Keeper

by Michael Garrett

  Blessed heat welcomed Wayne as he opened the door, but the darkness and silence inside were eerie. Even the ever-present hum of the refrigerator was noticeably absent. Wayne removed his gloves, blew into his palms and flexed his fingers, then groped his way to the kitchen counter and wrestled a six-cell lantern from an assortment of junk beneath the sink. The lantern’s beam was harsh, but strong. Swallowing hard, he returned to the sofa and stared at the woman’s sleeping form. My God, what a gorgeous face! Through all the excitement, he’d failed to notice how attractive she was. And she appeared to be about his own age.

  Wayne pulled up a chair and sat next to her. Tangled strands of her brown hair lay matted against the corduroy sofa. Long errant locks with bits of leaves and twigs lay plastered against her forehead. An ugly bruise marred her left eyebrow and traces of mascara ran from both eyes, though most of her makeup had been washed away in the river. But even in her disheveled condition, she was irresistible.

  Was she safe now? he wondered. Was there anything he could do for her? As long as she was resting, he would try not to disturb her. Wayne pointed the flashlight away so its harsh beam wouldn’t awaken her, and watched her chest rise and fall through the indirect yellow glow. She looked like a sleeping angel.

  He touched her cheek and felt the coolness of her flesh. She should be warm by now, he knew. Carefully he lifted the blanket. Wet clothing clung tightly to her skin, and her blue print dress was hiked high around her thighs. The lower half of her mud-splotched panty girdle was visible, and one of her stockings was twisted around an ankle while the other remained firmly in place, secured by a single garter. But even that stocking was torn by a line of runners and her unadorned leg was etched with a swirl of minor scratches.

  The flashlight shook in Wayne’s grasp, and his hand grew sweaty as he examined her further.

  Her dress was torn at her left shoulder and a dark bruise marked her tender skin. Wayne swallowed hard and wiped his brow. Visually tracing the length of her body, he admired her flawless figure, imagining her in formal attire, her hair perfectly in place, her body accented by a sheer evening gown …

  With a startled gasp he settled back in his chair. He was getting an erection. God, how could he? This woman was so helpless, so …fragile. He thought about tomorrow, about how he would find help for her and how she would thank him.

  The girl shuddered briefly, her eyes remaining firmly shut. Wayne reached to spread the blanket back over her, then stopped at midpoint. Her clothes were soaking wet. No wonder she couldn’t get warm. Should he wake her? He nudged her lightly and watched her head shift slightly without awakening. He shook her harder, until her eyes opened groggily, then closed again.

  She could catch pneumonia, Wayne told himself, watching her purple lips quivering in the dim light and remembering the cool touch of her skin.

  Should I take off her clothes?

  He could feel the nerves under his skin tingle at the possibility.

  A drop of perspiration rolled down Wayne’s cheek. He turned off the stove burners and lowered the thermostat on the kerosene heater. For a moment he reconsidered. What if she should awaken? He flashed the lantern beam in her face. She was sleeping undisturbed. Wayne’s skin crawled with anticipation. He shifted from the discomfort of his untimely arousal and considered his next move.

  He decided to proceed.

  Quietly he returned to the sofa and gently pulled the blanket to her feet. As before, she was lying on her back, both arms to her sides. Again the rise and fall of her chest elicited waves of desire. Wayne reached for the hem of her dress, gripped its soggy fabric, and tugged it lightly toward her head. Now the sleek curves of her hips came into view, her undergarments stained from muddy water. She wore a full-length slip which was also hiked around her waist, thin layers of mud oozing from its compacted folds. Gently, he tugged the dress and slip together, catching his first glimpse of the smooth, creamy skin of her stomach. And though the breathy movement of her navel was engrossing, it couldn’t begin to match the sight of her exposed bra after he’d pulled her dress and slip to a tight bundle around her neck.

  Anxiety quickened his pulse. How could he remove her clothing without jarring her injured left arm?

  Beads of sweat collected again on Wayne’s forehead. Carefully he took her right hand and stretched her arm out and above her head, then bent the arm at the elbow to slip it through the sleeve of her garment. Her skin felt encouragingly warmer. With her right arm free, he slipped the ring of clothing over her head and gently slid it down the length of her left arm. When it was done, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  Standing above her, Wayne marveled at her figure, his shadow cast by the lantern light bending across her body and stalking the wall behind her.

  She was like no woman he had ever seen.

  And yet, he felt ashamed to be aroused by the sight of her vulnerable form. But he couldn’t concern himself about that now. Having gone this far, it was too late to turn back. And besides, his actions were entirely justifiable. He would remove the rest of her clothing without lingering and quickly wrap her in a warm, dry blanket.

  Wayne slipped his hands beneath her back and fumbled clumsily with the clasp of her bra. The loosened elastic straps contracted in his grasp, and he felt his member growing uncontrollably more erect. The color of her skin looked healthier by the minute, he told himself. Dropping the right strap over her shoulder, Wayne repeated the earlier process so he could remove the bra without disturbing her bruised arm.

  The sight of her breasts was almost more than he could stand. Her thick pink nipples stood erect above their soft milky mounds, so much more appealing than those within the pages of a men’s magazine. He wanted to caress them and lick them, and it took all his self-control to keep his hands away.

  No, he thought, I mustn’t dawdle.

  Bending over her horizontal figure, he tested her girdle—snug, but not excessively tight. There was an ugly bruise above her right knee.

  Wayne’s swollen penis strained hard against his fly. He squeezed between the wall and the end of the sofa at her feet, then leaned over her knees to grasp the elastic band of the girdle at her hips. He then rolled the panty girdle down an inch or two at a time, stopping frequently to make sure that he wasn’t pinching her or pulling her pubic hair. At first he panicked when her head lolled from left to right—what on earth would he say?—but, thankfully, she never awakened.

  Wayne closed his eyes and replayed the gentle roll of her breasts as she turned in her sleep. It had been the single most erotic scene he’d ever witnessed, more powerful than anything he’d ever imagined. He paused for a deep breath, then continued, easily slipping off her remaining garments without disturbing her sleep. Her soiled girdle and panties dangled from his fingertips, and Wayne found himself standing mesmerized by the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  And she was completely nude.

  Swallowing hard, Wayne surveyed her body. The triangle of her dark pubic hair sent a surge of desire through his erect penis. Wayne tensed at the sudden buildup of sexual excitement, then lurched with the unexpected release as he ejaculated from the mere sight of her. He gasped to regain his breath and closed his eyes. His heartbeat raced. His mind began to wander …

  He imagined himself walking a country road, hand in hand with this beautiful woman. The vision continued until the two stopped beneath a massive oak. They gazed into each other’s eyes and embraced. Their passion was heated, but not sexual in nature. The feeling was one of warmth and caring, and soared beyond the boundaries of physical love …

  Calmly he opened his eyes. Perhaps one day he might find such a love. But now he felt only shame for thinking of this poor woman in sexual terms, knowing of the ordeal she’d been through and her helpless condition.

  Wayne covered her again and tucked the blanket snugly at both sides, then sat at the kitchen table far from the fading beam of the flashlight. The batteries were slowly weakening. His heart still pounded wildly, his mouth
felt parched and dry. Wayne fumbled at the sink for a drink of water, but only a slow trickle dripped from the tap—the water lines were already freezing.

  He glanced again at the sofa, at the gentle swell of the blanket as she breathed. Stop it, he warned himself. Don’t even think about it. You’re still a hero and let’s keep it that way.

  Wayne’s eyes wandered down the darkened hallway. Inside the middle closet was a Polaroid Swinger camera his parents had given him last Christmas. And if he remembered correctly, it contained film with at least two or three exposures remaining. He was almost certain that, inside the camera’s plastic case, was an unopened package of flash cubes.

  No. I shouldn’t take advantage of her that way.

  He rolled his eyes from the feet of her bundled form to her exposed face, her lips so inviting. Would a flashbulb awaken her? he wondered.

  With the lantern in his right hand, Wayne twirled its beam directly at her eyes, then flicked it quickly away. Her eyelids twitched but her eyes remained shut.

  It’s not right. It’s an invasion of privacy.

  He paused to collect his thoughts.

  But she’ll never know. It’ll be perfectly harmless. And the photos will be fantastic! Besides, I saved her life. She’d be at the bottom of Kelley Creek if it weren’t for me. I won’t even touch her—and she’ll never know.

  Quietly he stepped to the closet and opened its squeaky door. He knew exactly where to reach in the darkness, high on the top shelf. With the simulated alligator case in hand, Wayne tip-toed back to the kitchen table and carefully removed the flash cubes and camera. The shadows from the lantern light exaggerating his every move as he nervously peeled away the cellophane wrapper from the flash cubes and plugged one into the socket on top of the camera.

  She’ll never know.

  He stepped to her side and gently pulled the blanket to her waist.

  Wayne stood six feet away and framed the sofa in the viewfinder. Fighting his own nervousness, he held his breath to steady the camera and slowly applied pressure to the shutter release.

  Nothing happened.

  The camera batteries were either weak or dead. Did he have spare batteries? No … but wait. He remembered a trick he’d learned from Barry. Wayne pulled the flash cube from its mount and licked the wire elements at the base of the cube, then repositioned the cube in its socket. Quickly he re-aimed and pressed the shutter release.

  FLASH!

  The lady didn’t budge, and continued to sleep undisturbed.

  Wayne jerked the paper tab from its opening at the camera’s end and pulled the developing print from the camera. Anxiously he counted ten seconds, then peeled away the black covering and gazed at the small black-and-white print.

  It was good. Damn, it was excellent! The delicate outline of her right breast was clearly visible.

  He wanted another shot, this one a close-up of her face and breasts. Readying the camera again, he snapped the shutter. Again the flash didn’t bother her. He timed the exposure and peeled away the backing—God, it was perfect!

  Caught up in the excitement, Wayne considered another revealing angle, knowing his time was limited. This next picture would be the best yet, a full frontal shot. He pulled the blanket to her feet, then stood atop a nearby chair to look down on her. Framing the scene, he nervously snapped the shutter and ripped the paper tab from the slot. The camera jammed.

  Frantically, he tried to remove the print, but found it hopelessly stuck. Silently he cursed this foul twist of luck. If there were any exposures left, they would be spoiled when he opened the camera to remove the blockage. And, of course, the shot he’d just taken was already ruined. There was no more film in the closet.

  Guardedly, he stopped himself as he was about to slam the camera against the wall in disgust. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity had vanished before his very eyes. But at least he already had two good photos. The wet prints were lying curled on the table at his side. Retrieving them for another look, Wayne fished a black cylinder of protective coating from the camera case and spread an even layer of transparent gloss over the prints with the applicator. Then, leaving the snapshots to dry, Wayne returned to his guest.

  He held the blanket high above her, then paused for one last look. Her legs rested firmly together, shielding any further view. Curiously, he dropped the blanket to a soft bundle, leaned over and touched his nose to her soft bush of pubic hair. Slowly, he inhaled her musky scent.

  He remembered poring over men’s magazines, but all were quite adept at concealing female genitals. And once a visiting cousin from Chicago tried to describe the lips and folds of the vulva, but try as he could, Wayne couldn’t visualize anything that seemed remotely inviting. Then, in high school, an earthy P.E. coach gathered a select group of boys in confidence and sketched a crude drawing of a woman’s privates. Still Wayne couldn’t relate to it. But now here was a perfect example, alive and beautiful, right inside his home. And though he knew he should spread the blanket over her and keep a respectable distance, he wanted desperately to see just a little more, close up.

  Wayne leaned over for another sniff, taking care not to touch her—it wasn’t what he expected, but was quite inviting. Raising his head, he redirected the lantern beam to eliminate harsh shadows from the cleft of her legs. The light glistened in tiny sparkles across her wiry pubic hair.

  Fighting the urge, Wayne dropped the blanket over her chest and paced nervously to a nearby window to peek outside. He envisioned the warm, moist tissue between her legs and imagined how it might feel. His penis was already hard again and throbbing.

  Sweating profusely, he stooped at the sofa, peeled the blanket away, and directed a shaky index finger toward her soft tuft of pubic hair.

  A swirl of thoughts collided inside Nancy’s mind. Consciousness flirted, but seemed to retreat somewhere short of awareness. Visions of cold, dark water subdued her memory. What exactly had happened? Had it been a dream? Vaguely she remembered riding in someone’s car. There was a stranger at the wheel, a man of about her own age. And the cold … The bitter cold had nipped her skin. Her teeth chattered unmercifully.

  Now it was warm. Almost too warm.

  Her body pulsing with waves of pain, Nancy opened her eyes to a blurry, obscure scene. She perceived an eerie darkness, broken only by the misdirected beam of what appeared to be a flashlight or a lantern. Was she inside a cave? No, it was too warm and comfortable. And dry. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim surroundings. She was in a room. Very small. There was a television set and, further away, a table and chairs. And movement. Something tickled just below her navel. She tried to lift her head for a better view, her head still groggy, but fell limply back to rest on what seemed to be a sofa. The tickling continued. Upon focusing her vision, her mind suddenly cleared and she realized in one blood-freezing instant that she was naked, and there was a man bent over her waist—

  Oh, my God! He’s touching me! He’s … he’s…

  Nancy’s heart raced. A rising scream stopped short before escaping her throat. Suddenly her body convulsed and she emitted a low, guttural groan—

  The man’s head jerked in obvious surprise. Clumsily he tumbled off-balance to the floor, knocking the light from a nearby table. She had startled him, and he appeared as afraid as she—but what might he do next?

  Recoiling in horror, she again tried to scream, but choked on her own tongue. Pain seared her joints as she instinctively curled to a protective fetal position. He was backing away now, putting more distance between them. And he was gagging, retching uncontrollably in the floor.

  “Oh, dear God!” she wailed, tears streaming from her eyes.

  The man was on his knees now, facing her with vomit drooling from his chin. The beam of light from the floor bathed his forehead with satanic shadows. Nancy cringed. She tried to get up from the sofa, to run for her life, but never made it to her feet. She tensed, felt her pulse quicken, and with a loud ringing in her ears, fainted to a peaceful return to unconsciousness.r />
  Wayne staggered to the toilet and threw up until his stomach ached. Never had he experienced such a burning rush of guilt and fear. She had caught him at the most embarrassing moment, just as he had lost control, on the verge of going much too far. Thank goodness she had stopped him in time. How could he have considered such a thing?

  Standing, he wiped a dribble of vomit from his chin with a wet washcloth, then leaned over the sink for a sip of fresh water from the near-frozen faucet. Only a faint taste of puke remained in his mouth.

  How can I explain this? What the hell can I tell her?

  Wayne gazed at the mirror above the sink, but his reflection was lost in the darkness. His skin tingled with shame, and his pulse was still racing. When he explained, she would understand. After all, he had done her no real harm. He had saved her life.

  She would understand.

  But the fear in her eyes had hinted otherwise.

  Wayne suddenly felt weak and exhausted. Pulling two quilts from his bed and grabbing a sleeping bag from the closet, he stumbled back to the living room.

  She was resting soundly again.

  He spread the bag over the floor beside the sofa, and quietly crawled beneath the quilts. His body pleaded for rest, but yet his mind wandered. Was Mom all right? He hated to think of her alone in that big empty house during this brutal weather. And Dad—what could be done about his drunken binges? In recent months the problem had gotten worse. How could Mom stand it?

  Wayne rolled to his side, his muscles tense and sore from the night’s unusual exertion. How could he have been so stupid as to intrude on the lady’s privacy? He must have scared her half to death! She’d be angry, of course, and it would certainly put a damper on his heroic feat. But he would prove his sincerity.