Chapter 4

Despite the late and eventful night, Malcolm woke before dawn, immediately conscious of having company in the bed. Cautiously rolling over, he saw in the dim light of street lighting filtering through the curtains, Sasha ... looking at him.

"Do you mind?" Her voice was very quiet. "I just ... wanted to be close to you."

"I don't mind," he said, "but I don't understand."

"Do you want me to go away?"

"Why ... why would I want you to go away? I can't understand why you want to be near me. I'm the guy who was supposed to rape you."

"But you didn't."

"But I wanted to."

"No, you didn't. You wanted to have sex with me. When you looked at me, I could tell. You saw a person, not an object. When you realised I wasn't ... there of my choice ... it switched you off. I could see. Then you gave me a chance to be free. Then you stood between me and ... that thing. Besides, I wouldn't have minded."

Malcolm boggled at that. "You wouldn't?"

"No. I might explain some day."

"You seemed very calm."

"There wasn't any point in panicking. My father..." she stopped and swallowed hard. "My father told me often ... if ever I was in ... deep shit ... I was to stay calm and do whatever was necessary to live through it. You can get over assault, you can't get over dead. And that was what I was doing. If you had ... fucked ... me, at least you were clean. I might even have enjoyed it. Somewhat."

"You're really something."

"You said that before. Malcolm ... Mal ... would you put your arms round me?"

He didn't answer in words, just squirmed around until her head was resting in the crook of his shoulder. She lay against him; he was very conscious of her breasts pressing against him, her warmth, her scent. We are a sophisticated society; we forget our bodies were made to be attractive to the opposite sex (without artificial assistance from the anal glands of deer) and that includes our various secretions. Despite the exertions of the previous twelve hours or so, she smelled delicious. There was a hint of the fear she had concealed, but other than that, she smelled of warm woman, with just a hint of the shampoo she'd been made to use the previous evening. The combination, unsurprisingly, caused him to become erect, which in turn caused him to feel embarrassed. The situation was not improved when she sighed contentedly and wriggled against him.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I'd like to thank you properly, but I told Dulcie I wouldn't."

"I hadn't thought about that. Dulcie knows you're here with me?"

"She gave me permission."

"Oh."

He still couldn't get his head round the attractive young woman in his arms wanting to be with him. But he was enjoying having her there. After a while, he realised that her breathing had slowed and steadied; she was asleep again. He didn't want to move and disturb her, so he didn't shake his head in puzzlement, but closed his eyes. Without being aware of it he too slipped over the boundary between 'awake' and 'asleep'.

Dulcie sat in the kitchen. Someone who didn't know her might have wondered why she was talking to herself. Actually, she wasn't; she was praying. Somehow it was easier to be coherent speaking aloud than in her head. The confidence she'd felt earlier was gone; her hands were shaking, the palms damp. When the Voice spoke, she inhaled sharply.

"Daughter..."

"Yes, Lord."

"When you walked through the valley of the shadow of death, you were not afraid, were you?"

"No, Lord."

"Fear is natural. But when I lead you, I will protect you. You trusted and you obeyed, and seven innocent souls are safe because of your obedience. Twelve other souls have had a shock and may in time come to repentance. One doomed to destruction has faced judgement through his own actions and arrogance. This is one small skirmish in a battle that has lasted aeons, but the end is sure."

"Lord ... I love you."

"You have great love in you. It is why I can work in you."

"I feel so weak."

"My strength is made perfect in your weakness. Rest now, and be refreshed."

Malcolm surfaced; he was laying on his back. Thin curtains allowed daylight to illuminate the room. Sasha's head was still resting on his shoulder, her body moulded to his. For the first time he saw the reddish lights in her brown hair, making it about the colour of a fresh chestnut. He was fascinated; captivated might be a better adjective. Perhaps it was the change in his breathing, or perhaps it was just that he moved slightly, but Sasha woke too. At first she just snuggled against him, inhaling his scent.

"You smell good," she murmured.

"So do you," he answered.

"I should stink," she said with a slight giggle.

"Nope. If I could bottle your scent, I could make a fortune."

"You're just trying to make me feel good."

"Telling the truth. If it makes you feel good, it's a bonus. I..." he trailed off.

"I don't want to move, but ... I need the loo and I'm getting hungry."

"After you, then."

She slid out of the bed. In shapeless joggers and baggy t-shirt he shouldn't have been able to make out her figure, but his memory instantly supplied the image of her naked body and he blushed with shame again as his body responded.

They found Dulcie in the kitchen, her head resting on her forearms. Sasha shook her shoulder gently and she woke with a yawn, immediately gasping, "I didn't mean to sleep!"

"It doesn't matter, does it?" It was Sasha that spoke.

Dulcie cocked her head to one side, "I suppose not, especially since my Lord told me to 'rest and be refreshed'. I really am, too. Do you both drink coffee, or there's tea or fruit juice?"

"Coffee..." Sasha and Malcolm spoke together, stopped and looked at each other and laughed.

"Coffee sounds good," Sasha said.

Dulcie stood and stretched before crossing to the coffee-maker, measuring out grounds and switching it on.

"Muesli ... cornflakes ... Shreddies? Toast ... marmalade or jam?"

"Toast, please," Malcolm said, "marmalade ... black coffee."

Sasha nodded. "The same for me, but some milk in the coffee, please."

Susan woke gradually. The psychotropic drugs she'd been subjected to linger in the bloodstream, but she was much more aware than she had been for days. She lay there, taking in her surroundings, vaguely aware of having had an unpleasant dream. Why was she in a large double bed, in a room she didn't recognise?

A woman entered the room, slightly dishevelled, wearing a clerical collar with a blue shirt and jeans.

"Hullo," she said, "I'm Reverend Dulcie Hanson, but you can call me Dulcie, if you will. You couldn't give us your name last night. How are you feeling?"

"Groggy. Drugged?"

"Yes, we think so."

"Oh." There was a very long pause. "I'm ... Susan. Susan Sorenson. I ran away from home in a temper. Am I in trouble?"

"I don't think so. I think you had a lucky escape. Do you remember anything?"

"A couple at the railway station ... feeling sleepy. Bad dream."

"I'll talk to you later about your dream. Are you hungry?"

"Oh, my, yes."

"Good. Do you think you can manage to get up and dress? I have some other guests to see to."

Susan pushed herself up and swung her legs out of the bed, pausing as she felt dizzy for a moment.

"I think I'll be okay."

"Good. Shower and toilet through that door; there's a towel and a new toothbrush there. You're too tall to wear my clothes, but I've got a jump-suit here I think will cover you fairly well. We'll find something better later."