Groggily, Henry awoke to the pleasant sound of birds chirping. The warm sun glinted through the window, cascading across the room in a patchwork of radiant energy. Rousing him from his solace, a cool, crisp breeze billowed through the room, sending a slight shiver up his spine.

Stumbling out of bed, Henry walked through the labyrinth of rooms and by chance found himself in the kitchen. He emptied the last remaining drops of cold, stale coffee from his cup and refilled with the fresh pot that had been brewing.

Carrying his daily dose of caffeine, he stepped out onto the back deck and looked out at the scene beneath him. No matter how many times he saw it, he felt a dwarfing sense of amazement. Behind the summer "cottage" that Henry and his fiancée, Julie, had rented for summer there were endless miles of trees and other foliage. Some of the trees were as big around as a small car.

Heading back into the house to freshen up, Henry caught sight of the very object that had plagued him so badly the past year. Leaning down he examined the cold, flat, unforgiving monitor. Striking a random key, his screen saver vanished revealing his latest work. Henry sighed deeply.

Two months now at this summer retreat and he had still only managed a few paragraphs. This writer's block was devouring him piece by piece. What would be left of Tom Henry Allen III if he couldn't write anymore?

Rubbing his eyes, Henry avoided the self-aimed question and decided it was time for a shower. On his way, he noticed a note on the kitchen table from Julie. She had gone for a walk down to the local grocery to pick up some item for breakfast. A walk? More like a hike in this alienated place. Henry's PC had been the first import of recent technology into this place in the last ten years.

Walking lazily towards the shower, Henry tapped on the small clock radio in the bedroom and grabbed a towel. As the warm, massaging flow cascaded down his body, Henry's mind drifted away. A few minutes later, caught up in the sauna-like comfort of the shower, Henry's ears perked up.

Leaning his head out of the shower, Henry confirmed what he thought he had heard. The radio DJ was warning everyone to be on the watch for a fugitive from the authorities who had been spotted in the general area. All those in reclusive building were encouraged to alert authorities at the first sign of trouble. The man was armed and dangerous, of course.

Returning to the comfort of the shower, Henry felt a slight tingle in the back of his mind. As a fictional author, Henry's imagination was far more active than the average person's. Slowly but surely he started formulating scenarios involving "The Fugitive". His mind was on fire. It was amazing, but he felt as if this might be the end of his writer's block.

Suddenly, Henry froze. Caught up in the excitement of his imagination sparking again, he had not realized that the house had become silent.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Silence.

A new sensation crept across Henry's nerves. A sudden creak echoed through the silence from the hallway. Slowly he crept out of the shower, taking extra care not to slip on the bathroom tile. Scanning the room for a weapon, Henry came up empty. Julie had always teased that his electric razor would come back to haunt him some day, but he doubted that his was the scenario she had envisioned.

Henry lurched to a halt. There had been a shadow of movement from the connecting bedroom. Someone was here. Taking a deep breath, Henry calmed himself, and crept slowly onto the waiting carpet. Shocked he scanned the empty room, hoping for any sign of movement to quiet his subconscious.

"Tag you're it!" Tackled from behind, Henry went sprawling onto the kind-sized bed, followed by the love of his life. They wrestled for a little bit, Henry's naked skin brushing against the harsh fabric of Julie's hiking outfit. Eventually the chaos settled and the laughter subsided.

"Dammit woman!" Henry scolded, "You damn near gave me a heart attack. I thought that fugitive had broken into our home."

Lightly kissing him on the lips, Julie reached down and gripped his manhood tightly. "What if I told you that I was a fugitive?" Mocking her he pulled his wallet from the side of the bed. "Miss, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the car and show me your id."

Chuckling she threw her arms back in a mock show of shock. "Oh officer, surely there's some understanding that we can come to." Again she grabbed Henry, this time stroking him softly.

"Mmmmm...well that's a good start." Reclining back against the bed, Henry closed his eyes in preparation for the euphoria to come. Then he felt Julie's warm, wet mouth devouring his head and a primal moan escaped his lips. Her delicate tongue traced circles along his shaft as she drew his sex into her mouth. Soon she proceeded to work her hand up and down his shaft, as she licked hungrily with lust at his head.

Moaning again, Henry was amazed at Julie's constant ability to make him hot. Ever since he had met her 3 months prior, she had never once left him wanting more.

"God, Julie. I don't know how a guy like me was ever so lucky to hook up with you."

But the deep, gravely voice that responded instead of Julie's, shocked Henry. "You know, I'm kind of curious of that myself."

Opening his eyes rapidly, Henry found himself face to barrel with a sawed-off shotgun. Standing behind the barrel, with a handful of Julie's hair in the other hand, was a dark-haired, dirt-faced burley man. The pale blue shirt and pants that he was wearing tagged him as "The Fugitive" from the radio newscast.

And that was the last thing on his mind before the butt of the gun rammed into his skull, blacking him out.

Eventually Henry regained consciousness, groggily shaking his head, only to discover the massive pain that followed. Moaning softly, Henry immediately caught a very disconcerting sound. From his estimations, it sounded like a woman moaning with pleasure.

Realizing that his hands were tied behind his back, and that he was on his knees, Henry slowly leaned over until he was lying on his side. Tilting his head upwards he saw a truly dismal sight. Julie, who was naked from the waist down, had her face buried in the bedsheets, and I could see the hair of our uninvited "guest" sticking out from behind her ass.

Obviously she was enjoying the oral attention. At first I was hurt. Hurt that she would so willingly give herself over. Then I noticed the gun again, and I understood her situation. Who's willing to take chances with an escaped fugitive?