had a good laugh at his clumsiness. Not a one of them looked her way.

After that she'd just put one foot in front of the other, numb. Her meanderings took her near the high school and she sat down on the bleachers by the football field.

There was no way to get a handle on this. The whole town was giving her the silent treatment. The whole world, for all she knew. Unable to imagine what she could do about it, she'd fallen to musing about more familiar problems.

She hadn't liked high school at the time, but its luster had grown over the years. She'd been a bit of a wallflower then, too. But she'd had some friends, some social life. There had been a sense of possibility back then. She might have done any number of things. Gotten a job, traveled. If nothing else, she could have married someone besides Hobart. He'd been handsome once, and had a fast car, and lettered on the baseball team.

So many chances she'd missed. She'd been a good girl, and saved herself for marriage. For Hobart, who'd climb onto her and pump a few times and leave her with a mess. Surely there was better out there. Some women cheated on their husbands - they didn't do it for a lover like Hobart.

A giggle carried on the breeze, interrupting the familiar, comforting funk she'd fallen into. A boy and a girl were strolling by the fence, holding hands.

Was that Annabelle? And Jimmy Kowalski, Patricia's boy? Where were they going? Under the bleachers?

Even back in her day, it had been a spot for making out. She just couldn't believe... Annabelle?! Maybe the girl didn't know what she was getting into.

She sat there for a few minutes, shocked. Such a sweet girl, active in the church, good family. Surely it was more innocent than it looked... if only she dared check...

Visions welled up; Hobart, looking past her. Sadie turning away unseeing. Pedestrians ignoring her.

She crept down the steps and followed the couple into the dark space.

Annabelle looked anything but innocent. Her hair was down and she panted like a marathon runner even as she exchanged slurpy kisses with Jimmy. She was backed up against some supports. Her left leg was raised, foot resting on a shin-high crossbeam. The better to allow Jimmy to get his hand up her skirt.

Mary gasped loudly. Then, panicked, her hand shot up up to cover her mouth. But they didn't even pause. Jimmy moved in close; his other arm wrapped around Annabelle's back, pulling her tight.

The girl whimpered a little, back arching into his embrace. Her breath sped up even more. Jimmy kept going for a couple more minutes, seemingly determined. Then he shifted his hand down there, and seemed to be moving the tips of his fingers rapidly back and forth.

Annabelle's high-pitched moans were muzzled only slightly by Jimmy's tongue. Mary had faked a few orgasms, way back when Hobart still troubled to care, and she could see this wasn't for show. At all.

The girl's writhing settled down, and Jimmy drew his hand back. Annabelle seized him and kissed him passionately. She looked wild, free. Utterly unlike the reserved, demure young woman Mary knew from church.

It dawned on Mary then, finally, how fast she was breathing, how her heart thudded in her chest. Her underwear felt tight. She was actually getting wet! It had been years! Not since Hobart had thrown out her Harlequins and Silhouettes.

Just watching them was a treat. She couldn't believe Jimmy. Not even nineteen and already he knew more about pleasing a woman than Hobart ever would.

Annabelle had gotten hold of herself a bit, and gave her lover a smile as wicked as Mary had ever seen. Jimmy's answering grin was just as saucy.

She knelt on the scraggly grass in front of him and began undoing his pants. Mary gasped in shock - she couldn't possibly plan to...

But she did. She pulled the pants and briefs down and unhesitatingly took his length into her mouth. And 'length' was the right term - he had Hobart beat there, too.

Annabelle must have done this before. Several times. She seemed to have a pretty good idea how to please a man. Her tongue stayed active, and Mary just couldn't imagine where it all went when the girl took his entire... thing into her mouth. Did they really mean 'deep throat' literally?

"Oh, fuck yeah..." Jimmy said, low and intense, as Annabelle pulled her face back slightly. Her lips were pursed around just the last inch or two of him; her jaw worked, just slightly, her tongue clearly moving in there, all over his tip.

"Fuck! Fuck! Here it comes!" Jimmy exclaimed. He put one hand out to grab a strut. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath.

"Uh, uh, uh!" he groaned, and his hips pushed forward a little. Annabelle moaned around his... his cock.

Mary was in shock. Hobart had forced her to try sucking him a handful of times, but she'd never managed to get him to finish. And if she had, she'd never have swallowed it! Yet Annabelle seemed almost proud!

They kissed afterward. Hobart sure hadn't wanted to do that right after she'd had him in her mouth, but Jimmy didn't seem to care. They canoodled for a bit longer, then Annabelle said, "We gotta get back. My mom's gonna worry. "

Jimmy gave her one last lingering kiss, and they got their clothes decent and walked off again, hand-in-hand.

She followed them to end of the bleachers and watched them shrink into the distance. She hadn't imagined this night could get any stranger, but it had.

She wished she'd masturbated during the show. Why hadn't she? It wasn't like they'd have noticed...

She woke to the sound of a door slamming closed. She blinked awake, confused, wondering where she was.

The morning sunlight was filtered through closed curtains, but it was enough to jog her memory. She'd come home after midnight, found Hobart still watching TV. And still ignoring her. With relief, she'd gone off to sleep in the spare bedroom.

She got out of bed and padded to the door. Carefully, she pulled it open, peeked down the hall and saw Hobart's back, walking away.

He picked up the phone handset, laying unhooked on the table. "Nah, the sheets are all rumpled but she ain't here. She must've come in and left, all when I was sleeping." He listened. "I swear, I never heard a thing. When the hell did she get to be so sneaky?"

Emboldened, she stepped out of the bedroom and came toward him. He didn't turn to look her way.

"When I find out who she's hidin' out with, I'm gonna tear 'em a new one, I swear." He paused. "Maybe. I'll have to ask around." Another silence. "Well, I'll keep lookin'. Let me know if you hear anything."

He hung up the phone, and looked around the room. As she was coming to expect, his gaze never focused on her. "Shit!" he exclaimed, and went into the kitchen. "Gotta fix my own damn breakfast. Damn fool woman, when I..." He trailed off to a mumble.

Whatever was happening... was still happening. She was exiled from the whole human race, even when she was sleeping.

Why wasn't she scared, or sad? Why was she excited?

Mary changed out of her nightgown into a comfortable dress, and made herself some breakfast. She didn't bother to clean it up. While she was brushing her teeth, she got startled by the sound of Hobart hollering.

He charged around the small tract house like a crazy man, screaming bloody murder. "I know you're here, woman! I found your damn dishes! You come out right now, y'hear?!"

He poked his head into the bathroom, looked right past her, and ran off to search elsewhere. She giggled.

The weather was bright and sunny and just a little breezy as she stepped out. Perfect for another walk. She set right off for downtown Cornelia.

As the day wore on, she learned things about her new situation. If she was carrying or wearing something, it was just as undetectable as she was. If she picked up a drink off a table in a restaurant, it would eventually be missed. She could hold it right in front of their faces and they wouldn't recognize it. When she set it back down empty they'd suddenly find it, and wonder what had happened to the contents.

Yet she wasn't exactly invisible, either. As an experiment, she sat at a table outside the diner and deliberately stretched her legs out onto the busy sidewalk. Nobody tripped over her; they walked around instead. They didn't even seem to be aware they were doing anything strange. Very carefully, she stepped out onto Main Street when there were only a few cars coming. She crouched, ready to jump for the sidewalk. But the oncoming Chrysler switched lanes to the center about forty feet away. The driver didn't look at her as he passed by.

People could tell at some level that something was there. It was just that they were somehow prevented from attaching any importance to that fact at all. Nobody could pay attention to her.

She played a few pranks. Martha and Patty-Jo sat talking on a bench in front of the five and dime. Neither woman had ever been willing to even give her the time of day at church. Mary tried to swap their purses, but while they didn't feel her taking them away, they noticed the absence of weight on their shoulders and started looking around frantically. She put them on the ground.

The women immediately saw their bags, and marveled that they could have missed them. Once they'd calmed down and got back to gossiping, Mary experimented again. She could get away with reaching into the purses and rummaging for their wallets. She almost took out the money, but restrained herself. Instead, she put them back, each in the wrong purse. All through it the two chewed the fat, oblivious.

The grade-school classic of tying a man's shoelaces together was good for a laugh. She flipped 'open' signs to 'closed'. Then, in the bookstore, she saw Mr. Prentiss' old fat cat. Although she approached it carefully - the thing was never too friendly - it didn't notice her either. She rubbed it, and it stirred and stretched, but never gave any sign it recognized her presence. In revenge for remembered nips, she pushed it off the counter. The old tabby yowled and landed with a thud. The confusion on its face reminded her so much of Hobart that she almost fell over laughing.

She got bored with the jokes and explored. She could go anywhere now. She wandered past 'Employees Only' signs and snooped.

Mostly she saw boring, cramped spaces. The back areas of the Burger King put her right off fast food. It was kind of disappointing.

Mary wound up sitting on the bleachers again. It was mid-afternoon, and football practice was winding down in front of her. The day was still gorgeous. So were several of the boys playing around on the field.

The coach gathered up the team, gave some speech she couldn't hear, and dismissed them. On impulse, she got up and trailed the team into the locker room. She'd always wondered what it was like in there.

It turned out to be sweaty and smelly and damp. Boys were undressing and heading to the showers. Talking about... pretty much what she'd expected.

She didn't want to 'jump' any of them. Not really. They were cute like... like puppies. Fun to look at, maybe even fantasize about - just imagine if she were a high-school girl again! - but not serious lust objects.

Back when she'd actually been a high-school girl, she hadn't appreciated how good the boys looked. All of them. Young, clean, graceful in a way kids that age didn't recognize. None of them believed they'd one day be old.

She poked her head into the big shower area. Oh, yes - as a girl she'd have given all she owned for a sight like this. She squinted. Goodness, was Hobart that sub-par?

The boys were talking about... boy stuff. Sports and cars and movies. They didn't even talk about girls as much as she'd expected. Then she noticed they started to bring up girlfriends as they got dressed. Which made sense; just imagine if they 'perked up' around other boys!

She gave the biggest of them a playful swat on the behind while he was bent over, tying his sneakers. He stood up and looked around, confused. He gave the boy sitting next to him a careful look before cautiously returning to his laces.

She laughed all the way out of the locker room.

Sunday, Mary went to church.

It was so strange not having to dress up. For anything. What clothes she picked, which shoes went with them, how she did her hair or makeup, jewelry... none of that mattered anymore. Not in the least.

She grabbed a seat right up front, curious to see what would happen. The high muckety-mucks seemed a little confused about why they were walking around to the other side of the pew, but no one attempted to sit on her or move her. It was like the spot she sat on plumb didn't exist.

Once service started, she stood up and wandered about the church as Pastor Collins droned on. You weren't allowed to stare at people, normally. You could glance, sneak peeks, that kind of thing. Frankly and openly staring wasn't polite, though. People would get uncomfortable, even angry.

But she could really study people. And not like from the back of the choir. She could walk up and sit next to them.

Take Mayor Stephens; he was bored. He was facing the altar, but his eyes weren't focused on anything. His wife beside him nodded with the pastor's words, all unknowing.

The teenaged boys kept looking at the girls. And vice versa. She'd seen that before, but she hadn't realized how much of it was going on. Or maybe she just didn't remember.

The second hymn of the service drew her attention. It was one of her favorites, and it was an interesting change to hear it from the audience.

Even in choir, she'd been hiding, she realized. In the chorus, the background, the congregation wasn't supposed to be able to hear anyone's voice in particular. The whole point was to blend in.

Lydia was sighing, watching Pastor Bob speak. Everyone knew she had a crush on him. Mary had overheard once that Lydia might even have tried to get at the preacher one night. She could understand that. She'd had some fantasies about him, too. Dreams he'd come take her away from Hobart. Lots of ladies had a thing for preachers, she knew.

She lost interest after a while. There weren't that many surprises. It was a church service, how could there be?

At home, Hobart was in the front room sitting and watching TV. Just for grins, she almost turned the channel. But she'd never gotten in the habit of watching the tube; Hobart hadn't allowed it. It didn't seem like a habit worth acquiring.

She went into the kitchen and searched around, trying to figure what to make for lunch. Wrappers from a fast-food joint stuck out of the trash; Hobart wasn't good at fending for himself. It wasn't like the fridge was empty. It sported a fresh case of beer, even.

She made some pan-fried chicken. Just enough for one. It was nice to be able to make it way she liked, extra crispy. Hobart always wanted it greasy.

Hobart wandered into the kitchen, sniffing the air, as she sat down to eat. He stopped abruptly and stared with amazement at the setting before her on the table. "You gotta be fucking kidding!" he exclaimed.

She grinned hugely as he looked around the kitchen, trying to find her. He'd been drinking in front of the TV, oblivious to her cooking.

He gave up the search. "Well, fuck her. I'll eat it," he said, sounding like a whiny four-year-old with a potty mouth.

He reached for her plate. Startled, she grabbed it up. His hands stopped and a look of astonishment replaced the sullen anger on his face. His eyes darted, trying to find the food she held. Slowly, bewildered, he stood up straight. Then he bent over to look under the table.

She set the plate down, curious now. When he came back up, it took him a second or two to notice the food was back. He gasped and jumped back.

To her surprise, he managed to call up enough courage to come back to the table. But his hands still moved cautiously for her plate, and she had plenty of time to pick it up again.

Hobart froze. His eyes, squinting, searched for it, and her, but glided over without recognition. "What the hell..." he whispered in utter confusion.

For fun she let go of the plate. It only fell about an inch but the clatter in the silence made her jump in her seat.

Hobart did more than jump. He screamed and fell back.

Her husband lay there flailing for a moment, hands and feet skidding on the linoleum, trying to push himself away from the table. A second or two later, he rolled over and propelled himself toward the doorway. He stood there, breathing heavily, staring with terror at the plateful of food.

Mary found her voice, and burst into peals of laughter. He didn't look at her, or prick his ears, or anything. But maybe on some level he heard it, because it was then he turned and skedaddled off to the living room.

That evening, he ate dinner out.

Monday she awoke and found a mess in the kitchen, remnants of Hobart's incompetent attempts to make a lunch for himself. He was off to work.

She had a leisurely breakfast and set out for another walk. This time she headed into the 'old town', with more expensive homes. On impulse, she walked right up to a front door and jiggled the handle. It was unlocked.

She stepped in and took a little tour. The foyer was nicely decorated with a few pictures and a pretty stand. She moved on to the kitchen and felt an immediate stab of envy. A very nice refrigerator, the stove looked new, the countertops were marble... it would be a pleasure to cook here.

The upstairs sported comfortable beds and a bathroom to die for. Glancing out a window, she saw a woman working in a garden in the backyard.

She checked out more houses. Many were locked up - people at work, kids at school - but she found a few housewives and an elderly couple, bickering in a friendly way that made her heart ache. In their basement she beheld a model train set a dozen feet across, little houses and buildings and farms. She thought wryly about Hobart, who lacked even the ambition to support a hobby.

Another street, more homes. The most interesting one didn't look so at first.

A TV was on in the front room, and an older toddler sat watching cartoons. In the kitchen a woman wiped down the countertop and glanced at the clock. "Time for your nap, honey!" she called.

The little girl made about as much protest as could be expected, but the mother was dead set on that nap. Mary watched with curiosity and sadness. Homer would never let her have kids. She wasn't even sure she wanted any of Hobart's get, anyway. But this was another thing she'd missed.

The woman closed the tyke's door, checked her watch, and hurried to her bedroom. Mary watched curiously as she quickly touched up her makeup, continuing to check her watch.

A faint knock sounded on the door below. The woman leapt to her feet and raced - quietly - down the stairs. Mary couldn't keep up. By the time she got down to the landing, the woman was closing the door behind a tall, blonde-haired man.

"All clear?" he said, low and urgent. In answer, the woman wrapped her arms around him and planted an open-mouthed kiss on his lips. He relaxed immediately and wrapped her up in a tight embrace.

It was almost a minute before they broke for air. The woman, voice husky, said, "Charlie's asleep. Miles won't be home 'til six or seven."

"Where do you want to do it?"

"Right over here."

She led him hand in hand into the living room, just off the foyer. A loveseat was under the front window - the shades were down low - and a couch sat at right angles to it, jutting into the room, guiding traffic behind it. Together they formed a space for the coffee table and the TV.

The couple went around in front of the couch and embraced again. The hunger with which the woman kissed him struck a deep chord in Mary. His hands pulled her close, stroked her back, her behind.

He worked up her skirt, and pulled down her panties. She stepped out of them, still kissing him. He started to work on his own belt, but that finally got her to stop smooching long enough to help.

Once he was free of pants and underwear, he eased her down onto the couch and lifted her skirt. He smiled and settled himself on top of her. There came a moan and he began to move.

Mary set one hand on the back of the couch, and leaned forward to stare down on them. Her other hand hiked up her skirt and slid under her panties. She found wetness between her lips, and worked her index and middle finger to frame and rub her button.

She could see the back of his head, his back... and his ass, moving up and down as he thrust into the woman. Past his shoulder, the woman's face. Eyes closed, moaning as she bit her lip. Her arms encircled him, pulled him toward her with each plunge.

It was a lot better than a Harlequin. More real, for sure.

Touring houses was just as fun in the evening, when everyone was home. She watched families having dinner, couples arguing, widows knitting, kids playing.

She came in as one dinner was wrapping up. The Peirsons, down the street. Their son Billy had the paper route for the neighborhood. Even though he was supposedly going to community college. Idly, she followed the boy upstairs, but he closed the door behind him with a solid click. She jiggered the handle, and sure enough, it was locked.

"Well, phooey!" she said softly. Then she bent to peer at the door handle. Memories from early in her marriage floated up. She'd locked herself in the bathroom, hiding from Hobart. When she'd heard the door unlock, the sheer terror that had filled her...

Yes, the lock had a little tab. A small screwdriver could unlock it from the outside. She turned and marched down the stairs. In the kitchen, she walked past the woman wiping dishes and started rifling drawers. No screwdriver, but a paring knife turned up.

Back at the room, she fiddled with the latch a bit and got it undone. Quietly, she turned the handle and the door creaked open enough for her to slip inside.

Maybe her strange power kept him from hearing what she'd been doing. Or maybe it was the music coming from a small radio. Or maybe it was just that he was too busy.

Little Billy had a bunch of magazines spread across his bed. Dirty magazines. Playboys and something called 'Penthouse'.

His pants were down and he was tugging at himself. He kept looking from one picture to another.

A half-foot-high pile sat on his desk. She saw the dates on some of the magazines came from back when he was in high school, or even earlier. "Now how the Dickens did you get your hands on those?" she wondered aloud. He didn't look up, of course. She ambled over and examined the images. Naked women, all sporting 'come hither' looks. And a close up of some lady bits. "Oof!" she exclaimed. "Why you'd want to look at that, I can't imagine."

Come to think of it, she'd never really seen what a grown one looked like. She couldn't very well peek at her own! In half-disgusted curiosity, she bent to look more closely. After a moment, she concluded that God had run out of sugar and spice when He was putting coochies together.

Billy was really going to town. She looked over at the pile he hadn't opened. The 'Penthouses' seemed to be the nastier ones. She extracted one and flipped through it. Several different tramps, showing off their goods.

An unexpected thought occurred to her. She'd never considered doing anything like that. But then, it'd been more and more obvious lately that she'd never really looked for any attention. Maybe she'd never considered it because she'd never thought anybody would pay for naked pictures of her?

Billy's eyes were glued to the pages. Hobart might've looked at her that way a couple times. Maybe on their wedding night. Maybe.

The boy reached over and pulled out a couple tissues from the box on his desk. He got them in place and, almost silently, finished his business.

He tossed the stuff in the trash by his bed. There was a pretty good pile of tissues in the can already.

She took to walking around town, morning and evening, with a nice little siesta after lunch. If she'd known how to pick locks, she'd have owned the whole town. Even with just jiggling doorknobs to find the easy pickings, she could have been the queen of gossip in Cornelia. Lots of little sins all over the place, and a few big ones. There were more than two adulterers in town, that was for sure.

She found a crossdresser, a couple into spanking, and a woman using a vibrator on herself.

It wasn't all fun. She'd come across a teenage girl cutting herself. Innumerable people picking their nose or scratching themselves or eating food off the floor. People were disgusting when they thought no one could see.

One week after her 'exile', she was checking a small house off a dirt road. A girl, maybe eight, was trying on a ballerina costume. Her mother had sewn it herself, and was very proud. She had her Polaroid camera out, and was taking pictures as the girl posed.

On impulse, Mary jumped in and stood behind her for a shot. The white square slid out of the camera and the woman placed it on the dining room table with the other two. Mary waited while the photo developed, curious. Yes, she showed up on film. There she was. A little blurry 'cause she'd been moving, but her, fading in as the picture finished developing.

The girl was looking as her mother put the camera away. "Mama? Who's this?"

"Who's who, baby?" the woman asked, walking back.

"The lady in the picture," the girl said as she pointed.

The woman bent over and squinted. Mary saw the initial curiosity change into confusion, then fear. She cried out and jumped back, pulling the girl into her arms. "Kyle! Get in here!"

Kyle, coming from the living room, proved to be a big man with glasses. "What's wrong, cupcake?"

"I got a picture of a ghost!"

He stared at the woman for a second, like he was seeing if she were joking. "Cupcake, what -"

"Don't 'cupcake' me, look!" She waved at the table.

One last glance, then he did as she asked. His frown showed when he found the right picture. He looked up and around, then looked his wife in the eye.

"I never saw anything! She wasn't there!"

Mary grinned. Then she saw how frightened the little girl was getting - almost shivering, she was. All of a sudden she felt a lot worse about her experiment.

She slipped away quietly while 'Kyle' began to search the house.

When she got home, she found Hobart standing at the door of the spare bedroom, staring at the bed. She almost laughed as she wondered what he was making of all this. He never saw or heard her, yet her bed was made. Things were moved all over the house. Him she didn't mind spooking, not one bit.

She woke up early on Sunday, out of habit, but skipped church. Instead she took a long walk and checked out a stretch of mobile homes. The spaces, though cramped, were mostly well-kept. She had to peek in a lot of windows; only a few of the doors were unlocked. More people were out at church than she'd have thought.

But there were still some around. Only two types - up with kids or sleeping in.

Well, and one other type. She came across a trailer had two motorcycles parked in front, and the doorknob turned. She walked right on in and stopped. Tequila bottles and beer cans were lined up on the counter. Take-out boxes were piled in the trash can.

And a man and a woman were going at it 'doggie style' on the carpet in front of the TV.

He was big, beefy, and had a wild brown beard. A lot of hair on his chest and arms and legs. Some gut, but muscles too.

She had long black hair, and tattoos on her shoulder, back, and legs. Skinny, but with some curves, too. Mary wondered for a second how the little thing could have a figure like that on fast food and drink. She only wished she'd looked like that in her thirties.

Fascinated, she got closer. Then she noticed the tub of Vaseline on the floor by the ratty couch.

"Oh my gosh!" Mary cried, appalled. He wasn't just doing it from behind, he was doing it in her butt!

The girl had one elbow on the ground, and the other hand up between her legs. She was moaning and yelping and purely didn't seem to be suffering. And she didn't sound like it, either. "Oh, shit, yeah, do it, fuck me, uh, you like that ass, huh baby? Uuuhh, yeah, oh fuck yeah, God I love your cock..."

Mary finally got unfroze and jerked down her panties. No sense wasting time.

"Oh, fuck, yeah, get that cock, uhhh, right in my ass..." Mary was struck by how close a moan of pleasure sounded to a moan of pain. If it was hurting the girl, though, that purely wasn't all it was doing.

"Here it comes!" he suddenly said. Then he pushed even harder, and grunted. The girl actually shrieked, no words at all. She kept it up even after he slowed down.

Mary was a little surprised at how gently he pulled out. Then he flipped her over, got right down on his belly, and stuffed his mouth in her crotch. His snuffling reminded her of a hog at a trough. The woman groaned and hiked up her hips. "Oh shit yes, right fucking there! Harder!"

Mary came about the same time the girl did.

He slid up to her face and they kissed with gusto. Even though his face had to smell like coochie. The two got up and headed back toward the bathroom. Mary sat on the couch, way more wrung out than they were acting. She heard the shower start.

She'd stood up to leave when another groan floated down the short hall. "Ohhh, yeah baby, fuck meeee!"

Smiling, Mary sat back down and pushed her panties aside.

That afternoon, she took the car and got some groceries. She took real pleasure in grabbing peas and spinach and okra. All the things Hobart hated.

He ate out again that night.

Wednesday, on a whim, she went with Hobart to his job. Just hopped in the passenger seat and rode along. He didn't act much different than when he knew she'd been next to him. Maybe he swore at the other cars a bit more.

He parked, grabbed his lunch, and headed for the door. She came along more slowly, looking around. She'd only been there a couple times, picking him up or dropping him off.

Inside, it was dingy and noisy and about what she'd expected. Out on the docks, Hobart drove a forklift, moving pallets. Watching him, she'd have bet he only had that job from seniority. He sure bounced things around.

She wandered around the plant, exploring. Some of it was interesting, sort of. The big loud machines moving food and cans around, and putting the food into the cans.

She ended up spending most of the day up in the offices. It was all paperwork - looking up, typing, and filing forms. But they talked a lot. You could get a good idea who people were when they didn't know anyone was listening.

She'd already taken a disliking to the shipping manager. But she didn't get angry with him until the deal with the secretary. He called one of the girls at a desk into his office, and closed the door. Mary barged right in; they didn't notice.

But he'd gotten right down to business, too. "Reviews are coming up, Lissa," he said. A little smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "You were to... help me out, I bet your review would show it."

It was amazing how miserable someone could look while keeping their face blank. "I don't... do you have a project for me, sir?"

His smile was... 'smarmy' came to Mary's mind. "I was thinking you could work under me." It wasn't a smile now. I was a full-on leer. "If you know what I mean."

Mary was glaring. "How dare you take advantage of a girl like that!"

They didn't notice. Lissa didn't look happy. "Sir, I... I'm not sure I..."

"Pretty girl like you, could have a bright future if you play your cards right."

Mary marched around behind him as he kept making veiled threats. It took a little digging, but she got good hold of his undies, and yanked up. The boys had always called that a 'Melvin'.

The guy made a surprised, pained grunt.

Mary stepped off to the side, and had to giggle. He had the oddest expression on his face. His hands made a motion toward his rear, then stopped.

Lissa seemed awfully confused and scared now. "Um, sir? Is everything... okay?"

"You can go," he managed. "Think about it." Lissa hurried away. As soon as she was gone, he closed the door again and began digging at his ass.

While he was untangling himself, Mary grabbed a marker and wrote, "LEAVE HER ALONE!" in big letters all across the day planner on his desk.

It took him a while to notice the message, even after he sat down at his desk. He made a quick phone call - actually business-related - and when he hung up, grabbed a pen and a notepad. He was halfway done writing some reminder when he suddenly froze, and lifted the notepad up to stare at her words.

Like Hobart, the guy looked up and around, trying to find someone hiding. While he did that, she leaned in and added, "OR ELSE!!" in even larger strokes. When he looked back down, he screamed and jumped out of his chair.

After a few seconds, Lissa opened the door and looked in. She didn't look too happy to be checking on him. "Mr. Calloway? Are you okay?"

He looked down at his desk and up at her and back to the desk and back at the girl. Then he stammered, "I'm fine. Fine. Just, uh, slipped. I slipped."

"Well, okay," she said doubtfully. She backed out and closed the door.

Mary walked out not much later. He was still staring at his desk. It surely didn't look like she'd need to give him another Melvin.

She almost left, then. There wasn't much else going on. It was really tempting to just take Hobart's car and drive off. Leave him to find his own way home. But she was hungry, and got a late, vending-machine lunch. She wasn't in much of a hurry, and by the time she finished, it wasn't more than an hour to quitting time.

She wandered down to the locker room where the workers put their coats and lunches and stuff. Guys were slowly trickling in. They weren't taking showers or anything, but it kind of reminded her of the high school locker. Almost the same smell, actually.

She followed one particularly handsome young man as he went around a row of lockers. His hiney was just irresistible.

He came to a stop near another guy tying his shoes, who looked up and said, "Hey, Mike." His head dipped and he resumed knotting.

"You wanna come over to my place? Catch the game?"

The other man looked up again. "Yeah, sounds good."

Mary frowned. Something... the way they said it was somehow too casual. Being able to stare at people, really pay attention, had taught her a lot lately. And look, the way they both peered around a little, quick glances, furtive. Watching to see if anyone was watching.

Curious now, she wound up tailing them out to the parking lot. She got in one of their cars, "Mike's"; slipped in the back door. He seemed to notice the sound of the door closing - he turned to check out the back seat - but he couldn't see her and let it go.

It didn't smell all that great in the car; some fast-food wrappers lay on the floor. The ride was only a few miles, though. Mike followed the other one through a drive-thru for burgers on the way. More wrappers hit the floor. He was listening to country music on the radio.

Mike pulled in first, got out, and went in, carrying his dinner. Mary waited for the door to close, then followed. She'd gotten clipped a couple times by people closing doors in her face.

She figured the place had been a bachelor pad for a long time. Still cleaner than Hobart had managed in a couple weeks. She didn't get much time to snoop around. The other man got there directly, and came in without even knocking. Mike called, "Hey, Jeb!" when he heard the door. Jeb joined Mike in the kitchen as they ate dinner and shot the shit.

She got even more convinced there was something strange going on, watching them. They weren't saying anything too peculiar. But the way they looked, smiled at each other... there was some kind of secret here.

When they were done, they actually cleaned up - put the wrappers in the trash, even wiped off the table. She'd never seen a guy do that. Then, without saying anything, they walked out of the kitchen together.

Mary followed the pair. They went down the hall, turned into a bedroom... and closed the door in her face.

But they didn't lock it. Not that that would have stopped her now. She walked right in... and froze.

How could it be just like she'd pictured and still be a shock anyway?

They were pulling each other's clothes off. And kissing. It just didn't fit. She'd heard tell about faggots - Pastor Bob had once or twice railed about the 'sodomites' in the cities - but she'd never seen one. Especially not in action!

It surely didn't take them long to get naked and land on the bed, still kissing. Mike had hold of Jeb's dick and was rubbing it up and down. Reminded her of what Billy had been doing to himself.

Fascinated, Mary watched as Mike bent down and took Jeb in his mouth, with no more hesitation than Annabelle had. He was doing a lot of the same things as her, too. And Jeb was groaning like Jimmy had.

And God help her, it was turning Mary on just like Annabelle and Jimmy had.

Why? She couldn't puzzle that out. No denying it was, though. All the way on. She had her hand up her skirt, playing with herself, and she stared, amazed. Well, why should they be the only ones having a good time?

Jeb hissed and moaned. "Aw, fuck, yeah..." Mike's hand rubbed Jeb's balls, stroked his leg.

Mike swallowed the same, too.

The difference from Jimmy and Annabelle was, Jeb took a minute, then started sucking Mike off. Mary came then. She couldn't help it.

She watched until they were done, canoodling together like an old married couple. She just couldn't wrap her brain around it. She slipped away, more quietly than she needed to. As she was walking out the front door, she realized they hadn't done anything in the butt. She'd thought that was what homos did. Oh, well, live and learn.

She'd learned a lot in the last couple weeks. Did that mean she'd been living more, too? Something to think about on the walk home. Wouldn't be more than five miles. An hour and a half, tops. The fresh air would do her good. She needed to clear her head.

It actually wasn't until two and a half hours later that she got home. She'd stopped for a spell at a diner and stole dinner. A nice dinner, with a slice of pie and some ice cream at the end. She'd lost weight, all the walking she was doing now, not cooped up in the house anymore.

Hobart was there, drunk, watching TV. She dropped her keys putting them on the table, and he twitched. But he didn't look, he just stared harder at the screen.

Frankly she'd been wondering if he'd be home at all. He hadn't come home last night. One of the reasons she'd rode along this morning was to see where he'd go. She realized with some surprise that now she didn't really care anymore what Hobart did.

He had such a haunted look these days. She thought it suited him well.

Thursday, her afternoon walk took her by her church, and on a whim she went in to check on choir practice. She felt strange watching them drilling without her, without participating.

Just for the heck of it, she joined in when Jenny Curtis sang her solo. It was funny watching the director frown, sensing something off but not able to put his finger on what.

He called a break after that, shaking his head.

Maybe it was some subconscious thing, but Sheila Brown suddenly spoke up. "So I hear nobody's seen hide nor hair of Mary Watson for almost two weeks now."

"Hobart's been askin' about her. I think she finally got fed up and run off." That was Harvey Duesenberg.

"Good for her." Jenny piped up. "Never had any use for that man. Always felt sorry 'bout how he treated her."

Mary's brow furrowed. "You might have said something!" she barked, though no one paid any attention.

"My Ned says he probably killed her, finally. He's just tryin' to make it look like she left him."

Jenny laughed. "As if Hobart was that bright!"

"I think I saw her a week ago Friday. Yeah, Friday," Annabelle volunteered. For an instant, Mary was startled. She'd known Mary was watching her suck Jimmy off?

"Where?" Patty-Jo asked breathlessly.

"She was driving down Main. She waved at me, and I waved back."

"You did no such thing!" Mary exclaimed, though again no one responded. "You ignored me!"

"Somebody should call the police," Sheila said.

"I hear Pastor Bob is gonna stop by tonight, check up," Harvey put in.

"Is that so?" Mary and Jenny said at the same time. Mary frowned. That she had to see. She got up and left for home.

Mary was almost as surprised as Hobart when the doorbell rang. She wasn't sure Harvey knew what he was talking about. Hobart's eyes widened when he saw who was standing on the porch.

"Hey there, Bart. I was wondering if I could talk to Mary for a quick minute? She's missed choir practice two weeks straight."

Her husband's nervous squint made him look amazingly guilty. "She ain't here."

"That's her car over there, right?"

"Yeah," Hobart admitted, "but she's... out for a walk, or something."

Bob was openly frowning, now. "Mind if I come in and wait for her?"

"Well, uh... could be a while."

"I don't mind." He didn't say it in a friendly way.

Hobart finally shrugged. "What the hell. You'll be waitin' a fair spell." Bob followed him in. "You, uh, want a beer or anything?"

"No thanks." Bob was swinging his head around, taking in the mess and clutter. She hadn't seen him look quite that sour outside of a sermon about sin.

Hobart moved back a little, toward the kitchen. Bob went along, looking at the dishes in the sink. Nobody said anything for a spell.

Then, like a nervous, skittery cat, Hobart looked at the preacher. Suddenly he spoke up. "Uh, you, uh... you believe in, in spirits and stuff, right?"

"The Holy Spirit, for sure." A very brief smile. "And the devil has his servants."

"What if..." Hobart started to say, then clammed up.

"Spit it out, Bart." The preacher was looking more and more irritated. Mary felt very strange. Nobody else seemed to be much afraid of Hobart. Before, if he'd been badgered like this, he'd have gone after her later. She wondered what he'd do, now that he couldn't get at her.

Hobart looked like he was thinking. Mary hadn't seen that expression on his face very often. "Look, this is gonna sound looney, but... well... y'see, I ain't seen Mary for a couple weeks. Not since she up and disappeared."

"You're sayin' she ran off?"

"Nope. I mean she disappeared. One minute I was givin' her a good talking-to, and the next, she was gone."

"So she ran off." The pastor wasn't buying it, Mary could see.

"You ain't hearin' me," Hobart said. "She just up and, and... vanished, right in front of me."

"What, with a bang and a puff of smoke?" The irritation was plain.

"No, not like that!"

"So, what, she just faded away?"

"It wasn't like that, neither!"

"Then tell me, Bart. What was it like?"

That stumped him. His mouth opened and closed, his hands waved vaguely. Finally, he said, "I didn't see nothing change, but all of a sudden she was gone. Like... like..." His voice trailed off.

Mary smiled. Like suddenly you couldn't recognize I was there. Nothing outside changed, you just stopped seeing me. She almost wished she could give him the words. Though Pastor Collins could hardly have been more annoyed.

"Look, I dunno what happened. But I ain't seen her since, and that's the truth." Now he looked scared. Maybe of what he was saying, maybe that Collins wouldn't believe him, she couldn't tell. "Thing is..." He looked out the window, not meeting the skeptical pastor's eye. "Things keep getting moved. I hear things, sometimes."

The pastor was listening. The flock had always said he was a good listener. But he didn't usually have that stony look on his face.

Hobart looked pretty cowed by it, but he'd come too far to shut up now. "Sometimes her car's here, sometimes it isn't. Her toothbrush is wet every morning." Mary was suddenly disgusted with the idea of Hobart touching something she put in her mouth. "I find food cooked, and eaten, but I never see it happen. I look away for a second, and my stuff ain't where I set it."

"Just what are you sayin', Hobart?"

"I think... I think it's her ghost."

"A ghost that drives a car?"

"Look, I know how it sounds. But you ain't been livin' here."

The preacher didn't say anything for a long time. "Bart, all I can say is, if you ain't seen her, you'd best start looking harder. 'Cause if she don't turn up, right soon, people are gonna come looking for you."

He walked out the door with nary another word. Hobart didn't just look haunted anymore. He looked sick.

Sunday came around, and Mary went to church again. After seeing all the more exciting things that had been going on under her nose, church wasn't any great shakes. She didn't need a refuge from Hobart anymore, either. But she still woke up early on the Sabbath, for some fool reason. And she'd gotten to watch two different couples last night, so she wasn't particularly horny.

At any rate, she enjoyed the opening hymns. Church and choir had been the only place that was really her own, the only work entirely hers. The only place to herself, away from Hobart. Now she had all the privacy in the world... but could go anywhere, get anything she wanted.

By the time Pastor Bob was standing up front giving the homily, though, she was ready to go. They weren't so important to her these days. In fact, it was all downright boring. She didn't crave hope so much anymore. She had miracles aplenty, any time she liked; she didn't need to hear about them.

No, she decided to go find a little excitement. Mary stood up, started to turn for the door... and stopped. A wicked smile snuck onto her face, and she turned to regard Pastor Bob.

"Why shouldn't I make some excitement?" she asked herself.

She walked up to the lectern. Still smiling, she knelt next to him and reached for his crotch.

She carefully felt around, exploring. She felt testicles and a limp dick. His voice wobbled, for a second, and he coughed. Then he spoke on, with maybe just a touch of stress in his voice.

She kept at it. He was starting to get hard, she could feel it through his pants.

Mary wondered what he thought was going on. He couldn't see her, couldn't even consciously recognize what she was doing. Yet clearly he knew he had an erection! He probably thought he was just having a particularly vivid, hard-to-dismiss fantasy.

She worked the zipper down, and reached in. It took a little work, but she managed to pop him out without actually dropping his pants. She wasn't sure what people would see in that case.

He had a pretty decent cock. She'd seen more than two dozen in the last couple weeks, and actually had a baseline to judge by now. It stuck out sharply, unabashed by the churchy environment.

She leaned forward a bit and licked it. With half an ear, she noticed Pastor Bob's sermon was getting a little disjointed, hard to follow.

It tasted about like she'd thought. A little sweaty. Unlike with Hobart, it wasn't exactly repulsive. Maybe it was how naughty she was being, but the taste was just... part of the experience. And it made him grunt so!

She put her mouth over the head of his Johnson. He stopped talking completely for a few seconds. Then he began his usual talking in tongues. Maybe a bit slower and jerkier than usual, but she wasn't paying much attention.

Only later did she realize how quiet the rest of the church had gotten. Not a cough or a creak of someone shifting in their seat. She was too busy working.

He came in her mouth. She glanced up as it happened. Both hands gripped the lectern with white knuckles, and his face was flushed. He wasn't talking gibberish anymore, he was just grunting; "Uh... uh... uh!"

It didn't taste good at all. But if Annabelle could swallow the stuff, so could she. Besides, she didn't want to leave a mess. It would ruin the effect.

She kept a hand on his cock. The deacon was standing by the wall, almost dancing from foot to foot, unsure if he should approach. He didn't seem to see the exposed member as long as she was holding it.

His dick got soft after a bit, and she tucked it back into his pants and zipped them up. He was talking more sense - but with a really shaky voice - as she strutted out the door, smiling like a crazy person.

It was unseasonably warm, almost hot. Mary sat on the porch, wearing just a robe. It wasn't even closed. She was gently scratching her muff. It was much more of a sensual than a sexual thing. She just wanted to be outside, catch a little breeze. Yesterday she'd suddenly realized that, since that fateful evening, she hadn't got a single bug bite. Even the mosquitoes couldn't see her! Smell her? Whatever.

A car pulled up into their driveway, one she recognized. Pastor Bob got out and looked at their door for a few seconds. Then, apparently resolved, he came up the walk and rang the doorbell. Mary noticed he was carrying his Bible, and a cross.

He had to ring it a few more times. Finally Hobart, bleary and working on tomorrow's hangover, opened the door. He stood up straighter when he saw who it was.

"Uh, hey. Evenin', Reverend. What can I do for ya'?" He flinched, seeming to realize his tone made it more of a challenge than was strictly polite.

Bob said, "May I come in? I want to talk to you about... what we talked about before."

Hobart, surprised, let him in and closed the door.

This she had to see. She got up and came in. The two men were standing in the foyer and looked over, confused and a little spooked, when she closed the door behind her.

"So what changed your mind?" Hobart asked, a bit of accusation in his tone.

"I... had an experience that made me a bit more willing to believe in demons assaulting people."

"I think it's a ghost, here," Hobart said, frowning. "It kinda does what she did. Leastways, when you're not lookin'."

"Ghost or demon, I aim to clear it out." Bob wasn't smiling.

"Hell, I'll try anything," Hobart said, then seemed to think twice about the 'Hell'.

Pastor Bob apparently hadn't noticed. He was already walking into the living room. He looked around, then moved to the center of the room.

He hesitated for a moment, and looked at Hobart. "The Catholics have a whole liturgy on this, but we don't hold to all that papist stuff."

Then he raised his arms. "Hear me, Satan and all his devils! I claim this house and all who live in it for Jesus, in His holy Name!"

Mary watched curiously. What if it worked? Was she a demon now, or did she have a 'guardian devil'? Could she go back to being Hobart's wife? Surely not...

"All unholy spirits must leave this place at once! Lord, I call on Your might to drive out Satan and all his works! This I pray in Jesus' name!"

Smiling, Mary walked up and tickled his nose, lightly. She'd learned that made people react; they seemed to take it as an itch, or maybe a bug crawling on them.

Pastor Collins brushed his face and looked a little embarrassed. He soldiered on, however. "I claim this house for Hobart Watson! In Jesus' name, I cast out all evil from this place!"

Mary went and sat on the couch.

The preacher began reciting the Lord's Prayer. "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name..."

She felt nothing. No burning, no push, no change at all. He might as well have been reading off bowling scores.

Finally, he wound down. He and Hobart exchanged glances.

"That it?" Hobart finally asked.

"That should do it," Bob said, maybe not quite as confidently as Mary remembered.

"Be good to be quit of that woman," Hobart snapped.

Mary stood up, glowering. Pastor Bob was saying something, but she wasn't listening. She strode over, dragged the thick, leather-bound Bible from the pastor's grasp, and smashed Hobart full in the face with it.

He fell, howling, holding his nose. She dropped the Bible on the ground. "Fuck you, you miserable... piece of shit!" She wished he could've heard her.

She glanced back at Pastor Collins. He had backed up against the mantel, and was staring with terror at the book on the ground.

She stalked off to get dressed for a walk. If she stayed any longer, she might just kill somebody.

Coming home from one of her morning walks - she was almost getting used to them by now - she noted with surprise the police car in their driveway. She hurried up and came in. She found Hobart in the kitchen with the county sheriff, Dan Davis. Neither one looked very happy.

"So where is she, Hobart?" the sheriff asked. "I aim to speak to her. If not, I gotta start lookin' for a body."

Mary almost laughed. It'd serve Hobart right to get prosecuted for murder. Lord knows he'd put her in fear of her life, often enough.

"I don't know, sir. I swear!" Oh, yes, Hobart was always polite to anyone with power over him.

"I hear tell you had an exorcism, Hobart. Now, might be I missed a lesson or two in Sunday School, but doesn't somebody have to be dead for their ghost to be hangin' round?"

At her husband's sick expression, she did laugh. "Look, sir. Officer. I don't know where she is, or what happened. I ain't seen her for more'n two weeks. Some stuff has gone missing around here, but... look, I swear that's all I know!"

"You wanna tell me where you got that broken nose?"

"I... bumped into a door."

She wasn't laughing anymore, but she could sense the fierce, almost feral grin on her face. She'd had to use that excuse a couple times. By God it felt good to see Hobart lying like that! And lying so badly.

"Just so's I'm straight here... your wife's been gone for a couple weeks now, and you've seen signs of theft. But you didn't think to give the cops a jingle?"

Hobart's mouth opened and closed several times. Finally, he whined, "I ain't sure she's gone. It ain't just stuff missing, stuff keeps getting moved."

The sheriff was giving Hobart the stink-eye. Then he said, "I think we're gonna have to continue this talk down at the station. You have the right to remain silent..." He was pulling out a pair of handcuffs.

She thought her husband might actually piss himself. "Sheriff, please, no! I swear, she's still around! Somewhere!"

Sheriff Dan cocked his head for a second. Then he spoke up again, coming forward. "...Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

Mary watched them all the way to the police car. As they got outside, Hobart hollered again. "Watch her car! She's still drivin' it sometimes! I ain't caught her, but..." The closing door of the police cruiser cut his protests short.

Mary went back in the house and made a light lunch, smiling fit to bust. And yet, somehow, something bothered her about it all. It took close to an hour to put her finger on it.

Glancing out the front window and seeing two neighbors chatting finally brought it into focus.

"Well, phooey."

It wasn't that she cared about Hobart going to jail. She'd been in that prison of a marriage for near thirty years. Hobart had it coming. It was just... nobody had ever thought much of her, that was clear. She didn't want people thinking she'd just... let him kill her and bury her body somewhere. She wanted people to know she'd escaped. She'd won.

"I wonder if this is going to work?" she asked herself out loud as she dialed the police. She was talking to herself a lot lately.

A ring or two, and a man answered. "Habersham County Sheriff's office."

"Hello, yes. This is Mary Watson. I hear tell you've got my no-account husband there. Think he murdered me."

A small part of her was surprised he responded. "What did you say your name was?"

It didn't take long before Davis was on the phone.

"Hello, Sheriff. It's me, Mary Watson. I promise, I'm alive and well."

"That's... nice to hear. Can you come in for a positive ID?"

"Oh, no, I'm afraid I can't do that."

There was a short pause. "I'd surely feel better if I laid eyes on you."

"I'm sure, but I don't think I'll be coming back to Cornelia. Or Hobart. Especially Hobart."

The line was quiet for another moment. "I don't suppose I can blame you for that. But you understand, I need proof this is really you, and that you're not being forced to say all this."

She smiled. "I don't suppose I can blame you for that." She thought a moment. "I'll tell you what. I'll send you a picture of me. Would that set your mind at ease?"

"I'd need proof it was recent. Say, maybe today's paper? And somewhere public, with people around."

"That'd be fine. I'll get it to you as soon as I can."

"I'm gonna have to hold onto Hobart 'til I see it," he warned.

She laughed. "Careful! You keep talking like that, I might not send it at all!"

Sheriff Dan made a short, barking laugh. "Well, as a favor to me, then. So we can both be quit of him."

"That I can do. Have a good day, Sheriff, I'm off to find a camera and a paper."

"You, too, Mrs. Watson. You do that."

She hung up the pay phone with a smile, and walked to her car. It struck her then that had been the first conversation she'd had with anyone since this crazy thing had happened to her.

Funny. She hadn't missed it much. She'd never been a big talker, and for a long time now she hadn't had much to say anyway. That talk with the sheriff had probably been the longest conversation she'd had this year, too. She didn't seek attention. Not from Hobart... and not from anyone else, because of Hobart. She'd learned to get by without.

Oh, well. Right now, she needed a camera. She should probably pick a town away from Cornelia. Mary pulled onto the highway a little carefully - come to think of it, she hadn't left town in years, either.

A few miles down the way, in Gainesville, she saw a Sears. She parked, went in, and stole an Instamatic. Then she drove downtown, and found a spot among the shops where plenty of people were walking around. She had to put in a quarter to get the day's copy of the Atlanta Constitution - no way to trick the newspaper machine.

Then she realized she couldn't just ask someone to take her picture.

She wound up having to hold the camera at arm's length, awkwardly. It took half an hour, and she went through almost a whole box of pictures, before she got a shot she liked. She found a post office after driving around a while - who could she ask for directions? - and walked right in back, past the line, past the clerks.

She stole an envelope, and a book of stamps... and realized she didn't know the address to send it to. "Well, fudge," she muttered. Then she chuckled, and screamed "Fuck!" at the top of her lungs.

The people up front looked around, confused. They couldn't quite seem to figure out why they were startled. She laughed on her way out.

It was kind of annoying, not being able to ask for directions. But she found the town library after wandering about, and got the address, and dropped the envelope in the nearest mailbox.

It was almost dark by the time she pulled into the driveway of her house. It would be nice to have the house to herself, for sure. Until the picture got to Sheriff Dan.

Getting out of the car, she paused. Why should she stay in Cornelia, anyway?

Nobody would miss her. Nobody missed her now. The sheriff was the only one who'd cared, and even he was just doing his job.

Hobart could go jump in a lake, for all she cared. Let him try to woo some other woman now. She giggled, picturing him trying to sweet-talk one of those college girls. No, the way she figured, Hobart had a lonely life ahead of him.

She could go anywhere now. There was no reason to ever see Hobart again. To see any of these people.

Mary went in to pack. She wasn't going to need much, really.

One more night here. In peace.

The last time Mary had seen Atlanta was on a grade-school field trip. So many people, so busy, so big! She had to cruise for an hour just to figure out where to start. And then it took her another twenty minutes to find a parking space. She stuffed a bundle of quarters in the meter and set off to explore the capitol area.

She wandered around the capitol building itself a bit, even following along on a school tour partways. It was actually sort of interesting. The less-public areas were more like regular office space, but still had some class. The history museum diverted her a while, and she stole some lunch from the cafeteria. Then she moved on, just wandering.

Georgia State's campus was fascinating. She'd never even been close to a college before. Never even had any serious dreams of going. She might as well have wished to be an astronaut, her family being so poor and her Pop being such an old fuddy-duddy. Getting married had been the only thing she'd ever been able to look forward to.

She walked through a big fancy building. There were classes on all kinds of sciency stuff. Math, biology. Then, across the street to another set - big classes on literature, on art, what sounded like French. Almost dazed, she came out by a little triangle-shaped park. Students practically littered around, enjoying the fall sun, a few of them tossing a frisbee around.

Gosh, she wished she could have gone to a place like this. All these kids running around, with energy, with a purpose, with a future. She wasn't jealous, exactly - she didn't begrudge them their freedom - but it suddenly made her determined to grab hold of whatever freedom she had now. And run with it.

She kept walking. It was only about a mile and half after that to Piedmont Park. Much bigger, and very pretty.

She sat right down next to a young couple canoodling on a blanket and just watched them. God, it was wonderful not to have to worry about being rude anymore! She could sit three feet away and stare.

They weren't doing anything crazy. Nobody put hands under clothes or anything. Just kissing, touching, whispering little nothings. But Mary could tell - if they weren't going to go home and, and fuck each other silly, she was a monkey's uncle.

She had to have covered fifteen miles today, not an inch less. Her feet hurt a touch as she came back to put a little more change in the meter. Soon, she'd have to start thinking about where she was going to spend the night. The sun was getting low.

Wait. This was too far. The shoe store had been up the street, she was certain. She turned back, walked a few paces, and froze.

Her car was gone. Some powder-blue station wagon sat in her space.

"Oh... oh fuck," she muttered. The stupid rusty Nova had been towed. Or maybe stolen. Either way, she probably wasn't going to get it back. She was stuck in the big city with no spare clothes, or car, or...

She looked around. There was a nice hotel up the street.

It had all been so easy. She just walked behind the front desk, grabbed one of the hanging keys for an unused room, and went up. It'd probably be a day or two before they noticed the discrepancy. And if they walked in on her, so what? How would they catch her?

She was laying on the bed as she nibbled at a room-service steak, proud of herself for figuring out how to get it. A man and woman had been moving into their room down the hall, and she'd brushed past them through the door. Using their phone while they unpacked, all unknowing, Mary had ordered dinner. She'd specifically asked that they not knock when it got delivered. When the waiter set it down and turned away, she snatched it up and took it back to her room.

Maybe she'd leave the remains in this room. No need to make the poor couple end up paying.

After the meal, she laid on the bed and watched the TV for a while. She'd taken special pleasure in skipping past the World Series. She wouldn't have to watch sports ever again. The thing was, though, not much else on the tube was interesting either. Not even that 'HBO' channel.

"There's got to be interesting stuff going on in a big hotel like this," she said to herself. She looked around for her sneakers.

Turned out, getting a master key wasn't all that hard if nobody could see you, once you figured out where they kept them. She wandered the halls, looking for lit peepholes. She walked in on four businessmen, one businesswoman, and a family before she found something to hold her interest.

A colored couple, in their early thirties. They were kissing on the bed. Checking a hunch, Mary found the man's pants - on the floor - and pulled out his wallet. Sure enough, there was a picture of the woman, and a baby girl. They didn't have a lot of luggage. Wedding rings on the nightstands.

A couple getting a night away from their kid. Maybe it was their anniversary.

The woman had curly hair, an 'afro', and wasn't in bad shape. The man had a little goatee, a few pounds around the waist, and hairy legs.

Slurpy kisses. They pawed at each other, both gentle and clumsy. It wasn't all romantic and artistic like in those books. Even still, Mary found it heartwarming - and sexy, too.

The woman rolled him onto his back, and rolled herself over on top of him.

Mary knew that people did 'woman on top'. She'd read hazy descriptions of it in her romance novels. She'd never really grasped the idea, though, been able to imagine what it'd be like.

It took the woman almost half a minute to get herself situated and get him in her. She actually laughed and rolled her eyes as her hand slipped a little. He laughed too... but with her, not at her. She began to move up and down.

It would work, Mary realized. You could make sure how it went in, how your button got rubbed.

The man was smiling. God, he wasn't just enjoying what she was doing to him - he actually liked watching her have fun! She hadn't been sure that really happened outside of romance novels, either. Yet there he was, grinning like a loon.

The woman came, not too loudly. A tick later, so did he. They got apart, he passed her some tissues to clean herself up down there - so practical, but Hobart had never thought to do it. And then they snuggled up together. Yet another thing Hobart never did.

Mary let herself out. Quietly, even though she didn't need to. She thoughtfully wandered among the rooms for over an hour, but didn't get lucky that way again. Indeed, she finally got a bit unlucky. As she walked into a suite, a man wrapped in a towel ran right into her as he came out of the bathroom.

She was knocked over into the wall, and fell with a cry. She realized on the way down that there was a difference between ignoring her and just plain not seeing her. A yell escaped when she landed painfully on her arm.

A moment later she looked up at the man, who was thoroughly confused and searching for what he could have run into. His towel had fallen in the tussle, and Mary found herself staring. He was in his twenties, and fit, and hung. He turned and bent to pick up the towel, and she switched to staring at his tight butt. He straightened and, now that he was looking where he was going, stepped over her.

He sat on the bed, still acting a little puzzled, and rubbed the towel at his hair. He must've just taken a shower.

She got back on her feet, images of that woman dancing in her head. Riding her husband. Moaning. Smiling. Coming.

Well, it had worked with Pastor Bob, hadn't it?

She walked determinedly up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't react, exactly, but he seemed tenser all of a sudden. She bent forward and took his prick in hand, began to play with it.

The poor man was acting confused again. He seemed to know something was up, but he made no motion to push her away. His eyes seemed to lose focus, aimed at the wall but not seeing anything.

Her touch was making his cock stand up. "What must you be thinking?" she asked rhetorically. "That you're having some weird dream?" No one else was going to talk to her, why shouldn't she talk to herself?

Mary climbed up onto the bed, holding him down by straddling his waist. He didn't try to move, cowed and uncomprehending. She lifted off her shirt, and threw it to the ground. If it had made some noise landing on the floor, maybe he would have noticed, but it didn't. She took her time. It was rough going, getting her panties off without letting him up, but she got it done. She tossed everything out of his line of sight.

He'd gone a little limp in that time. She turned around, laid down, and put her lips around him. Her breasts pressed on his stomach; it felt good, the muscles there. She examined him with her tongue; clean, even a trace of soap. And getting hard again.

Not half a minute later, he was hard again. Even breathing faster. She got back up and turned back around. She fumbled it about like that woman, having to guide things with her hands. Although things got lined up eventually.

She sat down, and sighed as he filled her up. Then she began to move a little, up and down, side to side. When had she ever had a chance to... to explore, to figure out what she liked?

After a piece, she found an angle she liked very much. She pushed down hard on the downstrokes, pressing her button onto him.

She realized she was stifling her moans and cries. Fuck that! she thought, and let out a lusty scream. Who was gonna hear?

Faster, up and down. "Oh, God... Wait, screw that, let's be dirty! Oh, fuck, oh fuck fuck fuuuuuck!"

She might have seen stars. If it wasn't the best of her life she couldn't remember the best. It might have been five minutes before her lungs stopped hurting. Finally Mary got up, and felt the slippery drips down below.

He'd come. She'd made him come, even!

A lot of tissues made it into the bathroom trash before she got out the door. The hunk looked confused and kind of scared. "It's okay, sweetie. I'll leave you alone now."

On the way back to her room, she had a few second thoughts. Her monthly was due pretty soon, so she wouldn't catch, but you heard about all these diseases nowadays. AIDS, that 'gay plague'.

"Fuck it," she said as she got on the elevator to go back to 'her' room. "It was worth it." The people on the lift shuffled uncomfortably.

She played with herself for quite a while in bed before she went to sleep that night.

Next day, she wandered around the city again. She scooted through a drugstore and took some pads. Her monthly would be coming soon. She also got some soft inserts for her shoes. They felt wonderful; she relished a luxury she would never have been allowed before. She'd probably be doing a lot more walking from now on.

And she grabbed a box of condoms, laughing. Never knew when that might come in handy. There'd be more good-looking guys out there.

She stole a scrumptious hot dog for lunch, and made herself a giant ice cream cone from a little parlor near a park. The people-watching was good; more variety than Cornelia, all right!

She checked out some department stores and changed into a pretty floral-print dress. Then she took it off and wandered through the intimates department, trying on some lacy stuff. Maybe nobody else would see it, but she'd know.

She made to leave, but no sooner had she got out the door but she turned back for a warm jacket. It was getting colder outside.

"I'm gonna have to head south 'til spring," she muttered. "I get stuck outside, I'd just as soon it be warm." Come to that, she could probably skip the lines at Disney World...

It was getting dark. This wasn't a part of town she'd ever have gone to before, especially at night. It was a new feeling, this fearlessness. It changed everything. The run-down buildings, spray-painted markings, dark corners... they just looked shabby, sad. They weren't scary anymore.

Up ahead, a pair of women wearing... not enough for the evening chill. Just standing at the corner, looking bored and a little shivery. Mary came up and stared in fascination. Maybe she was wrong. It's not like she knew what hookers dressed like, really.

They were colored, and thin. It was hard to tell how old they were. Anywhere between twenty and thirty.

"Shit," one of them muttered. "Willy gonna be pissed."

"We can't make 'em stop," the other said.

"Tell him that. See how far that gets ya."

A car passed by, slowly. The women instantly put on lewd poses and fake smiles. One blew a kiss.

The car slowed, just for a moment, then sped up again.

"Shit," one girl hissed. The other flipped a bird toward the retreating Chevy.

Lucky for them a green pickup, a Ford, was slowing down and pulled up to the curb.

"Hey, sugar," the one said, leaning in the window. "You lookin' for a party?"

"Reckon I am," the man said. He was around forty, and thick. Muscle gone to fat. Hair a little thin on top, "What's it gonna run?"

"Whatcha lookin' for, sweety-pie?"

"How much for a dip?"

"Sixty," she said. Mary couldn't believe how casually she said it. Bored, almost.

"Maybe we just get lick in, then."

"Thirty," she said, in that same take-it-or-leave-it tone.

He considered it for only a moment. "All right. Hop in."

A quick head-shake. "'Round the corner here." She was already walking.

The man looked a little annoyed, but parked his truck just past the alley, locked up, and followed her. Mary was already there.

The money seemed to disappear the instant he handed it over. Mary couldn't figure out where it got to. The girl got down on one knee, just like that, and worked his pants and zipper. She didn't need to give him more than a handful of tugs, he was already getting stiff. She put him in her mouth without any hesitation, or enthusiasm.

Mary was struck by how quiet it all was. A few slurping noises, that was it. The john was obviously hard but he was hardly even breathing faster. She wasn't sure how she felt about it. The sheer sleaziness of it all was a little spicy, but...

A surprise came when he suddenly pulled out. "Fuck this. Get that skirt up, let's finish this right."

The girl wasn't fazed. She got up off her knees, wiping her mouth with her forearm. Her smile looked a little forced. "Gotta pay first."

"Fuck that. Drop 'em." He made no move for his wallet.

Mary knew what resentment and fear looked like. No way the hooker could hide them from her. What she wasn't used to was courage. "Cash first, baby," the girl said. Flirty, but firm.

He didn't seem to be listening. He just pushed up to her and reached down for her crotch.

She pushed him back. "Gotsta pay if you wanna play, honey." She was trying, but the fear was obvious now.

Out of the blue, he punched her. Hard, right in the belly. The hooker fell helplessly to the ground. Her face got cut when she landed, started bleeding. Mary was startled. Hobart had always yelled or threatened first. It was creepy to think there might be all different kinds of beaters in the world.

The man bent toward his victim. Her hand flashed, quick as the dickens, and nails scratched his face. She tried to roll over but slipped.

Holding one hand to his cheek, he pulled back his foot and gave her a kick in the stomach. "Bitch! Teach you to lay a hand on me!" Then he got down on his knees and grabbed her neck.

He was choking her. He wasn't stopping. The girl's struggles were getting feeble...

Mary found a board on the ground. Hands shaking, she picked it up, approached them. Feeling lightheaded with terror, she drew back and swung at the man's head.

It landed with a meaty thunk. He wasn't knocked over, but he let go of the girl and put a hand to the ground; the other came up to cup his ear. He let out a wordless cry, halfway between a scream and a moan. After a moment he lifted his head to look around. The hooker below him coughed and gasped in a struggle for air.

The second time Mary swung from the hips, as hard as she could. It took him right in the face, and he fell to one side of the girl, stunned and groaning. His hands moved slowly to cover his face; his nose was crushed and one cheek was slashed open. The hooker was panting now, but she clearly couldn't move yet. Mary stepped forward and stomped hard on the man's crotch. That half-limp dick was just too tempting a target.

It was his turn to fight for breath; he was trying to scream and simply couldn't. Before his hands covered it, she thought she saw blood coming off his prick. Mary looked at the board in her hand, and considered. In the end she cast it aside and grabbed the girl under her shoulders, dragging her away. She didn't even look back at the john. The fight was all let out of him.

It was rough going for a stretch, but then the girl started helping some. Weak, terribly weak, but enough to get to the street. The other hooker saw her injured friend and ran over. Mary stepped back and let her take over. She just worked to catch her wind, calm down, stop being terrified.

For a second she stopped breathing altogether, she was so flustered. She'd suddenly realized she wasn't terrified. Breathing hard, sweating, all tingly - for years, that had meant she was scared. For so long she'd forgot it could mean anything else. But now it meant she was mad.

No, angry.

No. Fucking pissed off.

She didn't have to be scared anymore. Ever.

Maybe the Lord could see her. If there was a Lord. She wasn't sure anymore.

But nobody else could.

She tried on the thought, spoke it out loud. "I can do what I like. Go where I like. Spy on whoever I like." It was true, she realized. For the first time, she really felt it in her bones.

The other hooker was helping the struggling girl get to her feet and stumble away. Neither of them responded, naturally. Mary kept thinking aloud. "Take what I like. Protect who I like." She glanced down the alley at the man, who lay clutching himself, coughing blood. "Punish who I like."

She practically strutted back, head high. Eyes on the board laying next to him. Feeling free, alive. "Why, this is going to be fun..."

End