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*
It had been an entire week since the "conversation," and he had heard nothing since. As he drove home that next Wednesday evening, he again replayed the conversation in his mind. Was it all just a hoax, a cruel joke, a dream or some kind of self-hypnotic delusion. With each passing day, his heart sunk lower and lower as each day, he logged onto his e-mail and found only the usual junk. Nothing from her. No instructions, . . . no commands, . . . nothing. He almost didn't want to even check this time. The despair built with each disappointment.
He followed his usual routine - dinner, change, silk robe, glass of wine, and finally, settled into the thick, comfortable, black leather chair in his office. He turned on his computer, logged onto his "blue" account, clicked on the mail icon, entered his password and, after a slight pause, three items came up. The first two were the usual triple x spam come-ons, the last was from "KatsKradle.."
Ohmygoddd, its her, its really her. The instructions, the instructions, this must be it.
He double-clicked on the item and immediately his screen was filled with white text on a light blue background. It was three pages of incredibly detailed instructions. He read through it slowly, occasionally gasping as the full impact of her instructions hit him. It included not only instructions for him to follow but a detailed description of what he could expect at each point in the process of meeting her, and it was an involved process. The instructions are silent however on what will happen after they meet.
He has three days to get ready. Sunday morning at ten o'clock, the fantasy starts to become a reality. The first step begins.
He read through the three page missive a second time, and then a third, occasionally drifting off into his favorite fantasy with Katrina. He printed it out, returned to the kitchen to refill his glass, came back, pulled the sheets from the printer and settled back down in his chair, sipping as he read the remarkable document a fourth time. He read it twice more before retiring for the night, exhausted but exhilarated. It was really going to happen.
Sunday finally arrived. He rose earlier than usual that morning, cleaned himself thoroughly according to the Instructions, dressed as instructed in a loose fitting running suit with no undergarments, and tennis shoes with no socks.
He carefully shaved, trimmed and filed his nails, removed his ever present wrist watch, made one final trip to the commode to relieve himself of a few drops of nervous urine, took a last look at himself in the mirror, grabbed his car keys and wallet and walked out into a bright, sunny day. He slipped into his silver Mercedes, started the engine, put it in gear, backed slowly out of his driveway, shifted gear and then smoothly accelerated.
He had the strange sense that he was actually in a dream. Every once in a while, he touched his hand to his pant leg and rubbed it as if to convince himself that this was real. He was incredibly nervous. Perspiration collected under his armpits despite the heavy dose of deodorant.
He drove very deliberately, carefully staying five miles under the speed limit, stopping completely at stop signs and signaling for every turn. He had a half hour to get to the rendezvous which was no more than ten minutes away. He had plenty of time. John took a few deep breaths to try to calm himself and popped a small mint in his mouth, hoping this didn't violate the "no solid foods in the last twenty four hours" instruction.
The judge turned into the shopping mall parking lot and headed for the designated section. More than an hour before the mall was due to open, the lot was nearly deserted with only the few cars of early arriving employees present. He slid the large Mercedes into the spot nearest the "Section G-3" sign on the light pole, turned off the engine, removed the key from the ignition and waited.
He watched the second hand on his old style car clock sweep through its cycle, the thin, needle-like hand moving at what seemed an excruciatingly slow pace. He thought through his instructions again. He knew them by heart now after so many readings. If nothing else, Judge Reynolds was always prepared. At first, he didn't hear the sound of the white van pulling into the spot three parking spots over. Instead, he saw a brief flash of white in his peripheral vision moving to his left. He turned to look at it and then heard its engine. It was five minutes to ten.
He waited two minutes and then, at exactly three minutes to the hour, got out of his car, locked it with his remote control, and walked on shaky legs the few steps necessary to stand at the light pole, facing the van.
The judge was breathing heavily now, heart pounding in his chest as he tried to steady himself on the pole and look nonchalant. He saw movement on the van's driver's side as the driver's door opened. He jumped slightly as the door slammed shut.
In a moment, he saw the girl. The instructions said she would be short and sleight of build but he had not expected her to be so small. She looked like a child, perhaps four foot eight or nine, maybe eighty pounds soaking wet. The simple short, bowl shaped cut of her black hair gave her the look of a junior high school student but for the shapely figure and confident walk. She was obviously Asian, not Chinese, more Southeast Asian in look, but he could not narrow down the nationality any further than that.
