The Cave Ch. 04

One night after I'd finished a long afternoon of work, I remembered to look up Stockholm's Syndrome on the computer. I chose an article at random and skimmed it.

"...an unconscious act of self-preservation...triggered by intense fear...joining the abductor's cause...minor acts of kindness from the captor are seen as signs of friendship...even when the hostage is able to escape, they choose not to...the victim identifies with the aggressor, long after they are released from captivity..."

When I had read enough, I left the website and closed my computer.

I finished my final draft two days before the due date and wasted no time sending it off to my editor. I had come to my uncle's cabin to finish my book and now that it was, there was little reason to stay. I planned on leaving first thing in the morning. I didn't bring much to the cabin, but some of the groceries I would have to take with. I thought about driving out to the place where we'd left Pratt supplies, to see if they were gone, but now that my judgments of Riley were not so vicious, I decided maybe she had the right idea. Clean break and all that.

Folding some of my clothes in the utility room and inserting them straight into my last suitcase, I heard someone at the door. I froze and muttered a curse under my breath. I had ordered another round of groceries for the week before I had finished my work early and had forgotten to cancel it. I wondered if I gave Todd a sizable tip if he would take back the groceries and refund me.

I opened the door and reached for the screen door handle. "Todd, I'm sorry, I—"

"Who's Todd?"

Jack was standing on the porch, looking insulted and put-out. The sky was overcast again but the temperature mild, so he wore his coat open, exposing his flannel and tee-shirt layers. His face was still thick with dark whiskers. And in his arm, claws out to hold onto the sleeve of his coat and giving Bucky very reproachful looks, was my cat.

"Daisy!" I cried and darted out.

"Did you lose it?" Jack snapped at me.

I had my arms out for Daisy but I put them down at my sides when I heard Jack's tone. I didn't realize he cared so much about my lost pet. I thought he was a dog person. "Yes. She's been missing for weeks."

His scowl wavered into confusion for a moment and then he glanced down at Daisy. He handed her over. "So he is yours—she, I mean. I found her down by the road on my way in."

"I'm surprised she let you pick her up," I said. "She probably smells your cat."

"I don't have a cat," he said, but then he saw my smirk and nodded with a sarcastic half-smile.

I turned and let Daisy jump down inside. Bucky barked once and brushed by my legs to follow Daisy, who immediately jumped up on the counter and gave a disapproving hiss down at the golden retriever. I approached them to break it up and Jack came in, tapping snow off his boots at the threshold and standing at the door.

"Boy you two just come in whenever you feel like it, don't you?"

Jack ignored my comment. "So you lost it?" he asked, a little less sharply than before.

I frowned. "I just told you I did."

"Not your cat," he said.

I thought for a second and then it hit me. "Oh, you mean your card. No, I didn't lose it."

"Oh," he said, dimming, retreating into himself to think critically about something.

"I threw it out."

Jack looked up suddenly and darkened. "Oh." Wincing, he shook his head at himself, and his eyes snagged on my luggage next to the door. "You're leaving soon?"

"Ah, yeah. I finished my work yesterday. I'm heading back to Duluth in the morning."

He nodded distractedly and shoved a hand in his coat pocket to grab his keys. "I won't keep you from it," he clipped. "Come on, Bucky, let's go."

I caught Bucky by the collar as he went by and he swished his tail at me as I lowered down to his height. I let him lick my cheek. "You came all the way over here to see if I still had your card? Did you give away your very last one, or what?"

"No, I don't need it back. But if I'd known you were just going to throw it away—" He sounded like he was going to say something rather cutting, but stopped himself and shook his head again. His voice sharpened. "Bucky, let's go."

Bucky dutifully stepped towards his master, but I distracted him with some ear scratches, which made him swish his tail faster. I hadn't forgotten about Jack these several weeks. Knowing the nature of our pairing, I had expected to think of him some during his absence, but I had also expected the magic of our attraction to eventually fade and our separation would ultimately lead to his forgetting me. I had no idea he was still waiting for my call. "I'm sorry," I said and meant it. "I shouldn't have accepted your card if I had no intention of using it."

He glanced sideways at me, but still seemed annoyed.

"I was...scared." I realize now trusting anyone was a gamble.

Turning to face me, his scowl smoothed out. His lips parted, but he didn't say anything.

I gave Bucky's fur a final ruffle and urged him to the door. Standing, I offered Jack a small smile of contrition.

Jack exhaled. "No, I'm sorry. You said you were just getting out of a relationship. I should have given you more time."

"If you had waited any longer, I'd have been gone."

He glanced down at my luggage and gave a sideways nod. "Maybe my timing was just right."

"Maybe," I agreed.

Bending over, he gave Bucky some attention. "We haven't eaten yet," he said and looked at me. "Are you hungry?"

"Sure," I said. "My treat, though."

"Can't argue with that," he said and grinned lopsidedly.

"I'll get my purse." I rounded the counter, pausing to scratch under Daisy's chin. I realized I should probably leave some water out for her and maybe a little food, too. I went to the cupboard for a bowl, filled it with tap water, and poured a handful of cat food directly onto the counter. The shake of the bag was enough to get Daisy to respond and she patted over. I threw my purse over my shoulder.

Jack was waiting at the door, one hand on the screen door handle, the other in his coat pocket. His lips were quirked. "So, who's Todd?"

"Oh," I smiled. "He delivers my groceries."

His eyes glinted with recognition. "You mean Todd Larson?"

"You know him?" I asked, and then shook my head. "Of course you do. Small town."

Jack chuckled. "You know, when you said his name I thought maybe I had missed my window. Something just came over me." He scoffed dismissively.

"Oh, yeah? What was it?"

"I don't know. Something..." He shrugged one shoulder, indifferent, almost shy, not quite meeting my eye. "Territorial."

I felt my face deaden, smile gone.

Jack noticed my changed expression, startled. "What?"

I let my purse drop to the floor with a jangle of change, crossed my arms around his neck and kissed him hard. He wasn't expecting it. One hand clutched my hip, the other fought to free itself from his coat pocket. I could hear his keys ringing. With both arms liberated, he wrapped them around me, crushing, pushing back with his lips, his face rough on my skin. He withdrew to take in a breath, his lips blood red, eyes cloudy. We kissed again, tongues curling together, and a current of elation spiked through me. One of his arms left me and I heard the front door latch as he closed it.

"Back he—" I gasped.

But he was already shuffling towards the bedroom. "Back here, I know," he murmured. "Bucky, stay."

**********

It was night. The moon glowed high and full, the air thick and warm. Guarded, he crept as close to the edge of the trees as he dared, surveilling carefully for the mongrel that was always there. If it caught his scent, he would be forced to retreat, as he often did when he came this close to the house.

The Man was sitting in the back yard on a long lounge chair, sipping drink from a dark bottle, contemplating the starry sky. There was only one light on in the house, on the ground floor. Upstairs was completely dark and as a warm breeze picked up, he heard the heavy crinkle of construction plastic covering the open walls of the second floor addition like the gauzy, discarded skin of a garter snake. That, upon the pleasing sonata of frogs and crickets, and he barely heard the quiet hiss near his feet.

The cat he liked. Gray with black stripes, it was always cautious at first, but after a few scratches behind its ear, it was usually purring and rubbing up against his leg. He knelt and stroked the back of its soft head with the side of one large claw, keeping one golden eye glued to the house.

His other hand played with the animal tooth hanging at the hollow of his throat by a man-made rope. It was shaped like an arrowhead and it had been treated somehow with chemicals, but he could still smell fragments of the animal it had come from. Nothing he would likely ever come across in these woods. It was an animal humans hunted, for food he presumed, although humans were the only species he knew that hunted for fun rather than sustenance.

Another light blinked on and a shadow moved around inside. A moment later, the glass door slid open sideways and he could smell her fragrant scent. Heart thumping, he stood for a better view. He didn't always get to see her—Layla—when he came, but when he did his attention became so rapt, nothing else existed.

As she came outside, however, so did the mongrel. Thankfully, he put his nose to the ground and immediately followed a scent to the far edge of the yard.

Layla was wearing a heavy dark robe, cinched tightly at the waist. Her dark hair was still long, shining in the moonlight, splayed around her shoulders. As she approached the Man, her bare feet padded across the deck boards silently, and he had barely a chance to lift his face to her when the robe fell to a puddle at her feet.

The slant of her hips, the heavy sway of her breasts, rounded behind...she was just as he remembered her, save for her midsection, which was thick with child. Even as far back as he was, he could smell her arousal, a sweet pungency mingled in the humid summer air, an aroma he knew very well, as it once filled his entire cave. Sometimes, on rainy nights, he could still detect her in the fur blankets, even while his newest tribute was sleeping there.

"Jesus," the Man said. He set down his bottle of drink with a woody thud and pulled her into his lap, her back against his chest. Layla guided his hands to her breasts, but he resisted. "Are they still sore?"

"Only a little." She curled an elbow back around his neck so that he could explore her, dark hair growing fine and wispy in the hollow of her arm pit.

Taking great care not to touch roughly, the Man delicately cupped her, softly rubbing both thumbs over her stiff pink parts. After several moments of getting reacquainted, the Man showed his enjoyment by growling into the back of Layla's ear. A feeble sound in his regard, but it made Layla scream in delight and succumb to a fit of giggles. To his keen nose, the harmony of their scents was truly intense.

His cave had always been devoid of laughter, except during Layla's short stay. Screams, yes, but never laughter. And after he had brought Layla her gift—Riley, she called her—his cave had never sounded so happy, and it likely never would again.

He loved all the women he brought back to the cave, in some way, and some more than others, but Layla most of all. Layla, he felt, was the only one who loved him back, really loved him, beyond just the pleasure he provided. Of all the women he released, Layla was the only one he returned to. Part of him hoped he would find that same restiveness he first detected on her—that he sensed on all the women he took—so that he might have an excuse to take her back, but she was always stinking of the Man. And now she had the Man's child to take care of. As a rule, he never took mothers with young spawn, no matter how much they reeked of uneasy discontent. He didn't have the heart.

"Did you finish it?" Layla whispered back to the Man.

"Absolutely."

"And?"

"Pretty imaginative for someone who only writes nonfiction," the Man said. He was still nuzzling her from behind, his hands settling to the firmness at her belly, rubbing in small circles.

"Yes, well..." she trailed off. "Who says it's not?"

"Not what? Nonfiction?" The Man laughed heartily at the sky. "Are you saying I'm the monster?"

"He's not a monster," she said, tone darkening.

"Sorry, okay. Am I Pratt, then?"

She sighed. "No comment."

"I see. Well, I do have a problem with one part."

"Which part?"

"Fire in a cave is completely unbelievable. The smoke alone would make a billion spiders come down from the ceiling."

Layla sat up a little, looking back at him and it was very hard to tell if her insult was mocked or not. "There weren't any spiders."

"What about the one that bit the girl?"

She sighed again, but it was happy and she settled back against him. "Everyone's a critic. Stick to reading nonfiction, lover. It's what you know best."

"Fine, you want to know what I really think?"

"Lay it on me, baby."

"You've heard of the ego, the superego and the id, haven't you?"

Layla turned back to look at her mate with a baffled grin. "When have you ever taken psychology?"

Eyes coming together in slight, he said, "Hey, I took a half semester at Bemidji State."

"A half semester? Well this outta be good, then."

"So you know the superego is the part of the psyche that monitors rules and norms—societal, cultural, religious, parental...that sort of thing. And the id is in charge of impulses, primal...instinctual...sexual..."

The Man slid a hand into the pubic hair between her legs to elicit a response. Layla sharply inhaled and nodded.

"And the ego keeps the both of them in check," she finished quickly.

"For me," the Man went on, "the cave represents the id."

Layla seemed to sober momentarily, despite her mate's finger still stirring around her private place. "Go on."

"Everything outside the cave is the superego and your protagonist is the ego, struggling to negotiate between the two."

Smiling slowly, Layla said, "Now that's interesting. You never cease to amaze me, Jack. Oh—that reminds me." She scooped the Man's hand away from her nether region and laid it against her curved belly instead. "Amy and Don are coming over for barbecue tomorrow."

"How does that remind you of Amy and Don?"

Layla giggled.

His look turned suspicious. "Tell me again, how is it you know Amy? I've never pictured you as the type to run with her crowd."

But Layla didn't respond and simply moved his hand back down to the thatch of black between her legs. The Man growled at her again, the only part of their conversation he understood.

Except for Pratt. He recognized that word. There were few words he could comprehend, but he knew "No." That was easy of course, and he tried to be sensitive to their demands when the word was directed at him. Generally, consent made it easier for women to reach pleasure. And they always consented eventually. That word was "Ohgodyes."

Not that he always listened to their words. Scent played a larger role and when their fear was reduced to just a bitter whiff, he knew they were almost ready. Except for Layla, of course. He had never met a woman whose fear had faded so quickly and so completely, in spite of the difficulty it took for her to let go.

That was another thing about humans. He had never known a species to sexualize their females so much, while simultaneously holding them to impossibly high standards. Little wonder the women he brought back to the cave were so sexually stifled.

Turning in the Man's lap, Layla straddled him, arcing back so that the Man could kiss her breasts. Soon, his kisses blended to light suckling.

Layla's familiar moans reached his ears and he felt sick with heartbreak. He had picked the Man specifically for her, long before she was fevering with infection, but every time he thought of her impending release, he'd feel an uncomfortable tightness in his chest, an anxiety so strong it consumed every thought. He suspected he might never let her go and when he left the choice up to her, she always chose to stay. But he could smell the oncoming foulness of her sepsis and he knew she had to go, and to prepare for her arrival, he had left numerous donations on the Man's front porch. He had never done that before; leave gifts for the male. But he wanted the Man to be adequately supplied to take care of Layla.

Fumbling eagerly between them, a wild craze in his green, gimlet eyes, the Man freed his cock and Layla's hips began to move. He watched the Man roughly squeezing the flesh of her heart-shaped rump as it plummeted down on his manhood. The metal squeaks of the lounge chair's frame increased tempo and the satisfaction in Layla's groans let him know she was pleased with the Man's size, which relieved him marginally. He wanted her to be happy.

Feeling the rising tingle of his own passion, he slipped his hand through the strips of his loincloth to rummage for his semi-hard penis, but he had hardly noticed the golden mongrel trotting out from the far end of the yard until the yapping stunned him. The tiger-striped cat suddenly scaled the tree he was leaning against with a rapid, splintery sound, hissing down at the ground.

"Bucky, shut up," the Man hollered thickly.

He took an alarmed step backwards, his foot coming down to snap a branch under a layer of old leaves. Layla and the Man swung their heads in his direction. The mutt barked unrelenting at the tree line.

"Who's out there?" the Man grumbled.

Layla grabbed his whiskered chin, directing his attention back on her. "Let them watch," she grinned.

Retreating to the woods, he was reluctant to leave the ceremony of lovemaking, even though he knew he would be back, at the very least to get a glimpse of their offspring. But he stopped for one last glance.

"Jesus," the Man breathed, fingers dimpling the flesh of her butt cheeks as he thrust up with renewed drive. "I fucking love you."