Chapter 5

Tuesday April 25

Weird fucking dream last night. I was lounging poolside - I don’t know where. There was a white cat sitting on a nearby fence staring at me. My dad was there, standing in front of me, and in a trance-like voice he asked me, “Are you a good person?”

I shrugged. “I try,” I answered.

Then it wasn’t my dad standing in front of me: it was Bevin. She was a friend during my freshman year in college who stabbed me in the back and learned the hard way that I don’t believe in proportional responses. She too, in a hypnotic monotone, asked, “Are you a good person?”

“Better than you, you piece of shit,” I answered with a dismissive chuckle.

And then it was Hailey. Kind, beautiful, skinny, blonde Hailey. There was no color to her skin and her eyes were bloodshot. Wisps of brown fumes swirled around her. “Are you a good person?”

I absolutely lost it. Tears gushed from my eyes. “Hailey, I am so sorry! I’m so sorry I hurt you! I wish more than anything...”

She repeated with the same ghostly intonation: “Are you a good person?”

“I try! I swear, Hailey, I try! I just ... Sometimes curiosity gets the best of me! I want to know the answers so badly that I don’t consider the costs. I would do anything if I could take it back. Please...”

Hailey disappeared and for a moment it was just that damned cat, watching me cry. And then Imogen, of all people, was standing in front of me. But she didn’t speak to me: she turned to face the cat. Her voice was anything but monotone. “Okay, now what about you? Are you a good person?” The cat jumped down on the far side of the fence and disappeared.

That’s all I remember. I guess my subconscious was trying to tell me something. Hell if I know what, though.

I watched Laurel on campus some more to get a feel for her Tuesday/Thursday schedule. No new opportunities.

She did teach another one of her classes today. I watched through the cameras I had placed before, only paying a little attention. Ryan got paired up with the fifty-five-year-old. Granny’s got game. The wrinkles are a turn-off, but she was doing everything right with her hands and lips and eyes and voice. Hell, she even managed to get in some sexy hair flips. Has anyone ever coined the term “GrandMILF”?

The interesting part came after almost everyone had left and Laurel made a phone call - presumably to the boy I’d seen her with.

“Hey. Yeah, me too. Hey, do you think I could come over tonight? Thing is, I sorta need to make you come. Yes, really! It’s important. To me. Important to me. Okay, great! Thank you so much! But, um, when I get there, do you think we can pretend it was your idea? I mean, any advances you make will definitely be accepted, okay? Great! I can’t wait to see you!”

A few thoughts. First, the timing is conspicuous. I wonder if I somehow caused this change of policy by talking to him? Maybe I brought about a reevaluation of their relationship?

Secondly, there’s no way this girl is a cult leader. She’s not a leader at all. Whatever this whole “spermamancy” business is, she’s a victim of her own creation. These classes she’s teaching are obviously a burden to her.

I still haven’t seen any evidence that sperm can predict the future, or that any other sort of magic exists. The best argument that I can make for it is that a whole lot of people take it seriously enough to build organizations and vocabulary around it. But then, a whole lot of people speak Klingon, and yet I doubt there’s a fleet of warships in orbit.

Of course, I haven’t seen much to support the sex drug theory, which leaves me grasping for an explanation for Laurel’s unexplainable prowess. Hunter, Ryan, and Marcus were enjoyable partners, but I don’t think there was anything supernatural about that sex. Hopefully, the boyfriend will leave his blinds open again and I can see Laurel in action.

So the three of us had a date tonight: Laurel and Cole in his bedroom, and me on the hillside, dressed in black, with binoculars and a parabolic microphone.

He was probably wearing the same thing he’d worn to class, but Laurel had changed into a white high-waisted pleated skirt and a pale blue top that revealed just a little bit of her midsection. It was a cute look - maybe even sexy - but certainly modest enough to be seen by the parents.

Like before, they both sat on the bed, but this time their attention was completely on one another. Their fingers mingled together between them.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day we met,” Cole finally declared. She answered with her eyes: they looked hopeful.

He leaned in and kissed her but he didn’t dare touch her with his hands. She encouraged him by moving his hand to her head. Their heads pivoted around each other’s lips and he stroked her hair.

“You’ll let me know if anything’s wrong?” He asked.

“There won’t be anything wrong,” she promised with a puppy-love smile.

He shifted his body and laid her down alongside the bed’s headboard, and then he moved above her and kissed her some more. One hand supported him, but the other had free roam across her body. He touched her bare belly and her neck again. He also touched her knee and shin but seemed reluctant to go anywhere covered by her skirt. Probably to solve that exact problem, she bent her knee, lifting her leg enough to make her skirt slide down her thigh.