He waited, hammer upraised, not hearing the ovation coming from the stands, by the men who, foolishly, thought he was just prolonging the tension, and...the fear of the victim. Lila, her heart beating an irregular, rapid, tattoo, in her ears, opened her eyes, unwillingly drawn to look at the nail, dimpling the skin on her wrist. She noticed his hand, holding the cruel iron spike steady, even the small hairs, on the back of his fingers; hairs that she liked to taste with her tongue. Lila knew. The woman entered, and turned, looking back at Dorthy, gesturing an invitation to enter the room. Dorthy hesitated. She could see it was just the break room -- a small table and a couple of chairs, a sink with a coffee maker and a rack of tea bags on the counter. Then she saw the vinyl-covered bolster cushion on the floor. Her knees felt weak. And her mind felt tired again, swimming, relaxing. The wetness between her legs -- where was that coming from? She wanted nothing more than to sit on. More

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