Susan, kidnapped, raped, and threatened with disfigurement, had discovered escape in the traditional sense wasn't an option. Her captor had maneuvered her into an unwilling acceptance of his hospitality.
The man with whom she agreed to temporarily abide fascinated and frightened her, but she saw him mostly as an obstacle to her primary goal. All she really wanted was to return to her former life as a woman of the world and successful attorney.
Shawn, Susan's would be assassin, now host and though she wouldn't acknowledge it savior, wanted her to stay around, but he wasn't introspective enough to understand his own motives. He had rival careers one as an honest professional and the other as murderous criminal; the first he'd cultivated and enjoyed, the second had been a younger man's way to make money.
Susan's entrance in his life had triggered a nascent dissatisfaction with his younger more reckless decisions. Now he knew he wanted more. He knew what it was too, and Susan figured in it. He was just uncertain how to communicate what he wanted.
As they walked toward the house Shawn asked, "Are you hungry; how about something to eat?"
Susan replied, "I'm not hungry."
"What would you like to do?" he asked.
She answered tartly, "Nothing with you."
He sheepishly persisted, "I thought maybe we could sit on the porch and talk."
Susan answered savagely, "Not a chance."
That wasn't what he wanted to hear, but he didn't have any clever replies or beguiling comments. He was being his usual stupid self. Crap, when there was something he didn't care about he could talk a mile a minute, but if it was something he wanted he was tongue tied. Some men always knew what to say. He knew men who would have been able to deflect Susan's anger and use it. He could never figure out how. Some men had this facility for smooth talk. They could be affable and clever. He knew some men who could talk an outhouse cleaner into buying a pile of manure. Him, he couldn't get a dehydrated man in the Sahara desert a thousand miles from the nearest oasis to accept a canteen full of fresh water. Shit! Where were his brains when he needed them? He needed to say something clever, something to knock this dreadful edginess off. Not him! He stood there and stammered, "Oh OK."
What a fool he was.
They walked back to the house in silence, neither looking at the other. Shawn would have talked. He felt so awkward. He wanted to invite her to do something, but she either wasn't in the mood or just wasn't interested in anything having to do with him. He hoped it was the first, but knew in his heart it was the second.
There were no constraints now. He'd promised her complete freedom. If he could just get her to talk? They could talk about real things like what they each liked, what they had in common, what they wanted, where they saw themselves in ten years.
She only knew the one dimensional kidnapping scary rapist. He didn't buy the rapist thing. Well maybe a little. If he couldn't get her to talk to him how could he show her he wasn't all things she imagined? Unless he could talk to her, get her to listen, even a little, he was totally fucked.
Women in America were such a mystery. Of course he understood Susan's feelings, but women in general fascinated and confused him. Oh he liked sex. Had his share. He was a hard core heterosexual.
He'd been to other countries, and he'd seen how foreign women were treated. Women in America were special. Men in America, for the most part, treated women differently, and that made them more alive and free. In other places the creative energies of the women were often stifled, but in America they were vibrant and full of energy.
He thought about some of the countries he visited where women, half the population, was denied the most basic opportunities. What a waste. If they'd just loosened up a little bit their countries would be so much richer, so much more productive.
Even in Europe, where one would think the women would have access, they were too often stymied. He didn't like European women much. They were kind of haughty, and for no reason.
Only in America could someone see the benefits of a truly free society. American women were the most beautiful, most alive, most vivacious, most God damn confusing, most exasperating creatures in the world. And going up the stairs right now was Susan; the most beautiful, most vivacious, most confusing, and most exasperating woman he'd ever met. This was indeed one mell of a hess!
Jesus! he wanted to run up there, grab her, turn her around and explain he wasn't just the bad things she'd seen. He wanted to tell her he wasn't all that bad a guy. He'd like to tell her he liked her, thought she was pretty, not just sexy pretty, but pretty inside too.
When they reached the foyer Susan went immediately to the third floor room she'd occupied since her failed escape attempt. She didn't know it was his bedroom. She curled up with Tom and pretended she was home in her own apartment. She'd sit out the next few days, play with her cat, stay away from the son of a bitch downstairs, and plan ways to get even.
Shawn remained downstairs. He watched her climb the steps. He could see the outline of her calf and thigh muscles through the thin material of her brown slacks. He watched her ass cheeks perambulate their way up the steps.
He figured sooner or later she'd come out. He wanted to socialize, but he understood she had every reason to hate him. He'd never been very much with women even on a good day. He figured with her there probably wasn't much hope. If she decided to come down he'd do his best soften her feelings, meanwhile he'd have to content himself with working out their primary problem.
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They'd had their little round of fisticuffs on Wednesday. By Saturday she still hadn't come downstairs. She was taking all her meals and managing all her time in his bedroom. He'd gotten Kia to go up and gather most of his clothes. For the first night he stayed in one of the other third floor bedrooms.
Shawn had acquired the old farm house several years ago. When he bought it there was no central heating and the plumbing and electricity dated to the beginning of the Twentieth Century. He'd invested a tidy piece of change in making it habitable. He thought it had turned out well.
There were four bedrooms on the third floor; one very large main bedroom, and three others of substantial size. There was a private bathroom for the main bedroom and another for any occupants of the other three. He envisioned one day having three or four children. He thought, if it worked out, two boys could always share one room.
The second floor was the main area. There was a long foyer. Actually it had been a porch that he had enclosed. A long bank of windows ran the length of the exterior wall. One could sit in a chair and look out at fields and forest. In the summer he kept the agriculture to things like beans so visibility wouldn't be impaired. In the fall and winter there was always the lovely sight of the changing leaves and later the beauty of the winter snows. Other second floor rooms included a large kitchen-breakfast room, a dining room, living room, and two small sitting rooms each off of a utilitarian bathroom.
