Each has a Point

Madeleine and Wilson held hands like teenagers as they floated down the stairs of the club to the street. Encounters like this never seemed to happen in River Bend. Madeleine almost expected the sounds of city traffic to coalesce into an instrumental number in the soundtrack of her life.

The artificial light of the subway now matched that of the street at night. Madeleine was reminded of vampires and gargoyles, nocturnal beings that never die but which can’t be seen in the light of day.

Wilson guided her into an almost-empty train. “Don’t sit,” she told her companion.

Madeleine looked at her, waiting for an explanation. Wilson wrapped a surprisingly strong arm around her waist and gave her a deep, passionate kiss that took her breath away. Wilson withdrew gently, smiling. “Do you trust me, Madeleine?”

It was a confusing question. “I—guess I do, or I wouldn’t be going home with you.” Madeleine hoped she didn’t seem as naïve as the most sheltered of her former students.

“Good. Hang onto the strap, not the pole. Wrap your jacket around your waist. You can do it.” With difficulty, Madeleine did as she was told and tied the sleeves of her cotton jacket in a knot. Riding the subway now seemed to her like standing upright in a rocking boat. Madeleine thought she would die of shame if she fell on her ass in front of an audience of strangers.

Wilson pressed her crotch against Madeleine’s behind and slid one hand up to cup one of her breasts. “Oh,” muttered the young woman, shifting in Wilson’s grip. She realized that her movements were only making things worse—or better.

“Now I’ve got you,” snickered Wilson into the heat of Madeleine’s hair. “Imagine I’m a predator that stalks juicy women in the subway.”

Madeleine glanced fearfully around. To her amazement, the other passengers seemed utterly indifferent to the scene in front of them. One young man seemed to be asleep, an older man had the blank stare of the blind, one woman read a book, and her girlfriend studied the signs on the walls of the train.

“Do you know why I stalk sexy women?” Wilson slid one hand, snakelike, around Madeleine’s hips and buttocks under her jacket. Her movements felt creepy but terribly stimulating. “Because I’m a monster that lives on pussy-juice. It’s very nutritious and if I don’t drink enough, I’ll die. How do you think I get it?”

“Jesus, Wilson,” whispered Madeleine, really alarmed. “There are people here.”

“They don’t care,” persisted Wilson in a low, gravelly voice. “No one will save you from me.” She held Madeleine’s waist while she unzipped the front zipper of her pants. “This would be easier if you wore a skirt,” she told her victim in an whisper. “But I can get you anyway.”