3. The Girl
“There’s a mouse hole in that crack over there. Take a good look.”
Mark spoke to Emily in as casual a tone as he could manage, then turned and hurried toward the front door. He had left it firmly shut earlier but hadn’t locked it, deliberately avoiding anything that might arouse the suspicions of the wary child who had entered with such a dubious expression. As he approached the door, a prickling thrill shot through his fingertips, as if they were burning with anticipation. His heart pounded like a drum in excitement for what was to come. Even though he tried his hardest to suppress it, his breathing grew ragged with arousal.
Now, if I lock this door, that desperate longing I’ve only ever imagined will become reality.
Just reminding himself of that fact sent a sharp jolt of pleasure stabbing up from deep between his thighs. He savored the electric shiver rising from the base of his tailbone, coursing up his spine to the crown of his head. Before sliding the inner bolt on the front door shut, Mark clasped his trembling hands together and rubbed them roughly to steady his nerves. It was finally beginning. He ran his tongue slowly over his lower lip. The taste of excitement was intoxicatingly sharp.
Emily, peering into the gap in the kitchen where the mouse hole was supposed to be, suddenly sensed something off in the atmosphere. There was no sign of Uncle Mark. The surroundings were unnaturally silent. She stopped crouching to probe behind the shelf, straightened her back rigidly, and took in the narrow kitchen at a glance. Even accounting for its north-facing position, it was far too dim and murky. When she looked up at the window to search for light, the ventilation opening that should have been there was completely blocked with chunks of firewood. Why on earth would anyone seal up a kitchen window like that, when ventilation was paramount?
Emily tilted her head and examined it closely. The wooden blocks plugging the window had rough, uneven cross-sections from hasty cuts, and their surfaces still held vibrant colors, as if they hadn’t been like that for long—maybe a day or two at most.
—Click.
At that moment, a quiet but unmistakable metallic sound came from the back of the kitchen. It had to be the bolt on the door locking. Uncle Mark’s house was simple, suited to a lone occupant: a combined living room and bedroom visible right upon entering the front door, followed by the inner kitchen and bathroom in a straightforward two-room layout. Emily lowered her gaze from the window and scanned the area again. No matter how she looked, something was wrong. She was alone in the kitchen. He had called her here to plug the mouse hole, but Uncle Mark was nowhere to be seen. She had tried to ignore it, but his approach earlier—when he had come up to her while she was squatting by the front door—had felt strangely different from usual.
“Uncle! I can’t find it!”
Emily shouted deliberately loudly as she strode quickly out of the kitchen. But as soon as she emerged, Uncle Mark, who should have been nearby at the front door, was nowhere in sight.
Where on earth did he go? I definitely heard the door locking, so he couldn’t have gone outside…
—Thwack!
In an instant, a searing pain exploded across the back of her neck, and Emily’s vision blurred into darkness.
—Thud.
The girl collapsed unconscious to the floor. Her platinum blonde hair didn’t even stir as she lay face-down.
“Hah. Hah.”
For a moment, Mark released the hand he had clamped over his mouth and exhaled the breath he had been holding in harsh gasps. When he sensed Emily coming out of the kitchen, he had flattened himself against the wall beside the door, pressing his nose and mouth shut—not enough, so he held his breath entirely, lest he fail. He had locked the bolt, then pressed flat against the wall right by the kitchen door, hiding his presence. Every nerve taut with tension, he stopped breathing altogether until Emily tilted her head curiously, walked out of the kitchen, approached the front door, and turned her back to him. And the plan had gone off without a hitch, just as he’d envisioned.
“Ha, haha…”
Seeing Emily sprawled unconscious on the floor, he couldn’t help but let out a laugh of pure joy. Mark scooped up her limp body. Years of hauling heavy rock piles as a miner had hardened him; to him, her unconscious form felt as light and fluffy as a cotton ball. Holding her close filled him with a profound sense of accomplishment welling up from the depths of his chest. How long had he waited for this? Every evening after grueling shifts at the mine, there she was, always waiting for Chris. Each glimpse of that pretty face they passed daily sent hot blood surging to his groin. Night after night, in the hazy haze between wakefulness and sleep, he had imagined this very moment countless times—so many that the fantasy felt worn and frayed, tucked into some dusty corner of his memory. He had rehearsed and replayed the scenario in his secret imaginings, and today, he had executed it flawlessly, right down to the last detail. He wanted to burst out and shout his triumph to the world.
Grinning wickedly, he carried her toward the bed. Mark wasn’t the type to plan meticulously before acting. He was impulsive, driven by urges, always taking the shortest path to his goal. But a series of hard lessons over the years had warned him to exercise restraint and control. After barely surviving a few ugly incidents where cold reason’s ignored advice nearly got him killed, he had trained himself more rigorously than before. In his vigorous twenties, ignorant and brash, he had molested village children, only for the matter to escalate; he was beaten badly and chased from village to village like a wandering vagrant. Rumors of Mark, prowling from one small settlement to the next, spread across the region over the years. His foul reputation made it impossible to settle anywhere in the eastern reaches of the western continent. New villagers initially welcomed his bright smiles, but soon whispers reached them; they hid their young children and shot him wary glares, threatening him to leave. Driven out time and again, he had ended up in Eliyum.
As the largest city on the western continent, Eliyum teemed with people from all corners, but tight-knit networks shared information and judged reputations across every bridge and alley. A man with scandals swirling around playgrounds had no place there. So he sought out dingy back-alley brothels to sate his urges. Paying for satisfaction drained his coin purse faster than expected. Desperate, he hunted high-paying jobs, but in a metropolis overflowing with labor, money, and resources, a unskilled man like him rarely touched big paydays. Drifting through odd jobs in Eliyum’s fringes, he finally washed up here in Exangciras as a miner.
The mine work was grueling physical labor, but the pay was generous, and he rarely clashed emotionally with fellow miners, letting days pass in relative peace. Life in this small Exangciras village satisfied him on every front. He even had a plausible excuse ready for nosy questions about his solitary life: a sick mother-in-law back in Eliyum whom he lived with alongside his wife. Mentioning a family usually eased suspicions. Thus embedded, Mark blended seamlessly into the community. The only snag was that scrawny, short-haired girl next door who kept catching his eye, like her father.
Mark laid Emily on his sparse bed. Once a month or so, he’d trek the day’s journey to Eliyum’s dark alleys to unleash his pent-up desires, quenching his physical thirst. But returning to face those transparent gray eyes framed by platinum hair day after day stirred a sticky, insidious craving from within that even he couldn’t control. Yet he hadn’t acted on his boiling urges easily, tethered by the job and village he’d finally adapted to over years. He was no longer young enough to up and start over anywhere on a whim. Torn between harsh reality and the whirlwind of his inner longings, a brilliant revelation had struck him from the darkness like divine inspiration. And the solution was surprisingly simple: indulge secretly, unknown to the girl or her parents. No one but him would ever know.
Emily lay before him, utterly defenseless. As Mark stood gazing down at the bed, his eyes burned black with dark craving. His callused, rough hands yanked up the worn fabric around her waist. Beneath his palm, the child’s soft, warm skin pulsed vividly. With a dazed, entranced gaze, he buried his nose in her flat belly. The sweet, dizzying scent of her flesh set his loins ablaze. Her skin’s aroma was more fantastical than any dream: like the damp, fresh grass of a dew-kissed morning meadow, or the honeyed sweat nestled in a mature woman’s cleavage. Intoxicated by the flesh-scent that numbed his reason, Mark mashed his face into her softness, rubbing roughly. The fragrance rising from her tender skin invaded his nostrils like an aphrodisiac, fogging his mind and setting his blood aflame. He closed his eyes, savoring the delicate texture against his entire face—until he lifted it to find her pale, flat flesh inflamed red from his coarse beard, scratched raw.
Snow-white skin marred by blooming red welts like spreading ink—it sent fresh hot blood rushing southward. “Hoo.” Mark exhaled deeply, inhaling the nearby flesh-scent to savor it fully. The beard-raked scratches felt like mist flowers in a bouquet prepared just for him. Now, perhaps, to etch a single red rose—or two—upon them. He stripped away her cumbersome clothes. The platinum-haired girl lay there, eyes closed in sleep like an angel: pure, sacred—nay, sensual to the point of erotic, and ultimately, utterly lascivious.