The Arctic wind blew even stronger. It forced her back a little and she wrapped her arms around the thin nightgown that covered her supple body.
"Paul?"
She never just called him Paul, but it seemed to make sense to her right then.
Though the fluttering chunks of her hair, Tracy saw a large hand break through the mist, which had by then formed into large, black clouds. On one knuckle, a tiny crescent scar caught her eye. Had he gotten hurt?
"Paul! I…"
The hand slapped down onto her arm and squeezed her so tightly that she could feel the tendons in her wrists crackling. Then, with a powerful jerk that made Tracy feel like the wind had been knocked out of her, it forced her up.
In the car, one of the many yellow street lights that dotted the street passed by overhead and illuminated the sleeping woman in a brief flash. Mr. Hayes looked into his rearview mirror and then turned his attention to Tracy. Her nightmares had been keeping both of them up at night.
"Paul," she muttered softly. The sound of her voice speaking his first name took him by surprise, but he remained silent.
Suddenly, Tracy gasped loudly and turned over in her reclined seat so that she was facing away from her concerned lover. Mr. Hayes reached a hand out and stroked her head softly as he turned his gaze back to the road.
"What is going on with you?"
The powerful hand jerked her back to her feet. In front of her stood a man who wasn’t Paul Hayes. Tracy had no idea who he was. The clouds and colors were long gone, leaving them in an open plane of icy white under a blue sky.
The man’s deep brown, almost black eyes pierced into Tracy’s thoughts. He was a short man, but wrapped in muscle. He had black, buzz-cut hair and his jaw was locked tight, working the muscles in his face.
The two of them stood there for a whil
e, just staring, before the man sprang toward her like a lion. In seconds, he had forced her to the ground and pinned her down. Tracy’s already short night dress flipped up, exposing a pair of lacy, red panties.
Underneath her body, which began to throb wildly from the surge of adrenaline, the ground felt like one giant slab of ice. It sent a violent chill racing through her spine and made her previously soft nipples stand out immediately.
"Who are you?" she tried to yell and bucked her body against the man. "Get off of me!"
The man grabbed each of her wrists again, just as hard as the first time, and slammed them down onto the frozen ground. The force was enough to make her breasts bounce up and down, exposing the very edge of one of her pink nipples.
Tracy tried to scream for Paul. She could feel her mouth moving, could feel the straining vibrations making her vocal chords spasm, but there was no sound except for the constant whooshing of the cold wind racing over them. She tried again to push his body away, this time using her feet to try and kick him off of her.
The man growled – she could see it in the way that he gritted his yellowed, crooked teeth, even though his voice was as silent here as her own – and pushed her down again. He was like quicksand: the more that she fought, the closer the two became.
Finally, after a struggle that felt like it lasted hours, the man sank down between Tracy’s thighs. Leading the way, his massive erection bulged out against his smooth, black slacks. The huge lump settled against Tracy’s pussy, resting there like an anaconda ready to attack.
The man’s eyes flashed with red, and he leaned in so that their cheeks were nearly touching. His lips, a rough as sandpaper, grazed her lips as he spoke on mute. His hips began to grind down onto her, rocking his member against her tender area.
He had taken control of her.
Tracy squeezed her eyes shut. The man let go of her wrists and cupped one of her full breasts in one hand. While his thrusts continued, his other hand started to trace a line from the top of her head. With one finger, he dragged across her forehead, over the scar that had been left from her accident, and continued on along the top of her eyebrow. From there, he slipped the single digit over her cheek, coming to rest just below the right side of her chin.
The man pressed his finger into the sensitive patch of flesh. Then it went cold, just as cold as the ground beneath them, which had begun to melt from their collective body heat.
The wind stopped abruptly. Now there was no sound at all. No heavy breaths or beating hearts. No hint of Tracy’s protests or the words that the man was still reciting into her ear. Instead, the only thing that broke through the silence was an unmistakable sound: a gun being cocked.
Tracy didn’t have to look, but she did anyway. The man’s icy finger had transformed into a gun and was neatly pressed against the bottom of her jaw. The cool, silver steel that wrapped the body shone like the sun, making Tracy’s eyes water uncontrollably.
Now giving off a glow so bright that it started to melt everything around, the gun started to vibrate against Tracy’s shivering flesh. It was only seconds before it took over everything. The man melted away, as did the freezing ground and baby blue skies.
The last thing that Tracy saw was the gun’s handle. It had been painted a deep, purple-tinged hue of crimson. In her head, the man’s solemn, monotone voice finally burst through the ether.
"I’ll have his blood."
Tracy awoke with a start as the car pulled into the driveway. She was still so tired, and felt like she hadn't had any rest in days. Was what she just saw someone's dreams? Or was it just a bad dream of hers produced by stress? It was all so confusing, and she almost didn't want to go to sleep again. However, as she crawled into bed with Mr. Hayes, sleep claimed her almost immediately.