The moon followed Collette home as it had on her trek to the Holiday Inn.  Mark's suitcase was sitting on the seat next to her and she was glad to be returning to his bound form.  She was not worried that he would escape; she was too good at her job for that.  She was, however, worried that he might injure himself trying to escape.  On more than one occasion the bonds she had used to bind a prisoner or slave had broken the skin and opened a wound. 

    She drove safely, barely breaking the speed limit.  She had learned over the years that by not speeding you attracted police attention more readily than if you did slightly break the speed limit.  To the police, driving at or below the speed limit could be construed as a sign that you were hiding something.  She rolled through the stop signs that impeded her travel and only when she opened the garage door did she breath a sigh of relief.

    Home again, Collette picked up the suitcase and carried it into her dungeon.  Mark was still bound securely to the wall, a fact she verified before turning her back to him.  Caution outweighed luck every time she knew.  She opened his suitcase and turned back to him, "now, where was that phone number?"

    His voice, stolen so long ago was still liquid and slid easily from his throat, "upper section.  Unzip the zipper.  There is a thin book, Machiavelli's 'The Prince.' I am using a scrap piece of paper as a make-believe book mark.  The number is written on that piece of paper.  The area code is not written there, but it is three one two."

    Collette unzipped the compartment and found the book and sliver of paper exactly as he had described.  The number was there, the seven digits taunting her.  Why had Mark been hired to assassinate her?  Who was this woman, Collette thought,  and what had I done or what did she expect me to do to her that warranted such action?  Collette shook her head in contemplation.  She gripped the scrap of paper in her hand and left the room.

    She entered her bedroom and placed the phone number by her bed.  She covered it with her alarm clock, both to hide it and to prevent it from becoming lost.  Satisfied with the security of the phone number Collette returned to her dungeon and Mark's side.  "You have done well," she said, "but we still have a problem, don't we?  What are we going to do with you?"

    Mark said nothing, he just looked at her, his face wearing a mask of fear and uncertainty.  He shook his fists in rage, the leather straps stopping his movements easily, "I don't suppose you'd just let me go?"  He already knew the answer.

    Collette shook her head, smiling, "you know I can't do that.  You would most likely just try to kill me again to honor the contract that has been taken out on me.  No, Mark, releasing you is not the answer.  But," she sighed, "I can't just keep you locked up here forever either.  What to do, what to do?"

    Then she did something that terrified him.  His skin crawled as goose bumps exploded over his body.  His eyes squinted in fear and disbelief. She whistled.  He couldn't place the tune, a snappy little melody that toyed with the edges of his memory, tantalizing him to remember.  A little tune that said to him, what I do with you is trivial.  It was not the song that caused his pulse to race and his eyes to dilate. No, it was the casual manner in which she whistled. Like she didn't have a care in the world.

    That what she did to him was secondary to anything else.  Involuntarily, he whimpered.

    Collette's eyebrows raised at the sound.  "Is something troubling you, Mark?"

    He shook his head rapidly.

    "No?" she asked inquisitively.  "Then why the whimper?"

    His mouth fell open mutely.  

    "No matter," Collette said, exhaling sharply.  "The question still stands." She crossed the room and sat in her throne.  She looked comfortable there, as if it was where she most belonged.  Her manner was regal and she sat proudly as she looked over at Mark bound helplessly to the wall.  She watched him struggle, her sex growing damp at the sight.  She had always grown excited at the site of a man struggling against immobile bonds and even when her executioner was that man it still aroused her.

    Mark spoke then, a faint croak of words, "it was rhetorical, wasn't it?"

    Collette smiled, "yes."

    "Toying with me."  It was not a question, just a statement that came to him like the rising sun, slowly and without any chance of stopping.  He was silent for a moment and finally squeaked, "what are you going to do with me?"

    Collette looked at him, her face a mixture of curiosity and surprise.  She was impressed with his reasoning, how he had determined that she had already known what it was that she would do with him.  It showed him to be intelligent.  "Sell you," she said.

    "Sell me?"

    Collette nodded.  "Surely you have heard of such things?  People are sold into slavery daily; you will not be the first nor the last.  In my line of work I have the connections.  I will sell you," she was nodding, her mind made up.  "You should bring me nearly one hundred thousand.  Perhaps less as you are dangerous.  But, you will no longer be my concern nor will I have to worry about you hunting me again."

    His voice was small, "don't."

    Collette raised her eyebrows, "don't?  Don't?  You came here to murder me and you expect me to have any remorse in what happens to you?"  Her voice was cold and she felt herself growing angry.  She continued, her voice rising sharply, "Don't you even think of asking for mercy.  Would you have shown me any?  I think not!" She shouted the last.  

    Mark hung his head in despair.  His eyes were shut and he realized that his life, as hers should have been, was over.  He was at her mercy and by the cold sound of her angry shouts he understood that for him, she had none.  

    Collette spoke again, no longer shouting, "perhaps I won't sell you.  I am sure there are worse places I can give you too.  I imagine if I sell you for a healthy sum of money, the buyer would be concerned with your safety.  I am sure there are more uncaring places I can turn you over to.  Give you to a South American whore house as a slave.  I imagine that you would make a good two-bit whore, your services offered to anyone with a quarter in their pocket.  Would that be better?"

    Mark didn't answer.  He just hung there and listened to her diatribe.

    "It is settled then."  Collette left the dungeon and made the phone call.  Mark would be retrieved in less than two hours, long before the cop that needed to find his gun would arrive.  Returning to Mark's side Collette said, "it is done."

    Mark raised his head and looked at her.  She could read the hatred in his eyes and when he spoke his voice grated with contempt, "don't think this is the last you have heard from me."  His fate had energized him and he sneered at her with hatred, "I will escape from whatever Hell you send me to and when I do I will hunt you down and I will kill you."  His words flew from his lips.

    "No," Collette said matter-of-factly, shaking her head.  She was surprised by the strength of his words and the confidence of his tone.  The words were neither meek or frightened, they were strong and sure.  "This will be that last anybody ever hears of you."

    Mark shook his head, "trust me.  This is not over."  He spoke calmly, sure of his promise.

    Collette just chuckled, "well, then.  I look forward to it."

    And then Mark spoke the, his voice an icy whisper of pure malice, "as shall I."

    "Well.  Your new owner will be here in less than thirty minutes to fetch you.  I supposed I should get you ready to travel."  With that she left the room and returned a moment later with a small hypodermic needle.  "This is just a sedative that should put you out for a few hours."  She read his face, "don't look so surprised.  I have access to most things, legal or not."

    Mark was stoic and silent.  

    Collette jabbed the needle into Mark's stomach and he flinched at the penetration.  Collette pushed the plunger and injected the sedative into his body.  He was asleep within minutes and Collette had no problem binding him for his trip and then turning him over to his new owner.  With Mark gone and the house once again secure, Collette returned to bed with the sun barely peaking above the horizon.

* * * * *

    Rap, rap, rap.

    A knock, punctuating her dreams.  Each time the sound rang through the house she could see the paddle in her hand strike the naked ass of a bound, face-less man.

    Rap, rap, rap.

   "Shit," she said as the sound roused her from her sleep.  Collette climbed from the bed and wrapped her kimono about her, the fiery red fabric ablaze with the rising sun shining in the window.  She rubbed her eyes and then darted towards the door as the sound rang again. 

    Rap, rap, rap.

    She peered through the peep hole and recognized the cop from the night before.  He was no longer dressed in his uniform.  Instead he was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a white sweat shirt.  His hear was wet, as if he just got done taking a shower.  Collette opened the door and sleepily said, "good morning, officer."

    "Ma'am," he said with a nod, "I just wanted to give the property another quick once-over now that the sun is up.  Do you mind?"  

    Collette could tell he was worried that his weapon would not turn up, his voice was strained and he was shaking almost imperceptibly.  "Of course I don't mind," Collette said.  She smiled softly and shook her head, "take your time.  I do hope you find it."

    "Me too."

    She watched him turn and turn into the yard.  She shut the door and smiled, knowing that she was about to make his day.  His gun would turn up of, of course, having returned it to the yard just a few hours ago.  She made her way to the kitchen and made a quick cup of coffee.  She sipped it and waited for the cop's happy return.  It didn't take long.

    "Officer?" Collette asked opening the door.  Holding the steaming cup in both hands she took a small sip and then swallowed.  "Did you find it?"

    He nodded, obviously relieved, "yes, ma'am.  Thank you for your patience."

    "No problem, officer.  I am glad you found it."

    He exhaled sharply and repeated what he had said when she had hoped he found it, "me too."

    She watched him walk to his car and promptly drive away.  He had come and gone and Collette was glad that she was able to return his weapon to him.  He was an innocent bystander in the soap opera of her life and was undeserving of having to face the consequences of losing a weapon.  She smiled at his departing car and then shut the door.  Her house was empty and once again safe.  Mark had been delivered into his fate and she knew, despite his protestations, that she would never hear from him again.  Exhaling softly she crossed the room and made her way to the bedroom.

    She sat on the bed and pulled the slip of paper with the phone number written on it.  What was the reason for the contract on her life? She could not come up with an answer and until she did the question would plague her thoughts and consume her every waking moment.  She set the paper beside her and picked up the phone.  

    Ten minutes later she had a confirmed airline ticket to Chicago.  She would track down Kilandra Mentere, whoever she was, and find out why she would hire Mark to kill her.  She would have her answers, as she had gotten her answers from Mark.  How she got them didn't matter to her, it was the results that mattered and she was good at getting results.  

    Very good.

    She would return to Chicago, return to where the past lived like a ghost that haunted her mind and tortured her dreams.  Return to where her life had first begun with her fiance.  She would return to Chicago and face Kilandra Mentere.  Most importantly, she would face the past in all its infinite strength and hope that her will could overpower the ghost of the past.  

    Collette climbed under the covers and absently wiped her eyes where stray tears had formed.  She shut her eyes and silently sobbed as the past returned to the forefront of her thoughts and before the sun fully emerged from the landscape of the horizon she had fallen asleep, dreaming of the past, her tears staining the pillow cases.

* * * * *

    She opened the door.  The sky was dark and a thousand points of light peered down on her, watching as she crossed into her home.  All the lights were out and Collette furrowed her brow, wondering where her boyfriend  was.  He had said he had a surprise for her and since that cryptic voice mail she had anxiously awaited the end of the work day and her arrival home.  The surprise had inched into her mind until it was the only thing that she could think of.  It was just like him to taunt her like this and she hated to admit that she enjoyed his surprises.

    The house was dark.  Collette turned on the lamp next to the door and smiled at the small balloon that hovered before her.  It was pink and round and a heavy brick remained on the ground as the balloon bounced above it in the invisible eddies of air currents.  Written on the balloon in black ink were the words, "pop me."  

    Smiling broadly Collette obeyed the balloon.  She gripped the balloon in both her hands and popped the balloon with a loud explosion of air.  Gentle pink rose petals fell to the floor, landing with the petals was a small note folded into a tight square.  Collette picked up the note and unfolded it.  Holding it in her hands she read the note, written in her boyfriends strong block letter writing.

    Darling,

    I love you.  I hope you enjoy my surprise this evening.   The first clue is... we look here every day but Sunday.  

    See you soon,

    I love you!

    Harold

    Collette read and reread the note three times, the grin that had invaded her face, never fading.  He was being clever and she appreciated the effort he had put into this surprise.  The anticipation she had felt climbing during that day that had escalated into making her afternoon at work totally useless was well founded and she was enjoying the game as it slowly progressed.  She read the note again, pondering the clue that he had given her.  "We look here every day but Sunday."  What could that mean?  Where was the next clue hidden?  She smiled as the answer came to her.

   She turned around and stepped outside.  Walking briskly, her face wearing a huge smile, she made her way to the end of the driveway where their black mailbox sat on a wooden post.  She opened the hinged door and pulled a single pink rose from the mailbox with a small scrap of paper affixed to it with a small red rubber band.  She brought the rose to her face and inhaled deeply the fragrant aroma of the soft flower.  

    Still smiling, enjoying the game that her boyfriend had made for her, she puled the note free from the rose and unfolded the small slip of paper.  Once again the same lettering greeted her; the strong block print in the blue ink.

    Darling,

    You are doing great!  I am so looking forward to seeing you tonight.  For the next note visit our moon.

    I love you!

    Harold

   The smile on her face was burned there, like a brand.  She wondered if the smile could ever fade or would it simply escalate from smile to wide grin to joyous elation that could rival that of a mother giving birth.  She was enjoying the game and she wasn't sure if she wanted to game to end quickly to find what the final prize would be or if she wanted the game to drag on, to see what else her boyfriend had thought of.

    Our moon, the note read.  She knew exactly what that meant.  Had it really been two years since they had first made the monthly ritual to sit out back on the wooden swing, hand in hand, staring up at the full moon?  Our moon.  Each month, no matter if there was snow on the ground and their breath came in frosty gasps that seemed to linger in the air or if the heat rose off of the dark ground, barely illuminated by the the bright moonlight.  It was a ritual she cherished.

    Our moon.  She walked into the backyard and another balloon greeted her.  It was red and floated in soft eddies of air, straining towards the heavens and finding itself tethered by a soft pink ribbon.  The balloon beckoned her and as she had in the living room she obeyed the two simple words of "pop me."  The balloon exploded with a loud bang and simple rose petals once again fell to the earth.  She bent forward and retrieved the next note.  Unfurling the folded paper she read her boyfriends writing.

    My Darling,

    You are doing wonderfully. I wish I was there to watch you move through the house and yard as you happen upon the little notes.  I can almost see you there now as you read these words.  I can almost see your beautiful smile.  You can find the next clue swimming with the fishies.  

    I love you!

    Harold

   Still smiling Collette carried the note back to the front yard and into the house.  She shut the door behind her and finally removed her coat.  She draped it over the side of the couch, covering part of the lovely floral print.  She clutched the three notes tightly in her soft hand and walked past the pink rose petals to the large salt water aquarium that served as a room divider between the living room and the dining room.  She reached up and turned on the fluorescent light built into the heavy wooden hood.

   An involuntary giggle escaped her full lips when she watched a newly added tacky little submarine miniature bounce from the floor of the aquarium and back to the surface.  Affixed to the submarine by a small, tightly-wound rubber band was a small sandwich bag with the note trapped within.  She giggled girlishly again and lifted the lid to the aquarium.

    As if on cue the yellow tangs that inhabited the tank swam to the surface in anticipation of an unplanned meal.  Collette ignored them and scooped the bag from the cool water.  The rubber band snapped free and ascended to the surface of the tank.  She pulled it from the tank as well to prevent the lovely fish with their long snouts from eating the rubber intruder.  

    She absently dried her hands and watched as the submarine began its incessant bouncing once again.  Collette opened the bag and pulled the note from the safety of the sandwich bag.  She unfolded the small slip of paper and once again read her boyfriends block script.

   Darling,  

    Almost there!  I am looking forward to pressing my lips to yours and tasting the warmth of your smile on my lips.  The next note is waiting for you in the jewel case of your favorite CD.  

    I love you!

    Harold

    Collette carried all four notes over to the stereo and looked at the large rack of compact discs. Together they owned nearly two hundred compact discs and it didn't surprise her that Harold knew her favorite.  Each of them knew most everything about the other, together they were one.  Sometimes they joked how they shared the same brain.  She reached in and pulled her favorite disc from the long stack.  Opening it, she pulled the note from between the plastic sleeves.  

   Darling,

    You are the best!  I thank God everyday that I found you.  I love you so much.  We are almost to the end.  You will find the next clue upstairs hidden in one of your shoes.  

    I love you!

    Harold

    Collette giggled, each note raising her happiness until she felt her head was literally floating the the clouds.  This game made her feel wanted and loved.  She knew that he did love her, had proven that countless times over.  This game was just another example of her Harold doing all he could to make her feel happy and safe and loved.  He loved her and she loved him.  They were perfect for each other, he the nut to her screw, she the ying to his yang.  Together they completed the other.  She defined his happiness and he hers.  

   She clutched the five small slips of paper tightly in her hand. She was practically skipping as she made her way to the stairs.  She ascended to the upper floor of their two story house.  The master bedroom was too her left and she turned towards it.  She could see a faint glow spilling into the hallway from under the door and she pondered briefly what that could be as she had not seen any light on when she had pulled into the driveway.

    Just another part of the surprise she mused.  She walked down the hall and opened the door.  The room was lit with dozens of soft candles, their flames dancing playfully, casting erotic shadows on the walls.  Before her, on his knees, was Harold. He held in his hand a single diamond ring.  His bearded face was grinning broadly and his eyes looked up at her adoringly.  His smiled his question.

    The five notes slipped from Collette's hands and fluttered to the ground.  She stepped closer to him and dropped to her knees.  She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.  He enveloped her with his strong arms, pulling her to him.  They hugged on their knees, their arms intertwined, her face resting on his shoulder while he pressed his lips to her right ear and whispered the question the ring implied, "will you marry me?"

    She hugged him tighter.  She inhaled his clean scent and tenderly pressed her lips to his throat.  She could feel his pulse against her mouth, strong and fast.  He was nervous, anxiously wondering what her response would be.  His pulse raced in querying wonder, would she accept?

    She kissed his throat, "yes," she whispered.  She kissed his throat again, his beard tickling her nose.  A third time.  

    He inched backwards and pulled his hands to her face.  He held her beautiful face in his strong hands and looked into her dark brown eyes.  He could read the love that burned there like a raging conflagration; impossible to ignore and impossible to miss.  She was smiling.  

    She knew by the look on his face and the burning love in his eyes that time was about to stop, albeit briefly.  He was going to kiss her; to press his lips to hers and hold them there until time slowed to an imperceptible crawl and they became one.  Joined together by their lips and love, a single creature forged of two.  Their lips an unbreakable bond of wondrous delight.  Holding her face in his sturdy hands he pulled her to him.

    He didn't disappoint.  His lips touched hers, softly at first, barely noticeable.  He held them there, tenderly rubbing his lips against hers.  His head tilted slightly and he pressed more firmly, more forceful.  His lips brushed over hers; tasting her smile and feeling the warmth of her breath against his face.  

    Collette accepted his kiss, waiting, trapped within a long moment of slowly climbing pleasure.  Her mouth parted as his tongue danced playfully over her lips.  She felt him caress her teeth with his tongue and her mind purred and an involuntary giggle escaped her mouth as his tongue tickled hers.  The laugh seemed to make the moment even more magical, made it feel more than passionate; it made it fun.  And the contrast was erotic.

    His tongue pressed into her mouth, spurring her tongue into a countering action. Their tongues danced playfully against the other as their lips pressed together with forceful passion.  She raised her hands and ran her fingers into his hair.  His hands tenderly ran along her spine and her body erupted with goose bumps.  The moment lingered into eternity, the two of them trapped in the moment that would remain burned in her memory for decades.  

    Their lips separated and then retouched with a spark.  Their was a magic in the air with the seconds ticking past at a snails pace.  They kissed, shifted, and kissed again.  Harold's hands traced softly over Collette's body until he found her fingers.  With their hands intertwined Harold stood up and pulled Collette to the bed.

    The night was magic and their love complete and when the morning sun rose, the dawn broke with the promise of eternity stretching out before them.  Where once two individuals had slept now a complete entity of one remained.  Together they were one, he hers and she his.  It was perfect.

    It was a love meant to last forever.   

* * * * * 

   Collette slept.   

    Disturbed only by the past.