Friday 13th December 2002*

Jason shoved against the heavy cedar plank door, using it like a snowplow as it gradually shifted the snow that had mounted, in what seemed only a few minutes, on the threshold of the log cabin.

His body weight proved to be just sufficient and the latch eventually dropped into place. He didn't bother with the drop bar, knowing that nothing would be out in the white-out blizzard and the chances were, that no-one would be venturing out this way until the spring thaws.

He levered off the fur-lined boots, hooking his heel against the toe of the other boot and placed them under the hanging heavy coats. His Parker joined the others on a peg with his woollen hat draped over.

Not for the first time since he had taken up temporary residence in the cabin, did he think the designer was a little naïve in housing the generator so far away from the house. He had managed to kick start it into working, but he wasn't sure it would stay that way. Just long enough for him to shower hopefully.

Closing the door to the entrance hall, he entered the living space that was now quite warm. The logs sputtered and flared nicely in the grate, occasionally exploding in retorts as the resin became hot and vaporised, sending blue flames out at odd angles and sparks flew up the chimney.

He surveyed the room.

Nothing had changed. The walls were still rough-hewn logs fitted together and retained in upright split trunks. The white wattle filling still kept out the howling wind that drove the snowstorm outside. The floors were the same sawn boards, polished with varnish and covered in places by native patterned rugs. The woodsman axes still hung about the mantle, the pictures were in the same place and the cottage style Settle, still held the girl in its cushioned embrace.

She hadn't moved.

Jason rubbed his hands together and stimulated the circulation. Pins and needles reminded him that he should have been wearing gloves outside. His search of the cupboards had produced a bottle of Bourbon. Two glasses on the low table between the settle and the fire were half filled with the amber coloured liquid, warmed by the reflected heat of the dancing flames that refracted and glinted through the glass.

Jason sat opposite her and reached for his glass. He studied her face as if to burn the image into his memory as he sipped the warm spirit and felt it course down

his throat, his taste buds telling him that it was strong liquor before his stomach accepted the warming nectar.

He savoured the delicious thrill as he heated up internally, the bourbon working on him like an internal radiator. Jason swilled the remaining liquor around in his glass, marvelling at the almost oily way it clung momentarily to the side before falling back to join the bulk spinning around at the bottom of the glass.

Her glass remained untouched.

Jason half turned and placed the glass on the low Maplewood table. The grain of the timber was light, similar to beech or ash, but someone had taken the time to highlight the wavering lines with a fine brush and a coloured lacquer. The effect desired or otherwise, was to raise the profile of the lines so that they looked topographical in relief, but was in fact, flat when a finger was traced over the lines. It was a clever effect and Jason appreciated the craft that produced it. Jason appreciated craft and the care taken to do a job properly.

He turned back to face her, raising his hand to gently trace the line of her jaw. He noticed the blonde downy hair under her ear and the way it terminated directly on her jaw line. His fingertip dropped to her breastbone, feeling the hardness of the bone under her alabaster skin. He traced the blue veins that marbled one of her small mammary glands and then stopped, resting lightly against her inverted nipple.

Not for the first time in Jason's life, he marvelled at the perfection of the creation of the human form.

His hand travelled over her smooth stomach a finger pressing lightly into her navel, before continuing to her hair-covered mons. The course pubic hairs, snagged the roughened skin of his fingers, as if clutching him and not wanting his touch to stop. He briefly touched her hidden lips below, parting the folds before pushing against her entry with his index finger. Her opening yielded to his pressure and engulfed his digit, but he didn't stay there, instead, he removed his hand and turned back to his drink.

She didn't respond.

He sipped at his bourbon and then turned back to her. He saw the dancing flames of the fire reflecting in her eyes. Noticed that they were green with small brown flecks.