A Message of Love

"Are we going to see you there tonight, Jake?" Sierra leaned against the opening to Jacob's cubicle, arms crossed under her full breasts.

"Um, what's your costume going to be?" Jacob looked up from the design prints spread out across his desk. The curve of Sierra's hip in the snug black skirt was...distracting.

They heard a chuckle from his friend's cube across the aisle. "I've got it - Morticia," Karl said, winking at Jacob.

"Nope, Sierra's too tan." Jacob began shoving the designs into his case and powering down his laptop. Did he detect the slightest blush in the unflappable Sierra?

"OK, a witch? She could pull that off." Karl leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head.

Sierra shook her head, smiling, and reached an arm behind her to give Karl her single finger assessment of his costume ideas.

Jacob smirked. "No-look bird; you just got told. What about you Karl?"

Sierra turned her head toward Karl. "I don't think most of us would recognize it, but douchebag would be a perfect costume for you Karlina."

All three of them laughed.

Jacob tilted his head, regarding Sierra, his lips a half smile. "Way too pretty to make a witch believable. I'm thinking a female vampire, or maybe a succubus?"

This time her blush was unmistakable.

"Suck a - what? Jesus Jake, at least try to keep it clean."

"Dammit Karl, it's not - " Jacob dropped it at Karl's knowing grin.

"All right kids. It's been fun, and it's been real; it's been real fun," Karl said, stepping out of his cube and shrugging on his coat. "You gonna be there tonight Sierra?"

She nodded, giving him a playful shove.

"I'll be in the truck, bro," Karl said, with a quick nod of his head.

Sierra watched Karl go for a moment, then turned back to Jacob. He was still trying to stuff the remnants of the design prints into the soft case. He needed a bigger desk.

"You bringing anyone?" Her voice was quiet, neutral.

He shrugged. "How about Jim? Will he be making an appearance?"

"No Jim," she said, flipping her dark hair out of her eyes.

Truth be told, he thought Jim was a fucking moron not to spend every waking moment with Sierra. She deserved better than that smarmy tool. Then again maybe Jacob was just a tad biased in favor of the gorgeous woman, who just happened to be his best friend. He wasn't sure if any man would be good enough for her, at least in his eyes.

"He have something more important to do than hang with his girl? A confused man that one."

"No Jim. Period."

"Ah shit, Sierra. I'm sorry."

Open mouth. Insert foot.

"It's really OK," she said, shaking her head, her eyes downcast. "He's just not - right. I can't really put my finger on it. Better to just cut the cord now than to keep kidding myself."

He could tell it had been a little more serious than she let on. His strong, but vulnerable Sierra.

A stack of the prints fell off his desk, scattering all over the floor of his cube.

"Shit. No, that's OK Sierra."

She had crouched down to help collect the papers. His gaze fell directly on the deep cleavage the bodice of her dark gray top revealed in that position.

Stop, Jacob. Don't ruin a good thing. You're still a mess.

They collected the prints, and finally got all of them into his case. He tried to ignore the movement of those heavy breasts. Damn it.

She looked up at him, smiling.

No, she can't read your mind, dipshit, but you'd better stop blushing or she won't have to.

They both stood, Jacob slinging the strap from his laptop case over a shoulder.

Sierra, took half a step closer to him. She'd been doing that more often lately, and he wasn't sure how to handle it. Well, his body was quite confident how to handle it; his mind, not so much. Some things had changed between them after Mara, and this was one of them. A new tension, new uncertainty.

"If you come tonight you can be my date. Two singletons can drown their sorrows together." Her smile was dazzling, as always.

"You want me to walk you out?"

She shook her head.

"I really hope you'll show tonight, Jake. At least just for a little while. You're turning into a hermit." She touched his arm, then walked off. He fought with himself not to crane his head out of his cube to watch her go.

---

"You know don't you?," Karl said as he turned onto the on-ramp, gunning the truck's engine.

Jacob was busy tapping out an e-mail on his phone. His boss never ceased to find reasons to travel, and as result, e-mail was the only way he could reach her most of the time.

"Dude, you there?"

"What? Sorry, I have to get this sent out, or there's going to be a shitstorm on Monday. What'd you say?"

"You know about Sierra don't you?"

"Well, she's my best friend, so yeah I guess I would, right?"

"Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"Not really," Jacob said, smiling, thumbs tapping the tiny screen. "But then I am kind of used to it. You are smarter than me."

"Asshole."

"OK, what about her?" Jacob finished the e-mail, dropping his phone into a cupholder.

"She's into you."

Jacob groaned. "Not you too? Karl, you and I have been friends since what? Forever?"

"Freshman year in college, genius. But it feels like forever sometimes."

"Well, you should know better then. Just friends, that's it. It really IS possible for a man and a woman to be friends you know."

"You can't bullshit a bullshitter, dude," Karl said, cursing under his breath as traffic up ahead began to slow. "Look I see it, we all see it. Something's different."

Jacob looked out the passenger side window at the slate gray sky, darkness rapidly approaching. "Everything was different afterward, Karl."

"I know it. But maybe it's time to try something else. Start something new. It's been two years." Karl's voice was quieter, his tone gentle.

Jacob didn't say anything for awhile, just watched the world go by. It was too soon to think about it. He really was a mess - no getting around it. But with time, he

hoped.

The truck pulled up to the curb in front of the house.

Jacob got out, closing the passenger door, then rapped his knuckles on the window. Karl rolled it down.

"It's colder than a witch's tit out there Jake. In or out?"

"How long have we been doing this Karl?"

"What, me giving your lazy ass a lift? A year?"

Jacob smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I don't want to do this anymore. I'm going to start driving myself."

"Thank Christ," Karl said, shaking his head and grinning. "You change your mind about coming tonight?"

"You have fun." Jake turned and walked up the brick walkway to his porch.

"Jake, if you don't come, at least call her," Karl yelled out of the window.

Jacob waved a hand behind him, and Karl drove off.

---

Halloween night. Two years to the day. He used to love Halloween. A chance for adults to be kids again for one night. Now he hated it. Hated the pain of it.

He sat on their couch in the study, gazing out the deck door at the snow that had begun to fall, listening to the sad stillness of their house. It was abnormally early to be snowing on Halloween, even up that far into the Cascades. The kiddies were going to freeze.

His gaze turned from the snow to the dark plane of the bar. The warm orange firelight flashed on the angles of the crystal glasses, shone on the dark, deadly curve of the Glen Livet. His face blanched.

No, not now. One night at a time.

Jacob had watched his lovely wife slip away in her hospital room on a cold Halloween morning, watched the life flee from her tired, withered body, felt the oxygen sucked from the room. The room that day had been as quiet as the study was now. He had been holding his breath, listening for her next ragged, uneven breath. Desperately hoping. The hospice nurses hadn't warned him about the death rattle. He knew it wasn't fair, but he hated them for it.

That night as he signed the last of the estate documentation, read the DNR that he'd respected but selfishly despised, he'd crawled into a bottle. For the next year he'd rarely crawled back out.

That first year he couldn't bear to feel the hurt, so he tried to drown it. He'd been off the sauce for almost a year now. Karl helped him, Sierra helped more. It helped to have a caring, if absentee, boss.

Now he was trying to see if he could live again. If it was worth it, without her. It was hard, so very, very hard. All that he thought he knew, all he ever wanted, perished with his beloved wife.

He picked up a letter Mara had left tucked into his mail slot not long after they'd first met. He'd secretly kept it all these years. Jacob hadn't read it for a long while, but in an effort to find something good to remember, a reason to go on, he'd decided to go through the things that reminded him of Mara. He'd reasoned that if he could revisit those memories, and not flee back to the booze, that maybe, just maybe, he'd make it. He'd read the letter again for the first time on the anniversary of her death - last Halloween - in a desperate bid to pull himself out of his spiral of self-destruction. He'd decided he would only read it once a year, on Halloween.

Jacob waited until the few trick-or-treaters had finished their visits. Why those kids bothered in weather that shitty, he didn't know. Free candy was apparently a powerful motivator for young children.

Once it was late enough, he locked the door and flipped off the porch light. He sat back down on the couch in the study, the fire crackling while he glanced at those seductive glasses again. Deciding whether this time his weakness would win. The letter was folded onto itself in thirds. Mara had been a talented artist, especially with inks and pencils, and on the outside of the letter was one of her favorite illustrations: a gently curved black rose, complete with thorns. With a racing heart and a now familiar pain, Jacob opened the letter carefully and read it once more:

Dear Sir,

I am not sure how this is supposed to work, how I'm supposed to act. So I will just say it. You may have thought to scare me off, to sober me up with the reality of the monster you seem to believe you are. Well let me tell you, you are wrong.

You see, there are some women who would kill to be in my shoes. To have a man as strong, as true, as unbelievably sexy as you tell them what you told me last night. Yes, some women want to hear the things you said! They want to be subject to your lust, your control, yes, even your cruelty. And I am one of them.

You say you want to control me, to discipline me, own me? I say when do we start? I say this even though I am terrified, wondering if I'm crazy. A lust-crazed slut taken leave of her senses. But that's precisely the point, isn't it? You make me feel that way. With you I can be free enough to admit it. You said it yourself: Freedom through control, release through submission.

I don't know what I am doing, but I trust that you do. I know somehow you'll understand me. I know you'll be loving, and I know that you'll be strict. I know I'll make mistakes, be thoughtless. Punish me for them, but as long as I know I am loved, I'll welcome it. Need it. Lead me on this journey, and love me in your own way.

Scared (and wet),

Your Mara

It still made him hard, still made his heart race - and it still hurt. But this time, it was more bittersweet. He missed her, terribly. A part of him did not survive her passing. But the cliche was true: time heals all wounds. Even this one.

His cell phone buzzed, the vibration jarring against the coffee table. He picked up the phone, stared at it, moved to put it down, then looked at it again.

It was a text message. It was Sierra.

"What r u doing tonight Jacob? You should be here with us!"

He'd known her since before he and Mara had first gotten together. She was a friend then, to both of them. He'd relied on her support since Mara's death, their bond of friendship deepening. Jacob would never admit it to Karl, but he was right. Now things did feel different. There was something...more.

Jacob didn't know what that something was, and he wasn't sure he should be anything more than a friend to her. He was used to knowing the way, having the answers. That certainty was gone once Mara was gone.

The phone buzzed again, drifting laterally as it vibrated atop the table. Another text.

"Everybody wants to see you - especially me lol"

Most of the office was at a Halloween party that night. He knew Sierra wanted him there. She'd asked if he would make an appearance. He'd never answered her.

Jacob picked up the phone, thumbs tapping the screen.

"Are you drunk Sierra? Do I have to come and take you home?"

He had always felt protective of Sierra, her soulful almost haunted eyes and petite frame brought out an instinctive urge in him to watch over her. It had become more blatant since Mara had died though, almost as if his wife's passing meant he could be free to fixate on Sierra. One of the ways things were different.

Protecting her gave him some purpose. She was a beacon, a lifeboat in his sea of despair. It helped.

The buzzing phone against his thigh startled him.

"Not drunk - well not quite drunk. Will u come?"

Jacob smiled, shaking his head, thumb whirring. "Nope."

He felt the sad loneliness of the house then, and resolved to do something about it. He lay the phone on the coffee table and walked to the bar. His keys were laid in the usual place - a ceramic bowl one of Mara's art students had made for her. At the other end of the bar was the Glen.

His cell vibrated again. He paused a moment, then retrieved it from the coffee table.

"What will it take to get you here?"

His thumb was tapping out a response, when the cellphone went off again. He canceled his message and clicked over to her text. He stood still a moment, his throat working.

"Some encouragement lol", she'd written.

Below the text was a picture of a maroon skirt being pulled down in back, the thin line of a bright orange thong plunging between the tanned upper swells of feminine buttocks.

"Yep, she's drunk," he said.

Jacob wasn't sure what to make of it; she'd never sent anything like that before. Though the image made his pulse quicken, he had an idea about what needed to be done. He grabbed the keys.

As he pulled on his heavy leather coat in the foyer, the doorbell rang.

"What the hell," he muttered under his breath. "A little late for candy huh kids?"

He opened the door, candy bowl in hand, ready to bawl them out if they stood an inch over 4 feet tall. Only the big kids ever came calling that late.

What stood on his porch was not a child dressed like a lion, not a 12 year old in a plastic Dracula cape, nor a teenager lazily masquerading as a hobo.

It was a woman. A beautiful woman.

---

"Hi," Jacob said.

She simply stood there, gazing evenly at him. She was wrapped in a long, dark, rather out of date appearing shroud. He couldn't place exactly what it resembled at first. This was one of the hidden advantages of a female best friend: a source for obscure (to men, anyway) fashion knowledge. Then he remembered. It looked like a cloak.

The light over his porch was dim, so the details of her looks were muted. She had dark hair, but he could not make out the color since the shroud covered it as well. White flakes of snow were beginning to collect on the top of her head and along her shoulders. A few danced at the end of her long eyelashes. Her eyes were luminous, twinkling pools.

He was still for a few moments, feeling the urge to say something, to fill the silence. Then she spoke.

"Hello. I - I need some help. My car died on the highway, and I seem to have lost my phone. Would you mind if I came in to use yours, and maybe warm up a little?" Her words quavered a bit as she spoke. She was shivering.

"Uh, OK," he said, stepping aside. Letting complete strangers inside his house was a completely alien concept to Jacob, but he felt an odd thrilling comfort in her presence the way a hot stove feels to freezing hands; to touch it is too much, but to be close is bliss. She remained planted on the porch, utterly still, her gaze never leaving his face.

"Please come in," he said. "It's freezing."

He waved his hand, beckoning her inside. She followed, suddenly moving swiftly past him down the hallway and into the study beyond.

"Make yourself at home," he muttered, brow furrowed, closing the door behind her. Her scent was left in her wake, and he found it wonderful.

He found her standing in front of the deck doors, looking out at the snowfall. Jacob grabbed the cell from the coffee table, reaching with it toward her narrow back.

He cleared his throat. "Here's the phone, ma'am."

She didn't move a muscle. After waiting for several moments, he set the phone on the bar next to her.

"How about something to warm you up? Coffee?"

Nothing. The woman stood as still as a statue. It only half registered on Jacob's consciousness that despite the warmth of the room, the snow on her hood and shoulders hadn't melted yet. He retreated to the kitchen and poured her a mug, his hands shaking slightly.

When he returned to the study she had at least turned around, and dropped her hood. Her features were classically beautiful, slim nose, strong cheekbones, and as his gaze met hers, liquid eyes that reflected the dance of the firelight within them. Those eyes were unlike any he'd ever seen. He was dimly aware of handing the hot mug to her, but all he could take in were the depths of color in those eyes.

He watched her plump crimson lips say: "Thank you, Jacob", but no sound registered. He felt as if he were dropping into a trance, limbs heavy, his eyes unblinking. His skin tingled, like stepping out of a warm house into the icy winter air.

A small, strident part of Jacob's consciousness was yelling, screaming, that something was very, very wrong. Telling him, begging him to get away, fight back - anything.

Fight back against what?

She knows your name, Jacob.

He took a step backward, feeling as if he were standing knee-deep in wet concrete. With Herculean effort, Jacob tore his gaze away from those shimmering violet depths, and looked over at the bar. The .45 semi-auto was just under the top shelf.

"You won't need that," she said, her voice almost a whisper. A lovely sound.

He looked at her again, shocked at the ease with which his gaze locked back with hers, like a compass swinging back to true north.

"How do you know my name?" His voice sounded muffled to him, like hearing speech through a thin wall.

She flashed a devastating smile and the effect was instantaneous. His skin went from a tingling to a hot, overwhelming sensitivity, as if he could sense the pressure of the very air in the room. He felt a growing heaviness in his groin.

She didn't answer his question. "My name is Elira, Jacob. It's very nice to finally meet you."

Jacob's consciousness was fighting a losing battle, his will wilting away by the second. He couldn't move his legs anymore, though he grunted with the effort to do so. It was as if the connection between the mind and legs was simply disconnected.

It was so hard to talk. He just wanted to stare at her eyes; nothing else was really important. "How did you - know..."

"Let's just say I have a very reliable source for information," she said, dipping her chin slightly, looking at him from under slender dark eyebrows. "But it's not important Jacob. I'm here now, with you. That's all that matters."

She pulled the cloak away from her body, and dropped it to the floor behind her. Jacob gasped.

She was stunning. He couldn't leave her eyes for more than glances, but he still perceived enough. She was tall, though even in her heels, she was still a few inches below his imposing height. From just above the nipples to halfway down the thighs, she was wrapped in a dark, form-fitting fabric. It seemed an almost translucent material, like peering at the Sun through the shield of a curtain. Only there wasn't a sun behind this fabric, but a gorgeous female body. The fabric emphasized an incredibly narrow waist, the generous swells of her breasts complemented by the stretch of the wrap across the sweep of wide hips. The dark areolae were hinted at through the dress, the delta of the sex an unmistakable inviting shadow between the strong thighs. Above and below the dress (if it could be called that), the almost glowing skin dazzled his eyes. He'd not seen skin so pale, so clear ever before. He ached to touch it, to feel it against his lips.