Free Carolina Rain by Rick Murcer

lover’s forehead, past open black eyes — staring at hell, no doubt — then to his nose, his mouth, and then circled his lips unconsciously. It had been two weeks since she and Lance had come together on the floor of his mansion and she didn’t know how she had lasted this long. There were a couple of nights she had actually gotten dressed in her see what I’ve got clothes and headed for the door. Once, she even got into the car, but if she’d learned anything from her previous life, it was that carelessness could destroy a plan faster than J.R. ’s regulars could pinch her ass. She’d needed to do it again, to watch it happen, to record it, but to go back to the same place she’d met Lance wasn’t smart. She had to find another way and she had done just that. J.R. ’s greasy spoon provided far more than a few dollars, which she hardly needed. Instead, her place of employment had provided a rich source of prey. Good hunting grounds were hard to find.
    The men that frequented his establishment were mostly the older, retired type with the etiquette of Attila the Hun. But those good old boys always responded when she joked that their grab-assing would cost them more tip money. It brought laughs, at first, then phone numbers and serious inquiries on her availability for other “services.” It took a few days to sort out the jokers from the players, but she had done it. The list on her computer had grown.
    She absently turned the corkscrew again and closed her eyes at the sound of metal grinding muscle and bone . Her heart rate rose higher. Incredible.
    Cocking her head to the left, she read the name on the tattoo over the blood-smeared breast that now looked like a crude spider web. Virginia . She was sure it was his wife’s name. Poor woman. What would Virginia think when she got back from out of town and found him like this? She wanted to see the look. No, she did want to see the look. She’d have to figure a way, somewhere along this trip, to accomplish that.
    Moving her hand back to the middle of his barreled chest, she rested it on the knob of the buried corkscrew again. There was more blood this time . S he hadn’t noticed it until she had finished playing. The blue silk sheet held a large blossom of dark crimson that reminded her of the Rorschach patterns the doctors used to show her.
    “I see . . . a dead pig, doc,” she whispered.
    She laughed and pondered what her shrink would think of that interpretation.
    Sliding off the bed, she picked up her black lace lingerie, putting on the bra first then slipping on the panties. It was getting easier to do. She was getting better, but not just in the physical sense .
    The repairs to her foot and hand after the incident had taken weeks to begin to take effect . She was aware that new technologies available for that kind of thing had advanced beyond comprehension. That , and a determination to heal , went a long way. Her doctors had said as much, not that she need ed them to encourage her. For the first time in her life, she had a true purpose and nothing was going to stop her from fulfilling that purpose.
    “Nothing,” she said out loud.
    Moving around to the other side of the bed, she reached over to the scalpel lodged in his left eye. She drew it out slowly; the sucking sound created another grin. Would that ever get old? Reaching into her leopard-skin handbag, she pulled out the small sewing kit and the gold medallion. She’d decided that the coral snake was a mistake. She could actually get bitten and God knew she was playing with enough heavy-duty toxins already. Even though they had little or no effect on her, c aution was still a tremendous virtue. One never knew.
    She finished threading his lips together, attached the medallion, then sat back to admire her work. Her quick smile mirrored her approval. It was her finishing touch. But would anyone else get it?
    Lily finished dressing, reached up to remove the blond wig, then was inspired. She took out